Outside of Lysell's Procurements, East Lower City, Jett held onto the back of the scrawny boy's tunic.
"You'll let me go now, right?"
"Hmm…"
Jett still didn't entirely believe the boy. Coming from experience, this whole ordeal hinged on the truth of an aspiring con artist.
Shacktown had its fair share of such people, and he had done his fair share of conning—not to mention being conned himself.
There were too many unknowns floating around Jett's head. But he knew that he had to get this right, lest he go back to starving on the streets.
"How do I gain an audience with the Cartographer?" Jett asked.
"I don't know."
"What do you know?"
The frightened boy shivered as his teeth chattered in the cold, combined with his fear.
"T-the Troupe is nicer to folk, compared to other gangs around the Lower City."
"That's it?"
"They do business, but I think it's mostly Upper City folk that search them out. Kinda like you?"
Satisfied with the lackluster information, Jett pushed the boy away, who ran off to reunite with his friend who trailed behind.
He turned to face the cover of the Cartographer's Troupe.
Lysell's Procurements was small and dingy, located in a more run-down neighborhood of the Lower City.
The streets were no longer wide and paved. In a less visible neighborhood, the roads were narrow and gravel.
'It's all about appearances.'
They were tight-knit and claustrophobic. Buildings on both sides blotted out most of the light from reaching the depths of the streets.
Clotheslines and various archways bridged the gaps of the small streets as pedestrians brushed by one another.
A shop located in such an inaccessible area made it likely to be a hideout or a coverup for a deeper operation, though such conjecture was only really possible with the little boy's context; it still served as a hint of truth.
With a deep breath, Jett grabbed the store's handle, stepping inside with the gentle but resounding ring of the store's door chime.
The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot, echoing throughout the quiet, dimly lit store.
Inside were a few aisles and shelves of miscellaneous and increasingly strange oddities and collectibles.
At the front counter was an elderly man. His thinning hair and large curling mustache appeared white with age, covering his thin and wrinkled face.
He wore a black blazer and bowtie over a white dress shirt. Though clean, it was obviously worn with age.
"How can I help you, sir?" the man said, slow to stand out of his stool.
Jett walked up to the glass counter, behind which the man stood.
"I have business with the Cartographer."
The elderly man paused as he discerned his odd customer.
"I'm sorry sir, but I don't understand," the old man
'Have I been fooled? Some gall that kid has…'
"I'm here to see the Cartographer's Troupe, it's urgent," Jett reiterated.
The elder gulped, his head lowered slightly.
"Sir," a timid look washed upon the elder's face. "Lysell's Procurements is not affiliated with any criminal—"
"I'm no Storm Warden. I'm also no fool," Jett asserted.
The shopkeeper's demeanor shifted to one more serious and combative.
"There are protocols for your demands. You appear to not be affiliated. I cannot allow you in."
Jett stared at the shopkeeper in disappointment.
'This was the likely outcome. Damn it all...'
"Sir, if nothing here catches your eye, I'm going to have to ask you to—"
"ﾚ乇ｲ ｲん乇 乃のﾘ ﾉ刀, ﾚﾘ丂乇ﾚﾚ'"
All-encompassing whispers flooded the store's silent air, buzzing in his ears uncomfortably.
'The hell?'
Jett looked around in steely confusion, concerned about the strange, incoherent murmurs.
On the contrary, the shopkeeper stood at attention, bearing a demeanor that Jett could only describe as deciphering and understanding.
"I understand," the shopkeeper replied to the whispers.
He proceeded to turn around, reaching his hand towards an empty wooden wall behind the counter.
His hand proceeded to phase through the wall like an otherworldly optical illusion.
Then the wooden wall transformed into a thin, colorless mist, quickly dissipating.
'What the…'
The elderly man shuffled to the side, beckoning for Jett to step into the opened door-shaped hole.
"The Cartographer is waiting."
Jett stared at the man with skepticism before complying and entering the awaiting dark depths.
The moment he stepped inside, the hole sealed behind him. Jett saw nothing but darkness
A single torch lit up in the far distance.
He was inside an abnormally long tunnel shrouded in the dark.
'There's simply no way such a long tunnel could exist in this small shop. Where the hell am I?'
Jett began to walk to the distant light.
His boots made no noise against the unknown surface upon which he stood.
Only a faint ringing and his pumping heart were audible in the abyss.
…
As he reached the sole source of light within the tunnel, a relatively normal door came into view.
With his body tense with fear and anticipation, Jett took hold of the handle and opened the door.
Light and color reappeared as he stepped into a relatively normal room, though his head throbbed.
"Welcome, One of Fate," an ethereal presence rang throughout the room with an otherworldly, crackling undertone. It originated from no singular place as a voice should.
Jett's face scrunched as his mind tried to adjust to the jarring, alien voice.
The workshop-like room was sloppily jam-packed with scattered maps, scrolls, parchment, paint, canvases, and desks.
But Jett's attention focused on the being in front of him.
Jett saw what he could only guess was the broad back and shoulders of something a torso taller than a full-grown man, though boasting a much greater width.
However, it was covered with a long, drooping cloak that covered its massive body.
Four lanky arms—two per side—came out of the cloak. They were pitch black, holding two quills, a drawing compass, and a ruler.
The lanky arms darted around a massive brown canvas with extreme speed and precision.
'A mutant?'
Jett stepped forward as he cleared his throat.
"Are you the Cartographer?"
The arms slowly ground to a halt. Slowly, the giant placed their tools on nearby desks.
It slowly turned around, tucking its four arms into its massive cloak.
On its face was a white circular mask, intricately detailed with abstract black lines.
Though, its only feature was a pair of jet-black oval eyes.
…
"Do you hear their whispers?" the omnipresent voice asked.
"…What?"
The masked head titled sideways in thought.
"Of course not. Empty souls cannot recognize the onlooker's interest," the masked mutant mumbled before. "Yes, I am the Cartographer."
"I assumed you would be more…"
"Like a gang leader?" the Cartographer gave an odd, curt laugh. "Mapmaking is a hobby. This world is beautiful. My maps will inspire others to explore it."
"And the Troupe?"
"Purveyors of the world's beauty. Artifacts, talismans, information. That is our primary duty. My maps are secondary."
The Cartographer turned around, gently grabbing the tools with their abnormally long fingers before returning to map-making.
Jett slowly wandered the Cartographer's studio, staring at maps of varying sizes, littered across the edges of the large room as they sat dormant on canvases.
His gaze eventually landed upon a common map of the Earth.
It was like a wide, spinning-top toy.
In the very center of the landmass was a perfect circle, indicating the Mound, a massive mountain of Soulstone that had no peak.
Surrounding the Mound was its Valley, and surrounding the Valley was the Ridge, like three enveloping circles.
Dominating the southern half of the Valley was the Reformed Kingdom of Strata, the only kingdom with a large settlement in the entirety of the Valley.
The northern half of the Valley was mostly covered in blue, representing the extent of the Divine Crusaders' claims to the Valley, though Strata's red slightly encroached on the upper half.
Other than the two major empires, the Ridge was left for the taking, despite both having considerable control over the Northern and Southern Ridge respectively.
The rest of the Ridge was like a rainbow of color, representing numerous pockets of humanoid settlements.
The Ridge was densely mountainous, along with being extremely volatile due to the presence of Soul's influence.
As such, the diversity of human and mutant settlements in the Ridge was vast but also locked many into solitary, hermit societies.
However, the perfect circular nature of the Ridge ended in the west.
Whereas the Ridge's edge was supermassive and unscaleable everywhere else, the Western Ridge was… nonexistent.
Regardless of a society's religion or culture, they all tell of a grand battle of the primordial deities.
The once Western Ridge was blasted open, now known as the Fractured lands.
Large chunks of earth were launched outwards of the enclosed continent, creating large enclaves of floating isles, seemingly frozen in time.
The blast also revealed the contents of 'the outside' previously unknown.
The Abyss.
A sea of an infinite black void was all that surrounded the Earth, as far as any mortal being knew.
The map itself was intricately hand-drawn to perfection.
Jett reached out to touch the paper.
'The texture looks quite satisfying…'
"No touching. Human oils are destructive," The Cartographer called out, their attention remaining on their craft.
Complying, Jett stepped back and tucked his hands back into his cloak.
"My apologies. Ah, right…" Jett snaped out of his trance.
"What do you need?" the masked map maker asked.
"I wish to ask the same."
"You wish to be of service to the Troupe, One of Fate?"
'Why do they keep calling me that?'
"That's right. "
"How come?"
"Ah. I've found myself stranded in the Lower City
'Don't want to starve for too long now…'
"War is opportunity. There has never been a better time. Several tasks can be had. So long as dirtying your hands is of no issue, One of Fate."
"It is no issue. My name is Jett, sir…"
'I don't know how to be formal with a non-human, is that correct to say?'
The Cartographer's appearance was ambiguous, being a mutant and all.
As such, they didn't fit within humanity's notions of gender.
But that was more a testament to the power Jett felt from the Cartographer. They appeared greater than that of a human in regards to intangible features, that which he could not truly articulate.
"Formality is not necessary, only respect," the Catrographer replied. "I know who you are. Many seek to investigate you. The Troupe holds answers."
Jett squinted at the comment but quickly wisened.
There were many forces behind the scenes in the fight for the crown, and he was merely a card in Maros' deck. A wild card to be exact. Despite his hidden status, he would eventually be found and publicized.
"I see."
The Cartographer scribbled on a small piece of paper before setting down their tools, reaching under the table, and grabbing a small bag from underneath.
There was a gentle clamor of coins as the small sack was set on the Cartographer's table.
"I understand your plight. A down payment for today," the Cartographer announced. "Tomorrow you will pay it back."
Walking up to the Cartographer, Jett lightly pocketed the bag of Catas.
"Thank you. This will be paid back in kind," Jett replied with sincerity.
The Cartographer's mask lowered in a nod.
"Inside the bag is a note. I will see you soon."
…
Jett took his leave.
Upon touching the door handle, he found himself inside of Lysell's Procurements once more.
'In the blink of an eye…'