Only nine months passed since Jett was swept by the Soul Storm and delivered out of Shacktown.
Yet, even he was astonished at the genuine metamorphosis he undertook.
Such a reflection was relatively common for Jett. His growth was comparatively ridiculous in such a short time frame
That came hand in hand with feelings of doubt and imposter syndrome.
Rarely were the positives without an equal, negative counterpart. The universe was balanced in such a way, always seeking equilibrium.
Of course, this reflection of melodrama was birthed from Jett touching the bed of a shabby tavern inn.
He subsequently compared himself to his past, quickly realizing that little time had truly passed since he slept in muddy holes.
After the sun had set, Jett sat on the bed of his rented room, dangling the bag of Catas in his hand.
All in all, he had been extremely fortunate.
The Cartographer was incredibly strange to Jett; completely antithetical to his idea of a supposed infamous gang leader.
It was as the boy had told him: The Cartographer was all about business.
But 'simple' did nothing to accurately depict the map maker's true character.
Jett was of course very surprised at the benevolence of the giant mutant.
'The 'down payment' was 50 Catas. Room, wash, and board at the inn were 15 Catas, normal clothes and a cloak from a vendor was 5, leaving me with 30 Catas, enough for two more days at the inn.'
While seemingly pocket change for the Cartographer, Jett appreciated that they refrained from giving him the bare minimum as a manipulation tactic to force Jett into financial reliance.
The situation was more nuanced than that—likely an overthought from Jett—but he received the kind action as a sign of trust.
Though ditching and making an enemy of a being of extreme power was a fool's errand.
The Cartographer's goodwill was still quite odd. It was like the two had some special connection.
'It referred to me as Fated One…'
Not to mention the question about 'their' whispers.
Jett had no idea what it was talking about. This ignorance of his seemed to be due to his lack of Soul, as the Cartographer had muttered something along those lines.
'Higher powers, perhaps? Do I have a guardian deity?'
Entertaining the possibility, Jett tried his very hardest not to curse the deity for not protecting him earlier in his life.
A large issue was Jett's lack of understanding. He was forced to trust too many people.
'Hell, I don't even know if there is a Troupe or not, I never actually saw anyone else but the Cartographer.'
The Cartographer also held immense power and influence.
'It's hard to believe that they gained power from benevolence…'
Giving the benefit of the doubt was the least Jett could do, dangerous or not.
Shacktown Jett pleaded for extreme caution, but the man in him reciprocated the mutant's kindness.
Though he lacked evidence, Jett guessed that the tunnel he had entered to reach the Cartographer—along with its impossible and strange existence—was the work of a powerful Artifact.
Only Soul could explain such a supernatural phenomenon.
And the note that Jett found inside the bag somewhat confirmed his hunch.
'Cartographer: Quiet Retreat, Away from Power.'
'Troupe: Answer the Call, Seek the Flame.'
'DISCARD'
Jett stood up, holding the small note in hand as he paced around his small room, memorizing the two passcodes through repetition.
Flicking a match, he brought the small flame up to the paper, slowly watching it disintegrate in his hand.
Dressed in his brand new normal set of clothes, Jett flopped onto the bed with a deep sigh of relief.
He had somehow managed to meet his basic needs.
Though it was a little disappointing that he couldn't survive here on his own two feet, this was the best-case scenario for Jett.
He still had plenty to worry about.
'Is Valeria searching for me? I hope not.'
***
As the sun set in the Lower City, Valeria found herself increasingly frustrated.
Everything had gone wrong, just plain wrong.
There were no criminals!
At least, none that she could find out in the open.
No chance encounters, no grand heists for her and her trusty sidekick to stop, nothing.
Life was really quite boring and mundane.
All around her were poverse men and women going about their day, fearful of the impending war, fearful of finding their next meal.
It was quite depressing, antithetical to the high-octane action that she sought.
"Alright, Jett. You were right. Let's go back," Valeria admitted as she turned around. "But hey, at least we got out of the—"
She was completely alone in the darkened Lower City streets.
"Where the hell did you go?"
Jett wasn't quiet… he was entirely gone!
Picking up her pace, Valeria marched through the Lower City as she retraced her steps.
As night fell, she managed to navigate back to the town square.
Thought it was to no avail.
Jett was still nowhere to be found.
"Oh shit… Maros is gonna be pissed…"
They had a damn war mission in three days!
Maros had even specifically told her to stay put, how could she forget?
Guilty conscience took hold, her search becoming increasingly frantic.
Still, no amount of screw-ups could break such a force of nature, such as herself.
"You lost, little lady?" A large, gritty man called out from the corner of an establishment, his eyes—along with a few others—peering past the encroaching darkness of the sky.
"Does loitering count as a crime?" she muttered silently to herself before replying. "No. I'm looking for a lost boy. About this high."
"Oh sure," the man said with a suppressed smirk. "Plenty of lost boys back here waiting for their mothers, we can help out alright."
Obviously, they took Valeria for an idiot.
She approached the group of men, suppressing a smile of her own.
Inside her cloak, one hand reached for the handle of her concealed longsword.
"Finally."
***
The next morning, Jett woke up refreshed.
He was no longer troubled by nightmares of the past. At least, none that should be feared.
Underneath his new—lower quality—cloak was his leather armor.
His old cloak seemed to garner too much attention, despite it being quite standard for the Middle to Upper cities.
Stepping out, he walked down the stairs of the tavern, giving a curt nod to the owner before stepping outside and onto the Lower City streets.
The tavern wasn't too far from Lysell's Procurements, kindly recommended to him by the shopkeeper, Lysell.
This tavern was much more welcoming to those who looked out of the ordinary, but likely by necessity, being in a worse-off location.
Gliding through the early morning streets of the East side of the Lower City, he eventually made his way to the Troupe's coverup shop.
He stepped inside with a chime of the door.
The shop was just as silent as it had been.
"Good morning, sir. How may I help?" Lysell asked.
"Quiet retreat, away from power."
There was a hint of surprise on Lysell's face upon hearing the passcode. He quickly obliged.
Sticking his hand into the empty wooden wall behind him, it turned into a thin cloud of mist, instantly swept away by an invisible and unpresent current of air.
With a nod, Jett walked past Lysell and into the dark tunnel.
Upon the wall reappearing behind him, the torch lit up in the far distance.
The pounding of his heart substituted the lost sounds of footsteps.
Reaching the end, he opened the door and entered the Cartographer's studio.
"Welcome once more, Fated One," the omnipresent voice greeted.
The Cartographer engaged with a different map at their workstation directly in front of Jett, slowly dismissing their tools and turning around
The usual black coat of the Cartographer had been substituted for a grey one; they now wore a white mask with horns and smiling black oval eyes.
"Greetings to you as well," Jett replied with a short bow. "I'm very grateful for your assistance yesterday."
"It is of no issue. Come," the Cartographer beckoned.
As Jett came closer to the table in front he saw more of the studio in his periphery.
"This is Toze of the Troupe," the masked map maker introduced.
From behind a canvas, a small, man-like mutant appeared.
Toze was half the size of a human and entirely covered in armor.
His helmet was tall and narrow, with a very elongated neck. The eye slit was at the top, where no human's eyes should be. On the other hand, his heavy metal torso was bulbous resembling that of a fat man's outstretched gut.
"Yes, I am Toze the Dominator! Come to offer your services?" Toze exclaimed as he made exaggerated hand gestures to accentuate his every word, his voice constantly flipping between high and low pitch.
"That's correct," Jett replied, slightly off-put by his eccentricity.
"Then let us embark. To the Troupe's command center!" Toze raised a finger into the air in an emphatic pose.
…
Silence hung in the air.
Toze appeared to look towards the Cartographer in anticipation.
"Please, Leader," he asked in a gentle voice.
"Of course," the Cartographer complied.
With a flick of one of their many hands, Toze simply popped out of existence.
Much to the confusion of Jett.
"All of this… is an Artifact, right?"
"Correct."
The Cartographer grabbed a basic white mask made for humans, handing it to Jett, who subsequently donned it.
"The mask, the Artifact, all of it is for discretion. Now, off you go."
A mere swipe of the Cartographers's hand tore and twisted the space, hurting Jett's eyes with an otherworldly sight.
When he blinked and regained his senses, he had already been transported.