BLACK CAT

Surprising? Yes.

Fanciful? No.

Valor knew what he had seen, and he knew exactly who he had spoken with.

Looking around the empty alley would do him no good, especially when the puppeteer had been standing right in front of him just seconds ago.

How on earth—or whatever world he now found himself in—could a frail-looking man move a heavy wooden showcart that quickly without making a sound?

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "At least that strange puppet master showed me what to do. I have a way to find this Lord of the Night."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, seeking through the unstable memories of his new host. 'This body didn't have any idea who that person was before, However... at least I have a lead on what to do next. But first, I need to hide these bloodstains.'

Valor quickly buttoned his heavy coat all the way to the bottom, concealing the dark, wet patch on his shirt.

The puppet master was gone, leaving him with no choice but to explore.

And what better place to start than the very first anchor his mind could latch onto? The home of Valor Voss.

Placing both hands deep into his pockets, he left the alley behind, though the eerie image of the puppeteer stayed in his mind.

As he walked the bustling streets, merchants repeatedly tried to flag him down, but he turned them away with a polite, firm rejection.

"I will not be buying today," he told one.

"Not today, I'm sorry," he muttered to another.

"Maybe next time," he remarked to a third.

The merchants were mostly dressed in vibrant, colorful robes, their wares spread across woven cloths laid over the dusty cobblestones, and none caught his attention.

He was just about to cross to the opposite side of the road when a hand suddenly clamped onto his wrist.

Startled, Valor yanked his hand away, "Hey! I refused to buy"

Turning to find a female merchant standing before him.

"Tell me," she whispered, spreading her hands wide over her display. "Tell me what you know, and you can pick any of these."

She was fair-skinned, but a deep hood completely shadowed her face, leaving only her plump lips visible. Valor could tell instantly that she was no ordinary street vendor.

He stepped back, shaking the street dust from his boots. "Oh. No, I’m—"

The woman raised a dangling green pendant, the gem catching the light. "I'll give you the Gem of Greed in exchange for the information you hold."

Valor's brow furrowed. 'What is wrong with this woman?' He shook his head again, keeping his distance. "I'm sorry, but I have no information for you, damsel."

The sudden shift in her expression, from a welcoming smile to a harsh, icy scowl, told Valor that she did not appreciate that title.

Lowering the green pendant, she reached down and held up a shimmering purple stone. "Then I'll grant you the Gem of Lust—"

"I am incredibly sorry, damsel, but I don't have any information worth sharing with you. Good day!" Valor didn't wait for her to finish.

He turned on his heel and walked away; he had absolutely no time to negotiate with a creepy sidewalk merchant.

He refused to look back, pushing forward through the crowd.

"Don't you want something else?" her voice echoed after him, it was desperate and sharp. "I can offer you anything! Anything in exchange for the secrets you hold! Don't you want anything at all?"

He paused for a fraction of a second, resisting the urge to turn around, and kept walking.

In truth, he would have loved to know more about the Azmerald Family, the Ghostbanes, or The Seer.

But bringing up those names to a random street merchant was as reckless as flashing your banking details to a stranger.

After his encounter with the puppet master, his guard was completely up. Everyone in this city felt dangerous. Who knew who might vanish into thin air? Or what strange thing might happen next?

He kept his pace steady, passing lines of beggars who cried out for aid even though their wooden cups were overflowing with silver and copper.

Looking at how full their cups were, Valor felt poor in comparison to the meager coins in his own wallet.

Still, he didn't drop a single piece. He couldn't risk anyone catching a glimpse of the bloodstains while he reached for his money—who knew if these beggars were eyes and ears, easily bought off for information regarding his whereabouts?

He walked until the surrounding buildings finally began to match the pieces of his memory. A deep sense of physical familiarity washed over him.

"Home?" He tilted his head, staring at a shaggy, dilapidated bakery. "Well... I suppose it's home."

The structure looked as if it were actively begging to be patched together.

The stone walls on either side were severely cracked, and the roof... it was in such bad shape that the house might actually be better off without one.

The slates were on the absolute brink of sliding off, and the windows were completely crooked.

Stepping inside despite a very real fear that the ceiling might collapse onto his head, he was instantly greeted by the rich, warm aroma of freshly baked bread and the sweet scent of pastries.

Yet, when he looked at the counter, there wasn't a single soul insight.

According to his host's memory, this was exactly how the bakery had always operated. Not a single person around to run it, yet the bread on display and the cakes on the shelves were always perfectly intact, freshly baked and meticulously placed.

'A disguise, perhaps?' he wondered.

Nevertheless, he took a step forward, his boots against the creaking floorboards as he headed straight for a stairwell leading to the top floor.

The wooden steps were old and weathered, but they held his weight.

When he reached the door at the top, his hand brushed the knob, and the door drifted open on its own.

He was certain—or rather, his host's memory was certain—that he had locked this door before leaving.

Carefully, he stepped into the small, single-windowed room.

It was sparsely furnished, containing only a rumpled bed in the corner and a wooden desk piled high with scattered papers.

Valor scanned the space, from the arrangement of the chair to the messy sheets of parchment, everything seemed untouched.

"This must have been the habitat of a terribly disorganized human," he mumbled. "Let me change these clothing first"

He walked over to a dark wooden closet and pulled it open, Inside hung identical sets of clothing. A white shirt, black trousers, and a dark coat—arranged neatly in five identical pairs.

"No sense of style? What a bland person," he muttered, quickly stripping out of his ruined, blood-soaked attire.

After changing into a fresh set and carefully transferring the notebook, wallet, and Watcher's badge from the old coat to the new one, he turned to face the papers on the desk.

But before he could take a step, a sudden movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention.

He snapped his head toward the window.

A sleek black cat was sitting on the sill, staring directly at him with an unblinking gaze. But what truly stopped Valor in his tracks was the small, polished monocle resting over the feline's left eye.

The cat let out a soft purr. Then, it spoke.

"You have to leave, Now."

Of all the horrors in the world, Valor felt like he had just checked off a third of them. A talking cat?

The feline adjusted its posture, its voice smooth and urgent. "I was the one who broke into your room earlier, I had to wait for you outside. I've had the key with me all along, so that isn't what you should be worrying about. What you should care about is the fact that the Queen's Guards are hunting for you this very second."

'This body recognizes this creature, but I certainly don't.' Valor rubbed his eyes, half-expecting the hallucination to fade, but the cat simply turned its back to him, sounding quite impatience.

"Let's go. Now."

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