Hana and Liora had claimed the corner booth at the little café in Luminara district, just outside the mall.

  The menu called it the “Cosmic Overload Sundae-Shake,” but it was really just a milkshake that had lost a fight with an entire ice-cream sundae and then begged for mercy in the form of whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, and three different syrups. It came with two straws and a small flag that read “Good Luck.”

  Liora was already halfway through hers, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Okay but seriously,” she said around the straw, “this thing is ninety percent sugar and ten percent hatred. I love it.”

  Hana took a cautious sip and immediately felt her teeth vibrate. “I’m pretty sure my body is judging me for this."

  She set the metal rod against the table leg. It gave a single lazy spark, as if agreeing.

  Liora’s eyes lit up. “Oh yeah! That thing. You seem… more comfortable with it than before. Like it’s actually part of you now.”

  Hana shrugged, stirring the mountain of whipped cream with her straw. “Guess I’m getting used to it. Kinda becoming a habit. The zaps don’t even surprise me anymore.”

  Before Liora could answer, a loud crash echoed from the street outside, metal on concrete, followed by shouting.

  Both girls turned toward the window.

  Two figures were sprinting down the sidewalk. The bigger one, a mountain of a man in a security uniform was gaining fast.

  “STOP! GET BACK HERE YOU THIEF!”

  “I BOUGHT IT WITH MY OWN MONEY!”

  “YOU’RE USING A FAKE ID, CRIMINAL!”

  The silhouettes got closer. Hana’s straw froze halfway to her mouth.

  “…Silas?”

  Liora leaned forward, eyes wide. “Ain’t that your classmate? Is he some kind of thief now?”

  “I’m genuinely not sure at this point.”

  The big man was closing in. Silas fake beard flapping, sunglasses crooked, duffel bags bouncing on his back, looked like a raccoon that had robbed the wrong trash can.

  Liora’s grin turned positively evil. “Wanna save him?”

  Hana hesitated exactly half a second.

  “Are you insane—” She sighed, already standing. “Actually. Sure. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

  A few hours earlier

  Fake beard: check.

  Fake wig: check.

  Fake ID that cost way too much: check.

  Burner card, dashing suit, sunglasses with fake diamonds that glint just enough: check.

  Silas adjusted the ridiculous beard in the mirror and muttered to himself, “Okay Silas, meet Sirius. It sounded cooler in my head.”

  Two duffel bags waited by the door, one with his real clothes, one empty and ready to be filled with today's winnings. He slipped out of the dorm room on tiptoe, heart hammering with the kind of excitement that only came from knowing you were about to do something incredibly stupid.

  He made it three steps into the hallway before a voice stopped him cold.

  “Yo. Where are the snacks?”

  Asher stood in the kitchen doorway, garlic toast halfway to his mouth, staring at the full Sirius get-up like he’d just seen a lizard wearing a tuxedo.

  The toast fell. Asher caught it mid-air without looking, took a calm bite again, and said around the bread, “Cool. I’ve seen it all now.”

  He plopped onto the sofa like nothing had happened.

  “So is this a humiliation thing or—”

  “No,” Silas cut in, already moving. “This is for the city’s Santa-Grinch Day. Duty calls. Bye.”

  He practically sprinted out the door.

  Behind him he heard Asher’s lazy drawl: “You totally owned that one, Silas! But next time wear the get-up three cities away from the academy.”

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Silas sat alone in the lavish first-class compartment, legs crossed, fake beard itching like crazy. The train hummed beneath him like money itself.

  Okay. Step one: become Sirius.

  He stared at his reflection in the polished window. The charcoal suit fit like it had been tailored by someone who hated poor people. The fur coat draped over the seat beside him looked like it had once belonged to a very judgmental polar bear. The fake diamonds on the sunglasses caught the overhead light and threw it back like tiny arguments.

  These people… he thought, watching the landscape blur past.

  They don’t ride the train because they need to get somewhere. They ride it because they need everyone else to know they could afford to fly but chose not to. They want the leather seats, the private bar, the quiet judgment when someone in economy accidentally walks through the wrong door and awkwardly looks around until they exit like a lost kid in the supermarket, then they drink expensive scotch to it while getting feet massages. Well, close enough?

  He adjusted the wig one last time.

  Time for the ritual.

  Silas stood, took a slow breath, and let the mask settle fully into place, this wasn't anything new.

  The moment he stepped into the corridor, the air changed. It wasn’t just confidence it was presence. The kind that replaced the oxygen around him. People who had been mid-conversation turned without meaning to, a woman in pearls actually clutched her necklace like it might protect her from whatever force of nature he was bringing.

  Two burly bodyguards stationed at the sealed doors to the entertainment lounge saw him coming from twenty paces away. They bowed low not because they were told to, but because they felt compelled to..

  Silas was barely keeping himself steady, coming up with ridiculous lines.

  They do not see the height of Mount Tai, Silas Sirius thought, barely keeping a straight face. yet they are aware of it.

  The doors opened before he even reached them.

  Inside, the lounge was everything he had expected and more. Crystal chandeliers that cost more than most people’s houses. Velvet couches arranged like thrones. Women in dresses that whispered money and men in suits that screamed insecurity.

  The air smelled of aged whiskey, expensive perfume, and fragile egos.

  Every head turned.

  Silas walked the lavish carpet like he owned the concept of ownership itself. The fur coat shifted with every step, heavy and alive. The beard framed a jaw that looked carved by someone who had never heard the word “no.” The sunglasses caught the light and threw it back like a warning.

  A group at the pool table went still.

  He picked up a cue like it was an extension of destiny, and tried not to cringe too much.

  You could hear the holy orchestral music play out from his body. Probably through a speaker in his pocket, but who knows..?

  “Shall I join you, gentlemen?”

  “Y-Yes, sir!”

  The first shot was poetry. The second was prophecy.

  Every ball sank with the quiet certainty of fate itself.

  One player whispered, voice trembling with awe, “This skill.. a venerable master of cue striking…”

  Silas almost choked on his own spit. He quickly turned it into a charismatic cough and lined up the next shot, forcing the most dramatic line he could remember from a five-second Gooseball search on the train.

  “From the summit of the peaks, one strike shatters the chains of fate. The cue in this humble hand carries the will of the eternal dao. Watch closely, juniors, this single strike contains the truth of ten thousand cycles.”

  The cue struck. Balls scattered like frightened disciples. Every single one dropped into pockets with perfect obedience.

  The table erupted in hushed reverence.

  “This junior dares not compete…”

  “Venerable Senior, your skill transcends mortal limits!”

  Silas had to bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood, just to keep from buckling over. Ever so slightly maintaining his composure, This is going way too well.

  Silas moved to the poker table next, coat swirling dramatically. He sat with the grace of someone who had just descended from the immortal realm and entered the con-enterprise

  Cards were dealt, slowly and cautiously, the first rounded ended in small nervous chuckles and way too many exchanging glances. Silas on the other hand was getting brain fog.. or improv ideas, It wasn't too different now.

  Then Silas pushed his entire stack forward in one smooth motion, This part never gets old, he thought.

  “All in.”

  He was almost shivering trying to hold back, but all it did was add to the ominousness. Maybe if it wasn't pitch black in here they'd call him out.

  The table went dead silent. Nat 20.

  Silas finally tried to ease the room, leaned back, took a slow sip of the ridiculously expensive whiskey, and let the moment breathe.

  The cigar he wasn’t actually smoking somehow made the air all hazy around his face.

  “Let me ask you all this, then,” He said, voice low and carrying, mashing up everything that sounded profound enough, “What is the true path you walk in this fleeting realm of dust and illusion? Out of the world there are those who command the dao… and those who are commanded by it."

  He tapped the table once more.

  “So tell me… where do you disciples think you all stand upon this path?”

  The room was so quiet you could hear the ice melting in someone’s glass.

  Silas Sirius leaned forward one last time, delivering the mortal blow to both their bank accounts and this Live-Action-Role-Play.

  “To be precise… this is a wager. A wager with the skies."

  He spread his hands, waving around to the people on the table with exaggerated flair, as if he had already collected the sums.

  “Those who wish to turn away from the immortal path, leave the table now. Those who seek to ascend beyond the mortal coil… go all in. If you dare.”

  No one moved for a few seconds, then, decisively.

  Gulp.

  "We must not court death...!!"

  Silas stepped out of the lounge twenty minutes later with both duffel bags significantly heavier and a fortune in untraceable credits.

  He allowed himself one slow, satisfied breath.

  Then he walked straight into the nearest bathroom, locked the door, and puked his guts out, seconds away from passing out.

  “Fuck,” he wheezed between coughs, beard half hanging off, “It takes so much to do all that.”

  His head was slowly throbbing, ears filled with a ring,

  He rinsed his mouth, and straightened the wigs, looking at himself in the mirror.

  Breath heavy, dirtied reflection, and just a stupidly smug look on his face.

  Maybe I overdid it?