(Commander Jackson's Office – Midday, inside a confidential military HQ)
The scent of cigar smoke curled through the room in lazy spirals, mixing with the distant echo of cheering fans from the giant screen mounted on the wall.
The Sky-God Arena's live broadcast played quietly, showing highlights from the latest Interstellar Circuits match.
As Commander Jackson sat reclined behind his desk, one leg crossed over the other with a tumbler of aged whiskey half-finished beside him.
He puffed slowly, savoring the cigar's taste, when a soft 'ding' interrupted his moment of peace.
The holographic monitor embedded in his desk lit up, projecting a confidential report in bold red lettering across the glass.
Subject: Leo Skyshard – Financial History Audit (Requested: High Priority)
Jackson raised an eyebrow. "Ah, finally. Let's see which faction within the Mu Clan is backing the boy," he muttered, tapping the screen to open the report.
At first, he scanned the first few lines of the report quickly, but then after a few seconds, he frowned, as he put the Cigar aside and sat up.
"…What?"
He tapped the screen again, enlarging the credit history section, as his brow furrowed deeper with each passing second.
The only reason he had requested an audit on the boys financial history was because, usually when the Mu Clan sent their spawns out into the universe without memories, they loaded their bank accounts with a lot of 0's.
It was supposed to be a challenge for them to find their bank account without their memories and when they did, they were rewarded with outrageous sums like 200-500,000 MP.
And while Leo's account was the same, with an outrageous balance of 920,000 MP to his name, the originator of that transaction wasn't the Mu Clan, but rather The Universal Department Of Interstellar Immigration and Transport.
"What?"
Jackson muttered again, as this made no sense to him.
The department of transport only paid out money to either its employees or passengers who had worked labor jobs during their journey across the universe aboard the department's ships, and even if Leo did either, it was impossible to earn 920,000 in a single payment.
People worked their entire lives for that kind of money, so it couldn't be that he just earned it either.
"Hmm…. I wanted to see which faction in the Mu Clan is backing him, by auditing his financial history
But this is not what I expected—" Jackson said, taking another puff from his cigar as he couldn't make heads or tails of this situation.
His eyes kept hovering over the line :-
Origin of Funds: Universal Government – Department of Interstellar Immigration and Transport.
As he couldn't help but shake his head in disappointment.
"Tanya, honey," he said, reaching out to the comma button on his desk.
"Find out who in the Department of Interstellar Immigration and Transportat authorized a 920,000 MP transaction to a man named Leo Skyshard. I don't care how buried the logs are—pull the chain of command. I want names. I want timestamps. And if there's a Mu Clan rat hiding in that department? I want them fired before sunset." He instructed, as "Yes, Commander" came a sweet feminine reply from the other end.
"Good—" Jackson said, leaning back again, as his gaze darkened.
"Has the universal government agencies been infiltrated by loyalists of the six big clans?" Jackson wondered, as he couldn't help but fear the six great clans implanting spies within every agency of the government.
"I'll definitely have to get to the bottom of this—" He concluded, as he did not enjoy the idea of there being great clan loyalists within the government at all.
—---------
(Meanwhile, inside a tavern on a distant planet)
A hooded man sat hunched at a bar table, his shoulders slumped and fingers trembling faintly—less from cold and more from the slow decay of hunger and exhaustion that had hollowed him out over the past few weeks.
"One beer… and some bread, please," he rasped, voice raw like gravel dragged across metal.
The bartender, a large orc with kind eyes and a soft heart, gave him a long look before nodding.
A few moments later, he returned with a foaming mug and two thick slices of warm, buttered bread— that were double the usual portion.
"You look like you'll faint any minute from hunger, friend," the orc said gently.
"Eat up. Take your time and let me know if you need more. No shame in asking," the orc offered kindly, as the man gave a silent nod before picking up a slice with unsteady hands.
*Nom*
The first bite was small, cautious.
But the moment the warm bread hit his tongue, a quiet sound involuntarily left his mouth that sounded something between a sigh and a sob.
"Agh…" he whispered in relief, as at that point the limited restraint that he seemed to have tethered onto seemed to vanish.
He tore through the meal in seconds, devouring the bread and draining the mug with a desperation that made it clear he hadn't had a real meal in days. Maybe even weeks.
And as he wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve, leaving some money on the counter to pay the orc, the kind bartender leaned in with an offer.
"If you need a room… or more food, I've got both. Free of charge, if you help me chop some wood out back with that sword you're carrying."
The orc offered, but the man only shook his head in response, offering a weak smile in return.
"I can't stay now. But… thank you for the offer," he said as he turned to leave.
However, as he moved toward the door, his eyes caught something familiar playing on the bar's old television screen.
It was the Sky-God Arena broadcast—replays from earlier in the day.
And the camera had zoomed in on a young man standing on the battlefield, his black hair tousled, daggers in hand, eyes cold and focused as the crowd screamed his name.
The hooded figure's breath caught in his throat as he stared at the screen.
At first, he took a step forward.
Then another.
"…Leo?"
The name slipped out before he could stop it, barely a whisper.
His legs moved on their own as he approached the screen, heart pounding.
The man on the broadcast—cutting through opponent after opponent with terrifying grace and calm precision was Leo.
His brother.
His little brother.
Alive.
Fighting.
Thriving.
His fingers reached out slowly, brushing against the edge of the screen like it might dissolve if he blinked.
His touch lingered on Leo's face, glowing faintly in the flicker of the transmission, as emotion surged in his chest—grief, relief, guilt, pride—all tangled together like a knot that had waited months to unravel.
He hadn't seen that face in so long.
And now, there it was… being broadcast across the stars for the entire universe to witness.
However, just as he began to savor the moment—
"Are you okay?" the orc bartender's voice came from behind, snapping him back to the present.
The man blinked.
The screen remained.
Leo's next opponent was already falling.
But the moment was over, as he turned away while pulling his hood a little lower.
"I'm fine," he replied, voice hollow once again, as without another word, he walked out of the tavern, not bothering to look back even once.
He couldn't afford to stay.
He was a wanted man with bounties and bloodhounds at his back, which made staying in one place for too long akin to willingly placing himself in chains.
But even as he stepped into the cold dusk air, even as he vanished down the alley with shadows clinging to his heels, a small smile crept onto his face for the first time in many weeks.
Leo was alive and thriving.
And somehow, that knowledge alone made the road ahead seem a little less lonely for Luke—because deep down, he felt assured that Leo would come looking for him and the others in the family soon.