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Caelan woke naturally, his body's internal rhythm perfectly synchronized with the morning sun. No alarm, no urgent knocking, no crisis demanding his immediate attention—just the gentle transition from sleep to wakefulness that came from a truly restful night.
He stretched luxuriously, feeling his spine pop in several satisfying places, then swung his legs out of bed and padded across the room to the window. The wooden shutters opened smoothly, revealing a quiet garden courtyard below. Dew clung to every surface, turning spider webs into strings of diamonds and making the carefully manicured hedges glisten in the early light. A few birds were already awake, hopping between branches and calling to each other in cheerful morning conversation.
For the past two nights, the three of them had specifically requested rooms that didn't face the main street. It cost an extra ten silver marks per room—a not insignificant expense—but Caelan considered it the single best investment of the entire trip. The luxury of sleeping until his body naturally woke up, without the constant rumble of cart wheels and merchant shouts filtering through the walls, was worth every copper bit and then some.
He took his time getting dressed, enjoying the peaceful morning routine. By the time he made it down to the hotel's common room for breakfast, the sun had fully risen, painting the world in warm golden light.
Cassius and Victor emerged shortly after, and Caelan immediately bit back a laugh.
They looked absolutely terrible.
Both of them moved with the sluggish, uncertain gait of the deeply sleep-deprived. Dark circles hung under their eyes like bruises, their skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor, and their usual energy seemed to have been completely drained away. Victor's normally immaculate hair stuck up at odd angles, and Cassius kept blinking slowly, as if his eyelids were having trouble remembering their purpose.
They looked, in short, like wilted stalks of grain left out in the sun too long.
"What in the world is wrong with you two?" Caelan asked as they trudged toward the exit after a silent, mechanical breakfast. He was grinning despite himself. "You look like drowned chickens. Or maybe chickens caught in the rain and then stepped on by a horse."
"I didn't sleep," Cassius admitted, his voice hoarse and sheepish. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "I spent the entire night lying in bed simulating Ken's move-sets in my head. Every combo string, every frame trap, every possible counter to Victor's strategies. I'd close my eyes and just... see the game playing out. Couldn't turn it off."
"Same," Victor groaned, practically draping himself across Caelan's shoulder for support as they walked. His weight was considerable, but Caelan bore it with the patience of long friendship. "I kept calculating how to land that Spinning Bird Kick on Cassius. The timing, the spacing, the way he always blocks low. It played on loop in my head for hours." He lifted his head just enough to fix Caelan with bloodshot but intensely serious eyes. "Caelan. Listen to me. You need to release this game the absolute second we get back to Crimson Port. I'm not joking. This is a matter of life and death."
"Your life and death, maybe," Caelan said, but he was already nodding. "I'll start the preparations immediately once we're back. The testing is done, the balance is acceptable, and clearly there's demand for it." He glanced at his two friends' haggard faces. "Insane, sleep-destroying demand, apparently."
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes, navigating through the morning streets of Capital City. The temperature was pleasant, and early merchants were just beginning to set up their stalls, calling out greetings to regular customers.
Victor broke the quiet, his voice dropping to something almost reverent. "By the way... did you notice the music? Like, really notice it?"
Caelan glanced at him. "What do you mean?"
"It's hauntingly beautiful," Victor said, and there was genuine emotion in his tired voice. "Each track just... stays with you. I can still hear Chun-Li's theme in my head right now. That upbeat melody, the way it builds and flows. It's incredible."
"I was thinking the exact same thing," Cassius added, suddenly more alert despite his exhaustion. His analytical mind was clearly engaged now, pushing past the fog of sleeplessness. "Every single character has a completely unique theme that somehow captures their personality and fighting style perfectly. The compositions are complex, layered, orchestral in places." He turned to look at Caelan directly. "Did you compose those yourself? Because I've never heard that style of instrumentation anywhere in the Moonwatch Empire. Or any empire, for that matter."
"I noticed the music in your earlier games too," Victor pressed on, clearly having given this considerable thought during his sleepless night. "But those tunes were simpler—catchy, memorable, but straightforward. These new tracks for Street Fighter are on another level entirely. They're fully orchestrated, with multiple instruments playing in harmony, dynamic tempo changes, emotional depth. Are they your own creation?"
Caelan waved his hands in immediate, emphatic denial. "Of course not! Are you kidding? I can't even read a sheet of music. I wouldn't know a treble clef from a hole in the ground. How could I possibly compose something like that?"
His vehement response made both cousins stop walking.
"Then where did it come from?" Cassius asked slowly, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and suspicion in equal measure.
This was the moment. Caelan had known this conversation was inevitable—he'd actually prepared for it weeks ago, crafting the perfect cover story for all the anomalies in his work. The impossible game mechanics, the advanced design philosophy, the unfamiliar art style, the complex musical compositions that shouldn't exist in this world.
He adopted what he hoped was a profound, mysterious expression—the kind of look a true master might wear when revealing ancient secrets.
"They were created with the help of composers from other planes," he said solemnly.
There was a beat of absolute silence.
Then both Victor and Cassius shouted in perfect, startled unison: "AH?! Other planes?!"
Their voices echoed off the surrounding buildings, drawing curious looks from nearby merchants. Caelan nodded gravely, maintaining his mysterious sage persona.
But when he looked at their faces, his confidence wavered. Both of them were squinting at him with identical expressions of deep, profound skepticism. It was the look you'd give someone claiming they'd personally met the Emperor's pet dragon.
"What?" Caelan said defensively, his mysterious aura evaporating. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"What do you think?" Victor asked, his tone completely flat and unimpressed.
Cassius crossed his arms. "An Eighth Circle mage can barely maintain a stable connection to another plane of existence. The mental strain alone would kill most Seventh Circle practitioners. Your official strength evaluation..." He paused meaningfully. "Isn't it only First Circle?"
Caelan straightened up, putting his hands on his hips indignantly. "You're both seriously ill-informed! For your information, my mentor already promoted me to Second Circle status!"
"Oh," Victor said, his expression unchanged.
"And?" Cassius added, equally unimpressed.
"And you're looking at the sky from the bottom of a well!" Caelan huffed, gesturing dramatically. "Why is it so hard to believe that a powerful being from another plane might have found me interesting enough to contact? Maybe I'm special! Did you ever think of that?"
"Cross-plane communication requires massive reserves of mental energy," Cassius countered, slipping into his logical, analytical mode. "Even with external help, the psychic strain on the receiver is enormous. Your brain should have melted under that kind of pressure. At minimum, you should be suffering from severe headaches, nosebleeds, maybe even seizures."
"That's where you're both wrong," Caelan said triumphantly, seeing his opening. "You're forgetting something crucial. Besides mana reserves and mental energy, we Illusionists have access to a special sanctuary that other magic schools don't possess: the Mind Palace."
Victor blinked. "Mind Palace?"
"Yes." Caelan warmed to his topic, grateful to be on more solid theoretical ground. "An Illusionist's Mind Palace is a mental construct of almost limitless capacity. It's not just simple memory—it's a perfect recreation of every experience we've ever had. We can store every person we've ever seen, every sound we've ever heard, every conversation, every sensation. I can retrieve memories with perfect clarity that you've long since forgotten. I remember sounds from the day I was born, Victor. The timbre of my mother's voice when she first held me. The specific creaking sound the midwife's shoes made on the floorboards."
He was on a roll now, gesturing enthusiastically. "Why do you think I get full marks on every literature examination? It's not because I'm particularly insightful about poetry. It's because I can recall every single word of every text we've ever studied with perfect accuracy. I don't memorize—I just access the memory of reading it."
Cassius had gone very quiet, his expression shifting from skepticism to something more serious. After a long moment, he spoke carefully.
"Caelan... I know about the Mind Palace. Every educated person learns about Illusionist capabilities in school." He paused, choosing his words with obvious care. "But I need to warn you about something: the historical records of Illusionists don't support what you're claiming. Their capacity isn't limitless, or anywhere close to it. And their performance—even the most talented ones—is nowhere near yours."
Caelan felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean?"
"Since you released Chinese Chess and those first games," Cassius said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more concerned, "my aunt, the Academy Deans, several high-ranking officials in the Ministry of Magic—they've all been watching you. Closely. Very closely."
"What?" Caelan's stomach dropped.
"They've combed through every historical record of the Illusion School they could find," Cassius continued. "Consulted with experts. There's even a mentor at Crimson Academy who has Illusionary talent herself—she confirmed that while the Mind Palace is indeed a powerful storage tool, it has strict boundaries. Limits. Every Illusionist hits a capacity wall eventually."
Victor stepped in, his usual playfulness completely absent. "And your engraving speed is abnormal, Caelan. We've been watching you work. We know Illusion magic doesn't cause the same kind of physical backlash as other schools, but you're operating at speeds that shouldn't be possible. You work like a printing press—fast, consistent, never tiring. It's too much, too fast. It raises questions."
Caelan's mind was racing. He hadn't realized he was under such intense scrutiny. The implications were... concerning. Very concerning.
"Perhaps," he said slowly, trying to keep his voice steady, "my Mind Palace is some kind of mutation? A rare variation that only appears in exceptionally talented Illusionists?"
"That's one theory," Cassius acknowledged. His expression softened slightly, becoming more reassuring. "There's another explanation that's actually more likely, and it's not necessarily dangerous for you."
"What is it?"
"Your Ten-Star talent." Cassius spread his hands. "There have only been a few dozen Ten-Star Illusionists recorded throughout all of history. And here's the key detail: none of them—not a single one—left detailed descriptions of their internal mental structures or the true extent of their capabilities. Maybe because they were too rare, maybe because they died young, maybe because they kept it secret. But the point is, we have no baseline for what a Ten-Star Illusionist should be capable of."
Victor nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly! You could be operating at a completely normal level for someone with your talent grade. We just don't have any reference point to compare you to. Maybe all Ten-Star Illusionists could do what you're doing."
Or maybe, Caelan thought silently, it's because my soul was shredded and reconstructed during transmigration, and I'm carrying memories and knowledge from an entirely different world. Maybe I'm not following the rules because I was never meant to be here in the first place.
But he kept that particular theory to himself.
Fortunately, they'd reached the teleportation plaza, and the change in location naturally shifted the conversation away from dangerous territory. The massive magical array dominated the square, its intricate patterns glowing faintly as mages prepared for the next activation.
Victor's energy seemed to return somewhat as they joined the queue, his exhaustion temporarily forgotten in favor of curiosity. "So," he said, his eyes gleaming with that familiar excitement, "who are the four locked characters? Come on, give us a hint. I'm dying to know."
Caelan smiled, grateful for the safer topic. "They're the villains of the story. The antagonists. And except for one of them, they're mostly rotten to the core."
"Who's the exception?" Victor pressed immediately. "How do you become a villain if you aren't actually evil? That seems contradictory."
"He's more... obsessed than evil," Caelan explained, picturing Sagat's scarred chest and bitter determination. "His name is Sagat. He met Ryu in the finals of a major tournament once, years ago, and lost. Ryu caught him with a Dragon Uppercut at the last second—left a massive scar across his chest. The humiliation of that defeat consumed him completely. He became blind to everything else, focused only on revenge. When the final boss, Bison, promised him the power to get his revenge on Ryu, Sagat joined his organization. He's not evil, really. Just a man who let anger and wounded pride twist him into something he wasn't meant to be."
"Tragic," Cassius murmured. Then his expression turned slightly amused. "And what about the plot itself? What's the big threat?"
"The usual formula," Caelan admitted with a shrug. "A powerful, ambitious man gains access to dark, corrupting energy and decides he wants to rule the world. Classic villain motivation."
Cassius actually laughed out loud at that. "How wonderfully clichéd! Shredder from Fierce Tortoise Warriors wants to rule the world too. Does everyone in these 'other planes' of yours share the same hobby? Is world domination just the default goal for anyone with power?"
"Hey now," Victor interjected, coming to Caelan's defense. "People genuinely love a villain who wants to conquer the world. Those are always the best-selling novels! The bookstores are full of them. It's a classic trope for a very good reason—it works. Readers eat it up every time."
Caelan spread his hands in a 'what can you do?' gesture. "He's absolutely right. Sometimes the classics are classic because they're effective."
They were getting close to the front of the teleportation queue now. Cassius's gaze turned thoughtful, pensive in a way that suggested he was building up to something significant.
"By the way," he said slowly, "I've been thinking about this for a while. The plots of Super Mario, Salamander, and Squirrel War are... well, they're wild. Completely unlike anything in our traditional storytelling. A princess kidnapped by a dragon-turtle hybrid. Alien invasions. Squirrels fighting an army of darkness." He fixed Caelan with an intent stare. "Are those also from...?"
"Yes," Caelan said without hesitation, meeting his friend's eyes directly. The lie came easily now, smooth and practiced. "All provided by beings from other planes. Real events that actually happened in their worlds. Every single story I've told through my games comes from somewhere else, somewhere real. I'm just the translator, bringing their experiences to life in our world through the medium of games."
The teleportation array flared to life before them, brilliant light washing over everything and ending the conversation. But as they stepped into the magical circle, Caelan couldn't help but think about the truth hidden beneath his careful lies.
He wasn't translating stories from other planes.
He was remembering games from another life.