Xavren stared at the coin—the weeping sun—until his eyes burned, then he shoved it deep into his pocket alongside the heavy silver. He couldn't keep dwelling on it, not while the air in the cellar felt like it was growing thinner, charged with that same violet static. He had to keep moving, to keep the money flowing, or the silence of this basement would swallow him whole.The market in the city of Oakhaven was a cacophony of shouting vendors and the smell of roasting meat. Xavren kept his head low, his hand clamped firmly over the pouch in his pocket. He needed supplies—not for his own belly, but for the next trip. If the merchant in the other world valued grain, what would he pay for metal tools? Or spices?He stepped up to a small, cluttered stall draped in velvet, hoping to exchange a few silver coins for a bundle of high-quality iron nails."A silver coin for a bag of nails?" The shopkeeper, a spindly man with eyes like glass beads, squinted at the currency. "This coin isn't from

The air in the golden-spire city tasted of ozone and expensive perfume. Xavren stood near the base of a towering statue, clutching the humming sensor in his palm. It was a lighthouse, and he was the ship, blindly signaling his location to a storm he didn't yet understand."Just one more," he muttered to the wind, his voice thin. "Just enough to disappear forever."He didn't head back to the alley. Instead, he ducked into a bustling trade hub, his boots echoing against tiles of polished marble. He needed a system. He couldn't keep jumping blindly. He had to build a circuit.*Three weeks later, the basement in World A—his base—looked more like a laboratory than a cellar. Crates were stacked in precise grids, labeled with strange, non-repeating symbols. He had established three distinct ‘nodes’ across three worlds. One for raw metal, one for textiles, and one for the strange, pulsing crystals that were becoming his primary currency."Too much," Xavren whispered, wiping grease from his f

The warehouse shook with the force of an earthquake, the impact of heavy boots vibrating through the floorboards like a death knell. Xavren didn’t wait for the doors to fly open. He grabbed his satchel, his fingers brushing against a jagged shard of obsidian, and sprinted toward the back corner where the air rippled like a heat haze over a desert road."Xavren! Don't you dare leave me here!"Zorvik Keld, a man who had only moments ago been helping Xavren move crates of illicit star-silk, was scrambling after him, his face pale with raw terror."Keep up, Zorvik!" Xavren barked, his voice straining against the roar of splintering wood behind them. "If you don't step through when I do, you're going to be facing those contractors alone!""Contractors? You didn't say anything about private military, you madman!" Zorvik wheezed, stumbling over a loose beam. "Is that why the air is turning violet? Is that your doing?""It’s not doing, it’s surviving!" Xavren shouted. He reached the tear, the

The silence that followed the blast was absolute, a ringing void that made Xavren’s ears ache. He hit the cold, polished floor of the Ministry archives with a thud, his lungs burning with the metallic tang of ozone. The room was dark, lined with rows of towering stone cabinets that hummed with a low, unnatural vibration. He was inside the lion’s den, but he felt more like a wounded animal crawling into a butcher’s shop.He scrambled to his feet, checking his arm. The glowing veins were pulsing rhythmically, a sickly, bioluminescent violet. He clutched his satchel, his fingers brushing the last of his unstable crystals."You really made a mess out there, didn't you?"Xavren spun around, his heart hammering against his ribs. Standing by the heavy oak desk at the center of the room was a man in an immaculate, slate-grey suit. Deyrik Dhal. He looked more like a scholar than a mastermind, his hair silvered at the temples and his hands folded neatly over a cane."Deyrik," Xavren wheezed, hi