Chapter 23: Jester

Ray walked through the bustling market, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. The air was thick with the scent of spices, fresh bread, and burning wood. Merchants called out their wares, voices overlapping in a chaotic symphony of salesmanship.

Despite the abundance of goods, jewelry, fabrics, dried meats, exotic herbs, trinkets from foreign lands,one thing was missing.

"Sword? No, that'd be too eye catching. Another dagger, maybe... but they're not that durable. I don't have much money on me anyway."

Ray sighed, his breath misting in the cool air.

"I can decide on weapons later. For now, where the hell are the weapon merchants?"

His eyes flicked across the marketplace as he continued walking, his boots making soft taps against the uneven cobblestone.

Then, something caught his gaze.

Beyond the market, looming over the city, stood the royal palace of Frhrosien.

The colossal structure was encircled by a massive, hollow ravine, a sheer drop plunging into an abyss of shadows. Four giant bridges stretched across the ravine, the only passage leading to the castle's gates.

The palace itself was forged from pure metal, its reflective surface gleaming under the overcast sky. At its peak, a giant clock loomed, its hands ticking steadily, marking the passage of time like a heartbeat of the kingdom.

Ray muttered under his breath, his gaze lingering on the towering fortress.

"This is Frhrosien… the kingdom of ravines and silver."

He turned his attention back to the market, still searching for any sign of a weapon merchant.

Then—

A sudden touch. His instincts kicked in. In one swift motion, Ray's hand shot out, gripping a wrist. The figure stiffened—

A pickpocket.

They were cloaked in an old, tattered orange mantle, the fabric frayed at the edges. Despite the disguise, a pastel shade of light blue hair peeked out from beneath the hood.

Before Ray could react further, the figure moved fast—reaching for a small pocket knife.

They aimed for his ribs, But Ray was faster. He caught both of their wrists, fingers tightening like an iron vice.

A sharp, shaky gasp escaped the cloaked figure—a woman.

"So, it's a woman."

For a moment, their gazes locked. Then, The woman abruptly stabbed the ground with her leg.

A sudden burst of smoke exploded into the air, thick and suffocating. The world blurred, vision clouded by the billowing gray mist.

Ray gritted his teeth, his grip loosening for just a second,

That second was all she needed. By the time the smoke began to clear, she was gone.

The only thing left behind was the discarded orange cloak, abandoned on the cobblestone like a shed skin.

People around him murmured in confusion, some stepping closer, others gasping in surprise. Their eyes darted between the cloak and Ray, curiosity and suspicion flickering in their expressions.

Ray didn't stick around. Before anyone could question him, he melted into the remaining smoke, disappearing into the crowd. Once he was at a safe distance, he patted his pockets.

"Empty."

His money was gone. Ray exhaled slowly, pulling his coat's hood over his head.

"Silver-blue hair. A woman. Natural-colored nails....."

With that, he turned away, blending into the sea of people.

——————————————————

Ray was heading back to his class when a figure suddenly stepped into his path and extended a black rose toward him.

He stopped, his gaze lifting to meet the stranger.

A jester.

The figure was draped in a dual-colored harlequin outfit, one side deep red, the other dark silver. A jester's hat of matching colors drooped slightly, its tips adorned with tiny, silent bells. A stark white mask covered their face, twisted into a permanent, unsettling grin. Red, tear-like streaks ran from the eye sockets, giving the illusion of endless weeping. Beneath the mask, messy black hair peeked out, unkempt and wild.

Their long, claw-like fingers, covered in gloves that faded from black to crimson, gripped the black rose delicately, offering it to him like a solemn gift.

"You seem anxious."

The jester spoke, their voice smooth yet laced with an eerie playfulness. Ray glanced at the rose, then back at the jester.

"Don't worry."

He muttered, brushing past them. But, the jester took a step forward, blocking his path again.

"Dear traveler, would you like to play some games with me?"

Ray barely paused.

"Negative."

He turned and continued walking. The jester didn't follow but instead let out a long, exaggerated sigh.

"I won't take much of your time,"

They coaxed.

"Nor would I charge you a sum."

Ray waved a hand dismissively.

"Same answer."

For the first time, the grin on the jester's mask shifted. The corners of the painted smile drooped into a sorrowful curve. Then, the voice softened, almost a whisper—

"I could tell you about your past."

Ray froze mid-step, Slowly, he turned back. His eyes locked onto the jester's mask.

The jester tilted their head, their clawed fingers lifting once more—this time pointing toward a nearby tent.

Ray hesitated. His instincts told him to walk away, but something about the jester's words gnawed at him. Without another word, he stepped inside the tent.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of something strange—something floral yet faintly decayed.

Black roses filled the space. Some were planted, others bundled into bouquets, while petals lay scattered across the wooden floor. The dim glow of a single lantern cast long, stretching shadows against the fabric walls.

In the center of the tent stood a round wooden table with two chairs.

"Here, please."

The jester gestured for Ray to sit, then took the opposite chair. They rummaged through the drawers of the table, searching for something unseen.

"You mentioned my past."

Ray reminded, his patience thin. The jester's hands paused.

"I will tell you… but first, you must pay me."

Ray's eyes narrowed. He immediately stood up, turning to leave.

"I don't have money."

But the jester chuckled, the eerie grin on their mask flickering under the dim lantern light.

"Who said anything about money?"

The playful tone vanished. The air grew heavier.

"You will pay me…"

The grin on the mask widened unnaturally.

"…by playing some games."

With a flourish, the jester pulled out an array of board games, letting them spill across the table. Ludo, chess, cards, Connect Four, and more.

Ray exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping against his forearm. He scanned the choices.

"Cards."

The jester brushed the other games aside carelessly, their mask seemingly distorting into something more sinister, though Ray knew it was just a trick of the light

The game begins.

Ray played cautiously, his focus unwavering. The jester, however, played effortlessly, moving with an unsettling rhythm, as if they already knew what was coming.

Each time Ray thought he had the upper hand, the jester countered with ease. Their fingers danced over the cards, their masked gaze never leaving Ray.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the jester laid down their final hand.

A royal flush.

Ray clicked his tongue, setting his cards down.

"You win."

He crossed his arms.

"Now, about my past."

The jester didn't answer immediately. Instead, they stared at Ray for an uncomfortably long time.

Then, without a word, they crouched down, picked up a single card from the floor, and handed it to him.

A Joker.

Silence stretched between them. Then—

"It seems…"

The jester finally spoke, voice devoid of its previous playfulness.

"…you don't have a past."

Ray's grip on the card tightened slightly, but he said nothing. With a sigh, the jester shrugged dramatically.

"Oho What a shame."

Ray exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

"Waste of time."

He turned to leave the tent without another word. Outside, the market's noise welcomed him back, the world moving as if nothing had changed.

But behind him, deep within the tent, the jester remained motionless, their masked face pointed toward the exit.

Then, in a voice just above a whisper—

"Just as prayed, Quazar Ray."

The smile on their mask widened once more.