Mentor Of Deceit

Jest, Saint "Not So Funny Anymore," stepped out of the oppressive halls, his cane tapping lightly against the cold stone floor. His name had always seemed like a joke—something amusing, a little ridiculous. But those who truly knew him understood the reality behind the facade. Jest was a monster, the King's executioner, the harbinger of silent deaths wrapped in laughter and mischief. Isn't it funny? The ones who had seen his work up close? They never laughed again.

He adjusted the cuffs of his expensive suit, the soft tap, tap of his cane against the ground keeping time with his steps. The True Bastion loomed around him, a grim monument of steel and stone, oppressive and unyielding. He shook his head, lips quirking up in a thoughtful smirk. Hmm… what kind of joke should I tell next? Something grand… something so devastatingly funny it might just kill someone on the spot.

He threw his head back in laughter at his own morbid thought—but his private amusement was cut short. A shadow blocked his path.

Vermilion eyes, deep and piercing, locked onto his own.

Jest tilted his head, letting his signature smile—harmless, charming—slide onto his face. He leaned on his cane, eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Oh my, what do we have here? Our little Morgan?"

Morgan sighed. Gods, this man was insufferable. His jokes, his riddles, his entire existence was exhausting. How could someone be this positive in a place like Dream Realm? Worse, he never took anything seriously—or maybe he took everything too seriously and just wore his humor like a mask. Either way, he had to be mentally ill.

"I want to ask you something," she said, arms crossed.

Jest raised a brow, his smirk widening. "Oh? And what could possibly pique the curiosity of our little princess?"

They walked together toward a towering structure—a pagoda-like spire reaching toward the sky. The air around it was thick with unseen pressure, the kind only found in the heart of Bastion. The tower was dark, but at the very top of it, a fiery glow escaped from the arching windows. It was as if a sea of vermilion flame was burning inside.

"What did you talk about?" she asked. "You, my uncle, and my father?"

For the briefest moment, Jest's expression darkened. He masked it quickly, replacing it with a lighthearted chuckle.

"Nothing of significance."

Morgan stopped walking. Her voice turned sharp. "Speak."

Jest let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing his temple as if dealing with a particularly troublesome child. Why were young people always like this? Couldn't they just obey their elders for once?

He lingered for a moment, then finally spoke, his tone still light, but with something bitter curling underneath.

"Hmm… There was once a boy," he said. "The brightest of them all. Diligent. Hardworking. Tenacious. Obedient. A perfect son—every parent's dream."

Morgan gave him a skeptical look, then realization flickered in her eyes. Her lips curled into a small smirk. That wasn't perfect child. He had autism. Since all he knew about was dream realm and fight... That's all he did. restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior and interests. Just mentally ill monster.

"So you were talking about him," she mused, trying to hide her uneasiness with mockery. "A dead man?

Jest's smile turned sharp.

"A dead man?" he repeated, voice laced with amusement. "That 'dead man' is the reason for everything. The reason countless have died. The reason chaos spreads like wildfire. The reason war was waged back then and the reason war will come again." His eyes gleamed with something unreadable. "The war that will decide the fate of humankind itself."

Morgan inhaled sharply. The cold air stung her lungs. She turned her gaze toward the dark lake below, its surface like a sheet of glass reflecting Bastion's towering structures.

"Explain, then," she said, her voice steady. "I will be leading our armies when the time comes. If this concerns the future of Clan, then I am more than qualified to know."

Jest chuckled, giving her an appraising look. Then his humor vanished, replaced by something ancient—something merciless.

"Perhaps," he admitted. "I'd rather not see you die, my dear. Trust me, I've lost far too many people already." His voice dropped to something almost gentle. "So I'll tell you. But never speak of this to anyone."

Morgan nodded. "Fine."

Jest exhaled, then began, his voice shifting into the cadence of an old storyteller weaving a grand tale.

"You know of the firstborn child of Broken Sword and Smile of Heaven," he said. "You met him once, correct?"

Morgan didn't answer immediately. Her mind drifted back, memories surfacing like ghosts from deep waters.

She remembered the day her older brother returned to Bastion after conquering his First Nightmare. He had been just a child, barely ten or eleven. She had been happy at first—until she saw him. Until she felt what lurked beneath his skin.

The eerie boy, Mordret, had taught her fear. But even he paled in comparison to another.

Morgan's fingers twitched. She pushed the memory away and looked at Jest with something unreadable in her eyes.

"I remember," she said flatly.

Jest's expression did not change, but there was something knowing in the way he watched her.

"Then you already understand," he said. "Nephis wasn't the true heir of Immortal Flame. She was never meant to be. Compared to that abomination's deeds, she is nothing. She has no idea what true horror is."

Morgan felt her heartbeat slow.

"Firstborn child of Broken Sword and Smile of Heaven.

Changing Star's older brother.

The true heir of the Immortal Flame Clan.

Icarus.

The Morning and Evening Star."

Morgan exhaled sharply, shaking off the heavy weight of her memories. Her voice came out quiet, detached.

"We don't know if he's dead or alive," she said. "We don't know where he is, what he's doing. If he's a Master or even a Saint now. We know nothing. It's like he erased himself from the world."

Jest tapped his cane against the stone floor.

"Perhaps he did," he said softly. Then, almost absently, he added, "Or perhaps… he's just waiting... Or he's truly dead..."

Morgan said nothing. But she could feel it now—hanging over them like an unspoken omen.

Jest remained silent, his grip tightening around his cane. Icarus...

That boy. That anomaly. That walking Miracle... Maybe curse.

Before his first Nightmare, he had been diligent, hardworking—a remarkable child. Even if his discipline stemmed from mental illness, did it really matter?

A ten-year-old clearing his first Nightmare... He and Mordret were the youngest Awakened in history. The most outstanding. The most terrifying.

But after that first Nightmare, after gaining his Flaw—everything changed. It was a drastic shift, truly. People with autism often struggled with emotions, got lost in them, confused. But it was as if the Nightmare had stripped that part of him away. The fog clouding his mind lifted, and his once-muted emotions became clear.

And perhaps, in that clarity, he finally understood the weight of his sins.

Imagine being a killing machine—knowing nothing but how to take a life and thinking it was normal. Then, one day, your mind clears. And with it comes guilt. Regret. Suffering. Madness. The price of his sins.

A cruel fate for a ten-year-old boy.

But then again, that's what Flaws were. They took something vital, something dear, and left you crippled in one way or another.

For Icarus, it had taken his ignorance and give him understanding.

And after that... emotions overwhelmed him. He felt too much, too strongly—so much that it nearly drowned him in irrationality and madness. But he adapted. He twisted it to his advantage. He became something worse.

More terrifying. More ruthless. More vicious.

And above all... unpredictable.

A man who could scheme for years, only to abandon everything on a whim.

Who could understand someone like that?

Morgan sighed, her posture tense despite the lack of enemies around. She was still clad in full armor, always prepared—true to her title as the Princess of War.

She turned to Jest, her expression dark.

"From what I've heard... even if he's alive, he can still be dealt with. Wasn't the deal he made with us proof of that?" Her voice lowered, her gaze narrowing. "Now that I think about it... what was that deal? No one ever told me."

Jest chuckled, an amused glint in his eye.

"Ahh... of course, a deal." He leaned back, considering his words. "Well... you'll understand it better if I start from the beginning."

He let the silence stretch before speaking again, voice smooth yet heavy.

"First, Icarus didn't just make a deal with us—he made a deal with Dreamspawn and Song as well. And then he killed his father."

Morgan stiffened. Jest smirked, enjoying the reaction.

"It wasn't your father, Song, or Dreamspawn who killed Broken Sword. It was Icarus. Of course, the man was already half-dead when it happened, but does that really matter?" Jest's eyes gleamed with something cruel. "He still struck the final blow. A mere Awakened, killing a Supreme. That's why I said he was the root of everything."

Morgan's hands clenched into fists, but Jest continued.

"In exchange, he demanded knowledge of runic sorcery and ancient records from us. From Song, he wanted wealth—materials, soul shards, rare resources." Jest tilted his head. "But from Dreamspawn? No one knew what he demanded."

Morgan exhaled sharply, her discomfort growing. She hesitated, then asked, "Do you know now?"

Jest's smirk faded, replaced by something darker.

"We figured it out."

Silence. Then he went on.

"Not long after, Dreamspawn disappeared. Only the Sovereigns, your father and Ki Song, knew where he went. And, of course, Icarus. What I do know is that the place is dangerous—so dangerous that even a monstrous being like Dreamspawn fears it.

We saw an opportunity. Dreamspawn was gone, his defenses weakened. So we moved to wipe out his followers."

Jest grinned then—sharp and merciless.

"And guess what? Icarus appeared again. He betrayed Dreamspawn and offered us and Song another deal.

He handed us the locations of Dreamspawn's followers on a silver platter, allowing us to slaughter them with ease. In doing so, we tore apart Dreamspawn's domain and stripped him of his power, trapping him in that hellhole."

Morgan swallowed hard.

She understood now.

Why Jest had said Icarus was the root of it all.

How insidious. How utterly monstrous.

Jest continued, his smile tinged with bitterness.

"But that wasn't the end. Dreamspawn still had power, still had influence. We should have broken him completely, yet somehow, his domain survived.

That's when we realized the truth."

Morgan felt ice crawl up her spine.

"Icarus had betrayed us, too."

Jest chuckled, but there was no humor in it.

"He knew that once he was no longer useful, we would kill him. Him and Nephis both. And with that, Immortal Flame would be finished.

So he made sure that couldn't happen.

He kept some of Dreamspawn's followers alive, hiding them away. Just enough to preserve a fragment of Dreamspawn's domain—enough to keep him weak, but not powerless.

Even when Dreamspawn realized Icarus had played him, he had no choice but to obey him.

If he wanted the Sun God's Lineage, if he wanted Nephis—he had to protect her. Just as Icarus had intended."

Morgan could barely breathe.

She hated to admit it, but Icarus… he had won the game.

Completely.

"So what did he get from the second deal?" she asked, already dreading the answer.

Jest let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

"Soul shards. Materials of immense value. Mystical ores. Memories, echoes—more than we could count. And only after he was long gone did we realize he had played both sides.

He had taken everything from us, from Song, from Dreamspawn. And in the end, we couldn't even touch Nephis because Dreamspawn was still strong enough to protect her.

It was checkmate. And we were deceived."

Morgan's legs felt weak.

It was terrifying.

That one boy—one cunning, deceitful, ruthless boy—had outmaneuvered them all.

She exhaled, forcing her thoughts back into order.

"But we did kill him," she muttered. "Didn't we?"

Jest was silent.

When he finally spoke, his voice was cold.

"We sent assassins after him. They returned saying the mission was successful. I saw the corpse myself.

And yet…"

Morgan stared at him, heart pounding.

Jest's hand tightened around his cane.

"When I visited the site of his death, I saw something.

On the cliff, painted in blood—"

His voice dropped to a whisper.

"A Joker card. A sinister clown, laughing at me."

Morgan's blood ran cold.

She swallowed. Hard. Then, hesitantly, she asked,

"What does that mean?"

Jest's expression darkened. All traces of amusement vanished, replaced by something raw, something bloodthirsty.

"Joker represents nothing."

The air around them seemed to turn heavy.

"And because it is nothing… it can become everything."

He smiled then, slow and razor-sharp.

"And thus—the Joker is undefeated and indestructible."