Vale stood in a room he didn’t recognize.

The walls were pale ivory, lit by soft candlelight. A vintage bedroom, forgotten by time. Dust floated like gold in the air, and everything looked… still.

The air smelled like old books and lavender.

A music box played gently in the corner — a slow, echoing tune called "Rise of the Moon." Its delicate notes curled through the silence like perfume.

He turned.

There, on the antique bed, lay someone asleep.

A boy.

Mid-length hair as white as snowfall, lashes casting delicate shadows on skin as pale as milkglass. He looked carved from moonlight — too still, too beautiful to be human.

Then the moonlight shifted through the window, landing gently across the boy’s face. His lips parted slightly as he breathed, and for a moment —

he almost looked like he’d wake.

Who are you? Vale wanted to ask.

But before he could move—

Thud.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm screamed like a broken siren, dragging Vale from a dream that was already turning to smoke.

He groaned, tangled in his bedsheet like a moth in silk, eyes barely open.

“Vale!” his mother’s voice cut through the door, sharp and tired. “Go down the street and get something for breakfast. Eggs, bread. And don’t take long!”

The door didn’t open. It never did.

Vale sat up, rubbing sleep from his lashes. His room was small and full of shadows, the window smeared with gray light. His breath fogged the glass as he passed it.

Shoes on. Wallet. Hoodie.

He didn’t speak. Just left.

Outside, the air was thick and tasted like static. The city had that heavy morning buzz—dripping gutters, cars slicing through puddles, pigeons cooing like broken record players.

Squelch.

His foot sank into a water-filled crack in the sidewalk.

He didn’t curse. He was used to things like that.

At the store, fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Vale grabbed a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a drink. Then he saw it.

Something wedged behind the gum rack.

Small. Black. Plastic. Like a video game cartridge—but with no label.

Only curling golden text like vines:

THE MAGICAL CIRCUS.

His fingers moved before his brain did.

He slipped it in his hoodie pocket.

He didn’t know why.

Back home, his mother didn’t even look up when he dropped the bag on the counter.

Vale took the drink and vanished into his room.

Click.

Snap.

Pop.

The cartridge slid into his console. The screen blinked to life.

Black. Then—fizzzt.

“Welcome to the Magical Circus.”

The voice was slow and sweet, like honey dripping over knives.

Vale leaned forward. The air felt wrong. Like the game was… breathing.

“Please enter your name.”

“Vale,” he typed.

“Please enter your age.”

“Seventeen.”

Bzzt. CRACK.

The screen shuddered. A glitch—no, a tear. A sound like silk being ripped from the sky.

Something reached through the screen.

A gloved hand. Pale as chalk. Fingers like spider legs.

“Come now, darling. The tent is waiting.”

THUD.

BOOM.

RUSTLE.

He landed on velvet. Cold stars blinked overhead. Gold light bathed his skin.

He was in a circus ring.

A lion purred beside him, its mane glittering silver. It nudged him gently, like an old friend.

“What… what is this?” Vale whispered.

A voice answered—deep and delighted.

The Ringmaster, tall as a lamppost, emerged from the dark.

His mask was cracked porcelain. His smile was stitched wide.

“Welcome to the Magical Circus. What is your name, sir? And your age?”

Vale opened his mouth… but nothing came.

His name.

His age.

Gone.

He blinked.

“I… I forgot.”

The Ringmaster beamed.

“Then let’s give you a new one.”

To be continued.

The Ringmaster’s voice echoed like a warbled melody through the tent, sharp and sweet like a broken music box:

“You dont know your name and how perfect.”

“But rules are rules.”

He waved a gloved hand with a sharp snap! and from above, a scroll unspooled like a snake made of stars, letters flickering like flames in the dark.

The names began to whisper themselves.

“Caelum... Isen... Lysair... Nox... Elian... Vireo...”

Each name shimmered and swam in the air, glowing and fading like a fever dream.

“That one,” he said, pointing, his voice barely a breath. “Elian.”

The Ringmaster smiled. “Very well! Elian, the boy with no past. A new name for a new life.”

Behind him came a honk! and a cascade of confetti as a bouncy figure burst through the curtains.

“Waaahoo! Newbie alert!”

“I’m Milo, your neighborhood clown—funny by design, tragic by profession!”

Milo’s painted grin wobbled as he leaned in and slapped Elian’s back with a puff of glitter.

“Welcome to the family, Elian. Wanna meet the rest?”

From the mist emerged silhouettes, their eyes glowing, their movements unnaturally smooth:

“I’m Milo, your neighborhood clown—funny by design, tragic by profession!”

Milo’s painted grin wobbled as he leaned in and slapped Elian’s back with a puff of glitter.

“Welcome to the family, Elian. Wanna meet the rest?”

From the mist emerged silhouettes, their eyes glowing, their movements unnaturally smooth:

Selene – The aerialist.

Jax – The strong man.

Ivy– The fortune teller.

Finn – The fire breather

Luna – The contortionst.

 Orion– The magician.

Eira– The beast tamer.

Caius– The ring master.

Zara – The shadow dancer.

Milo spun like a wheel, arms wide open.

“And now... meet Elian, the Lion Tamer! Only he doesn’t remember ever taming lions! Isn’t that cute?”

Elian,” he said softly.

“My name is Elian now?”

“Perfect,” purred Caius, straightening. “Elian it is.”

Suddenly, a clown with red pom-poms and a lopsided smile did a cartwheel into the center ring. Milo, grinning ear to ear.

“Now that we’re all sparkles and sunshine,” Milo said, “shall we explain the rules?”

“Rules?” Elian asked, but his voice felt far away.

The others formed a half-circle. A drumbeat pulsed from nowhere —

ba-dum... ba-dum... ba-dum.

Caius raised a single white-gloved finger.

“Each new performer must join the game. It is tradition. A rite of welcome.”

A whoosh of smoke burst beside him. Out stepped Zara, all shadows and grace, twirling a black ribbon like a whisper.

“Someone among us isn’t who they say they are,” she murmured. “One of us has already been chosen.”

Finn, balancing a flame on his tongue, smirked. “It’s like ‘Among Us,’ you know that game? Except the stakes here are... fatal.”

Elian took a step back. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all,” said Eira, stroking the mane of a caged beast behind her. “One wrong guess, and you vanish. Like smoke in a windstorm.”

A glowing, ethereal screen appeared in the center ring, listing names:

PLAYER 01: ELIAN

PLAYER 02: MILO

PLAYER 03: EIRA

PLAYER 04: ORION

PLAYER 05: ZARA

PLAYER 06: FINN

PLAYER 07: JAX

PLAYER 08: IVY

PLAYER 09: LUNA

PLAYER 10: ???

VILLAIN SELECTED

GAME STARTED

THE CIRCUS DOESN’T SLEEP.

Caius’s voice rang out like a bell:

“Welcome to your nightmare, Elian.

Find the villain, or fall into the dirt smiling.”

“Let the show begin.”

A gust of wind cut through the tent, snuffing out several lanterns with a sharp flick-flick-flick.

The remaining torches cast long, wavering shadows across the sand. Everyone turned as a figure stepped from behind Caius, silent as a ghost, moving like fog rolling off a grave.

He looked exactly like the boy from Elian’s dream.

Hair the color of bleached bone drifted over his forehead, and his skin was pale — not delicate, but undead, like snow pressed against marble. His eyes...

His eyes were bottomless.

Completely black. No whites. No pupils. Just liquid obsidian that shimmered faintly under the firelight.

He stood behind Caius like a shadow stitched to him — not touching, not speaking, not even blinking.

Elian’s breath caught in his throat.

“Who... who is that?” he asked.

Caius turned his head ever so slightly, not bothering to hide his crooked smile. “Ah. You’ve seen him before, haven’t you?”

The boy tilted his head at Elian, just a fraction — like a raven watching a wounded mouse.

“He’s just my assistant,” Caius said softly. “But he has other names. Many, many names.”

The boy's lips curved, slow and sharp like a knife slipping under silk.

A sound like wind chimes made of bone echoed in Elian’s ears.

“You can call him Noct,” Caius continued.

“He never speaks. But he sees everything.”

Noct blinked once, and Elian felt it — something shifted inside him. Like someone had cracked open a door in his mind just wide enough for something ancient to look through.

To be continued

Elian walked slowly across the dimly lit circus tent, the scent of burnt incense and old paper thick in the air. His steps echoed softly—tap… tap… tap…—as he approached a crimson curtain decorated with dangling bones and silver charms. A sign hung crookedly:

"IVY — She Who Sees Through Smoke and Bone."

He pushed aside the curtain, revealing a dim room glowing with lavender candles. Sitting in the center was a woman veiled in layers of silk, her hair woven with dried flowers, her fingers hovering above tarot cards that moved as if breathing.

Elian hesitated. “You’re the fortune teller, right?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her eyelids slowly lifted to reveal glowing white eyes, milky and clouded, with thin, chalk-white tears crawling down her cheeks. Her voice came out soft and hollow, like wind through dry leaves.

“The future is a whisper sewn into your shadow, Elian…”

He froze. “You know my name?”

She tilted her head, then spoke again—this time in riddles:

“My name lies in ivy, but never on leaves.

It curls like smoke and sleeps beneath eaves.

Speak it and stars might blink in reply—

Three syllables, soft, like a lullaby…”

Elian blinked, trying to puzzle it out. He caught only fragments:

"Ivy… smoke… lullaby…"

The name danced just out of reach, like a word he’d once known in a dream.

“I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Ivy smiled, her teeth too sharp.

“Then perhaps you are not ready to know.”

Elian’s breath caught in his throat. The smoke curled around his ankles like curious fingers, but Ivy didn’t vanish—she just sat there, her glowing white eyes unblinking, tears still streaming like faint trails of milk down her cheeks.

He took a cautious step forward.

“Can I ask you something else?” he murmured.

She gave a slow nod, her head tilting ever so slightly, the way a doll might.

He swallowed hard. “Are you…” he hesitated, then forced it out,

“Are you the imposter in this game?”

For a moment, silence. The only sound was the soft crackle of wax dripping from the candles.

Then Ivy smiled—small, unsettling, as if she knew too much. She reached out and turned over one tarot card without looking.

It was blank.

Still, she said nothing.

The white tears continued to fall. One landed on the table with a quiet plip, sending a cold shiver down Elian’s spine.

“Why won’t you answer me?” he asked, voice shaking.

Ivy finally opened her mouth to speak—but it was only another riddle:

“The wolf may wear a mask of lamb,

And silence wraps around their plan.

But mirrors crack when truths unfold…

Watch the fire before it’s cold.”

Elian’s heart pounded. He didn’t know what any of it meant.

Before Elian could ask anything else,

a loud, terrifying voice boomed through the circus tent:

“IVY! GET HERE. NOW!”

The candles flickered violently—some blew out with a sharp fshhh! Ivy’s glowing white eyes snapped wide with terror. Her riddles, her stillness—all gone in an instant.

She gasped, clutched her cards, and whimpered in a perfectly normal, panicked voice:

“O-Oh my god—oh no, not again! What did I do this time?!”

She backed away from the table, her movements jittery and frantic.

Before Elian could react,

a massive black hand, smoky and clawed, burst through the curtain behind her with a whoosh, like a gust of wind and shadow.

Elian stumbled back.

The hand grabbed Ivy by the waist.

“No no no—WAIT! Let me explain—!” she shrieked.

Then, in one swift motion,

the hand dragged her into the darkness,

tearing the curtain open with a deep, wet rrriiipppp.

A thick, choking silence.

Elian stood frozen.

Then he felt something tug his sleeve.

Milo stood beside him, giving a nervous grin.

He juggled two small colorful balls and said, “W-Whoa, that was... intense, huh? Don’t worry! She’s always getting dragged off like that. She’ll be fine!” His voice cracked slightly.

Zara appeared behind him, flipping her hair and giving a cool nod. “Caius doesn’t hurt anyone... Not unless they’re really hiding something.”

Elian didn’t answer. He dropped to a crouch, trying to calm his breathing.

That’s when a warm, rough tongue licked the side of his face.

“Aughh—” he flinched, but then laughed weakly. His lion—his strange, golden-eyed companion—nuzzled into him, tail swishing with quiet concern.

Elian patted the beast’s head, eyes still fixed on the ripped curtain Ivy had vanished through.

Who was that voice?

Why did Ivy break character?

And what was she so afraid of?

This game was getting darker than he ever imagined.

As the silence thickened like fog,

click click click

—slow, deliberate footsteps echoed across the wooden floor of the tent.

From behind the torn curtain,

he emerged.

The boy from Elian’s dreams.

Pale as snow.

Mid-length white hair brushing his shoulders like strands of silk.

His lips curled into a wide, almost unnatural smile.

And his eyes—solid black, like ink poured into crystal—glimmered with something unreadable.

Elian’s blood turned cold.

The boy’s smile never faltered as he stepped into the circle of candlelight,

his shadow stretching long behind him like a living thing.

He adjusted the cuff of his black coat slowly and said in a soft, lilting tone:

“Oh, Ivy…”

He turned toward the curtain Ivy had been dragged into,

and tilted his head with mock sympathy.

“What did I tell you?”

His voice dripped like honey and rust,

half-sweet, half-rotten.

He let out a soft chuckle.

“Riddles are fun... but lies?” He tsked, waving his finger.

Then, as if he only just remembered Elian was there,

his black eyes snapped toward him.

“Ah,” he purred, smile growing impossibly wider.

“Our little player. Curious, aren’t we?”

Elian instinctively stepped back, bumping into his lion.

The beast growled low in its throat, golden eyes locked on the pale stranger.

But the boy only laughed.

Not loud—no, it was quiet. Controlled. Sinister.

Like he knew everything.

To be continued