Morning sun smiled gently through the tall glass windows of Liam Shaw's mansion, replacing the glow of last night's neon with warm gold.
The sound of distant carriages and early chatter heard beyond the garden gates. Inside, the air smelled of tea and polished oak.
Albert sat comfortably in a cushioned chair, wearing his new waistcoat, sleeves rolled neatly.
His trench coat lay folded on the nearby table beside Harriet's top hat, both still damp from the night before.
Harriet himself sat opposite, stretching his arms lazily, still dressed in his familiar red coat, his hair messy from sleep and wind.
At the far end of the table stood Liam Shaw, calm as ever, wearing a simple white shirt and brown trousers. A faint steam rose from the cup in his hand as he took a slow sip.
His eyes focused but distant. The look of someone who had thought too long before speaking. The room was quiet except for the soft ticking of a wall clock.
Harriet leaned forward with a teasing smile. "So, Mister Shaw," he said, "you dragged us both here at sunrise — I'm assuming this isn't for breakfast?"
Liam set his teacup down, eyes flickering toward Albert and Harriet.
"No." he replied quietly. "It's something far more serious."
Liam sat quietly for a few moments before speaking, swirling the remaining tea in his porcelain cup.
"Things in the Empire have been going rough after Emperor Moses went in slumber." he began. "At first, I thought it was politics — factions, debts, backroom trades. But it's not that simple. My people have been disappearing. Vanishing day by day without trace."
Albert raised his brows slightly but said nothing. His gaze remained fixed on the silver tea set, watching his own reflection ripple with each of Liam's words.
Harriet, however, frowned and leaned back in his chair. "Vanishing?" he asked. "As in…. no bodies, no noise, no letters? Just gone?"
"Exactly." Liam replied. "Guards, servants, errand men. Even one of my accountants. No record of travel or communication after they leave their quarters. And it's spreading."
Harriet crossed one leg over the other, tapping his boot on the floor thoughtfully. His playful nature dimmed for once. "That is not common." he said slowly. "If it were rebels, they would make noise. If it were bounty work, there would be blood. But nothing?"
Liam nodded grimly. "Nothing at all. No footprints, no soul signatures, no mana tracks. It's as if something is erasing their existence itself."
Albert finally looked up, eyes calm but calculative. "Maybe you are dealing with memory manipulation," he said softly. "A curse type or something stronger. Could be artificial reality interference."
Liam glanced toward him, studying his expression for a moment too long. "Perhaps." he said finally, voice neutral. But behind his eyes, suspicion flickered like a match.
He didn't know why — maybe it was Albert's composure, maybe the quietness in his tone, or the sense that Albert wasn't hearing this for the first time.
Harriet, too, stole a glance at Albert. He didn't mean to suspect him but something about the man's calm posture made him uneasy. Harriet's instincts, wild and water-sharp, could feel something coiled beneath the surface."
Still, Harriet laughed lightly, forcing the mood to break. "So," he said, "your people disappear, you call us and we drink tea while the world quietly eats itself. Sounds fun."
Liam didn't return the humor. He leaned forward, resting both hands on the table. "Fun isn't what we will find, I'm afraid. This isn't random. I've traced it back or tried to. The last places each missing person was seen…. all fall on a line."
Albert blinked. "A line?"
Liam nodded. "Yes. A straight one, coming through the lower districts of Nayga, up toward the old canals. And it ends near the ruins under the Observatory. I've sent four scouts there. None returned."
The air fell still again. Harriet looked between Liam and Albert, mouth slightly open. "That is…. the sector marked off by the Empire last year. Forbidden due to 'psychic instability.' You think someone's hiding there?"
"I don't think." Liam said coldly. "I know. Something's pulling people into that zone. Or someone."
Albert's fingers tightened slightly around his cup. A quiet, invisible ripple passed through his aura, so subtle neither of the others noticed.
Harriet watched him from the corner of his eye. Liam watched him from the reflection in his teacup.
Neither said a word. But both wondered the same thing — what exactly was Albert Newton hiding?
Liam opened his mouth again, his tone seemed quieter now, "There's more. I believe the disappearances are connected to—"
Albert's head snapped up. His pupils thinned.
The next instant, his chair crashed backward as he leapt to his feet, eyes locked on the ceiling. "He's here!" Albert said sharply. "The one after you! The Clown! "
Before Liam or Harriet could react, a soft, resounding tap-tap came from above them like someone walking upside down on the ceiling. All three looked up.
There he was.... The mysterious Jester.
Painted in faded pastel colors. Streaks of washed pink, mint green and pale yellow smeared across a face that smiled too wide. A tall black top hat tilted slightly on his head.
His white gloves were clean, unnaturally clean. His suit shimmered like oil, reflecting nothing. He hung inverted from the roof like a spider, grinning down at them with a childlike, quiet hum.
Harriet froze mid-breath. "That is the one?" he whispered.
Liam nodded grimly. "Yes. The one I have seen three times this week. I thought it was coincidence—"
The Jester giggled softly, breaking the silence. "Coincidence?" he said, his voice was cheerful and smooth. "No, no, no.… I prefer arts."
He flicked his wrist and a single pastel balloon appeared from nowhere, floating lazily in the air. "I bring smiles, Mister Liam. But you.… never smile back. Wasn't your Uncle's death funny enough?"
Liam didn't rage out and stayed calm.
Harriet's jaw clenched. "The killer clown from the reports—he's real!?"
"Real enough," Albert muttered, eyes narrowing.
The balloon popped with a hollow snap like air collapsing inward. A pulse swept through the room, making the lights flicker after the fuses blew up.
In that instant, the Jester dropped from the ceiling, landing perfectly upright. His grin never faltered.
Then he began to run.
Albert was the first to move. He vaulted over the table, kicking his cup aside and sprinted after him through the hall. Liam shouted for the guards. Harriet followed, boots slamming against the marble.
The Jester turned a corner, laughter echoing down the corridors. Light, musical and terrifyingly playful.
Albert's voice chased after him after a growl:
"You will not vanish again."
The chase tore through the mansion gates and into the morning streets. Harriet, Albert and Liam sprinted through the thick fog that clung to the ground like smoke from a dying fire.
Ahead, the Jester danced—yes, danced—his every step precise, flamboyant and maddeningly confident. He skipped over cobblestones with his pastel coat flaring, humming a cheerful circus tune.
"Stop running!" Harriet shouted, firing a flare shot into the air.
The Jester only laughed, tossing a handful of folded paper behind him.
The folds cracked mid-air—boom!—paper bombs exploded with blinding flashes and waves of colored smoke.
Shattered glass rained from nearby streetlamps but not a single civilian screamed.
The fog had thickened—thicker than it should have. Albert realized the Jester had planned even this.
"Trap ahead!" Liam barked, pulling Harriet back just before another bomb detonated. He had read the spacing of the explosions, calculated the rhythm of the Jester's misdirection.
"He is herding us away from the main square.... smart bastard." Albert ignored him.
He reached for the mirror strapped to his belt, the Pyro Glare. A relic forged to reflect light into heat. The air shimmered red as Albert tilted it, aiming the mirrored edge toward the running Jester. "Let's see you laugh after this!"
The glare caught the Jester's face. A burst of white light, heat slicing through the fog like sunlight through glass. The clown staggered, his grin twitched unnaturally. Smoke rose from his cheek and for a heartbeat, Albert thought he had ended it.
But the Jester only chuckled low, voice distorted in pain. "Pain…. beautiful reminder I'm still real." He twisted a silver canister from his pocket and sprayed a jet of freezing mist erupted.
Cyro Vaporiser.
The burning stopped. His face froze solid white like porcelain again.
Then he vanished into the mist.
"Split up!" Liam ordered.
They scattered as Harriet bounded onto a carriage roof, Albert chasing the sound of bells through an alley, Liam informs city guards to block exits through a micro-device.
Gunshots crowded the silence. The Jester flickered in and out of sight, appearing on rooftops, between reflections, even in shadows. Every time a bullet came close, he was already elsewhere.
Albert cornered him by a clock tower, breathing hard. "You are surrounded!"
The Jester tilted his head, smiling faintly. "Surrounded?"
He stepped forward, hands open and empty. "No. You are invited.... In my doom-mania!"
From the mist, more paper bombs bloomed as a chain of 'boom-boom-boom! ripped through nearby rooftops. The shockwave hurled Albert backward.
Liam shielded Harriet with a defensive rune, debris crashing around them.
Through the dust, the Jester's voice came soft and cruel,
"Three little hunters…. chasing laughter. You will tire long before the joke ends. Then, nothing but three hearts beat in pieces, in my tummy."
When the smoke cleared, he was gone without any trace or footprints, only a single balloon tied to a lamp post, spinning slowly in the breeze.
Albert tore it down and crushed it in his fist. "He planned this whole route.… every turn. But why did he came here? Is it a message?"
Harriet wiped dust from his coat, muttering, "That Jester isn't just a murderer. He's playing us like a stage act."
Liam looked toward the empty street, eyes cold. "Next time," he said, "we close the curtains before the show begins."