"Monsters are easy to kill.
The harder task is convincing men
you are not one yourself."
— Watchers' Lodge, Gray Page
---
The great hall of the Watchers' Lodge was silent when they returned.
Four entered. Three walked steady. One carried a corpse wrapped in shadow-stained cloth.
The other Watchers whispered from the edges. Some averted their eyes. Others stared openly at Elias—at the new recruit who had not faltered.
Arkwright strode to the front, his boots striking like hammers on stone. "The mission was successful. Containment complete. One casualty."
The whispers died down.
Then Serah's voice cut through, low and cold: "Not without… irregularities."
Dozens of gazes shifted toward Elias.
---
He stood calm, coat unbuttoned, fingers resting loosely against his side. His lips curled faintly, as if amused by the weight of their stares.
Arkwright's eyes narrowed. "Explain."
Serah's gaze did not waver. "Vale used… something. Not standard ability, not ritual. He forced the corrupted Beyonder into… into performance. Controlled it. It's not a technique I've ever seen."
The hall thickened with silence. Jonas shifted uncomfortably beside Elias, glancing between the two.
Arkwright's voice was ice. "Vale. Report."
---
Elias tilted his head, eyes half-lidded. His voice was calm, playful at the edges.
"I simply gave it what it wanted. A stage. An audience. It performed, and then it died. Efficient."
Murmurs rippled through the room.
Arkwright's stare was sharp enough to cut. "That is not an answer."
Elias smiled faintly. "Then perhaps the wrong question was asked."
The hall froze.
For a long moment, Arkwright's expression didn't change. Then, slowly, he raised a hand, silencing the whispers.
"Vale's methods are unorthodox," he said flatly. "But the mission succeeded. That is the only truth that matters."
He turned his back, dismissing the assembly.
The Watchers dispersed reluctantly, suspicion still lingering in their eyes.
Later that night, Elias sat alone in his quarters. The shard lay on the table, pulsing faintly.
He stared at it, unblinking.
thump… thump… thump…
The whispers slid into his mind, silky and sharp.
"You lied… You acted… You wore a mask… We liked it. More. More. More."
The shard shimmered, and the faint image of the faceless audience returned, clapping silently within his vision.
Elias chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. "So even you enjoy deception. Then we'll get along splendidly."
He leaned back, shadows crawling along the walls, his eyes glowing faintly with ember-gold light.
"But remember," he whispered to the shard, "an actor may smile, but the audience never knows when he stops reading the script."
The shard pulsed, once. Twice. Then stilled, quiet as stone.
Far across the city, in a chamber lit only by candlelight, a different figure moved.
Robes of crimson silk. A mask of black iron. Hands painted with ritual symbols that bled faintly into the air.
The figure dipped a quill into dark ink and wrote in a tome bound with skin:
"The Fool has entered the stage. The play begins."
---
"Masks are not worn to hide.
Masks are worn to remind the world
that the truth is unbearable."