They left before dawn.
Fog clung to the earth like breath on glass, and the forest whispered behind them as if reluctant to let them go. Mira carried the lantern; he carried the mask. Together they walked along the forgotten road north — toward Elaris, the City of Masks.
Days passed without sun. The world felt half-awake, as if someone had dreamed it hastily and then abandoned the dream mid-thought.
Mira tried to fill the silence.She told him stories of the Old Gods — the Seven Who Spoke the World into Being. But she never mentioned the eighth. The one who had spoken the world into doubt.
"They erased him," she said. "Every scripture, every song. Even his name was forbidden."
The Fool's hand tightened around the mask.
That night, they found shelter in a small village tucked between hills — warm light, gentle voices, the smell of bread. It felt… too perfect.
The innkeeper smiled as they entered.
"Travelers! You're just in time for the festival."
Mira frowned. "Festival?"
"Of course. The Day of Honest Tongues."
The Fool froze. Somewhere deep inside, something ancient stirred.
They were offered food, wine, laughter — yet none of the villagers ever blinked. Their smiles were painted on, lips too wide, eyes too calm.
When he looked closer, he saw it — faint cracks running down their faces, as if beneath the skin, they wore masks of flesh.
Mira whispered, "We shouldn't stay."
But before they could leave, the innkeeper leaned forward.
"Tell us a truth," he said softly. "Every guest must. One truth — or one lie."
The Fool's throat ached. He couldn't speak — not truly. But something compelled him.He reached for the mask. The crack along its smile pulsed once, and when he placed it over his face… the world shifted.
The air bent. The laughter of the villagers deepened into echoes — hollow, metallic, wrong.Their painted faces melted into clay.
Mira screamed. The "village" dissolved into mist, revealing a graveyard beneath. Dozens of statues knelt around them — each carved with a different expression of joy.
He tore the mask off, gasping.
The illusion faded.They stood alone in the ruins of a forgotten town, rain falling through shattered rooftops.
Mira shivered. "What… what was that?"
The Fool didn't answer. He simply looked down at the mask — now whole again, the crack sealed, the smile sharper.
A whisper brushed against his mind — not his own voice, but something older.
"Every lie hides a truth, my son. And every truth… begins with a smile."
He stared into the dark horizon where Elaris waited, cloaked in stormlight.Behind him, the statues wept dust.Ahead, the road gleamed faintly, as if lit by unseen hands.
And somewhere above, the Divine Hunter drew closer — his blade forged from a truth so pure, it could kill even lies.