"All you care about anymore is training!" Rozeree's voice rang out. Raw and furious. Her eyes wet with unshed tears as she glared at Daglan, fists clenched tight. "Since Dad died, I've needed you so bad—and you're never there!"
Daglan flinched but stood his ground. "I'm doing this for us," he retorted, his voice trembling with the effort to stay calm. "I want to be strong enough to protect you. To travel the world like we always talked about."
"It doesn't matter how strong you are if you're too scared to leave!" Her words cut through him, sharp and unyielding.
"Well, so are you!" he yelled back, feeling anger rise like fire in his chest. "What happened to running away? You never did that! You're too scared to!"
Daglan barely registered Rozeree's movement before she stomped down on his foot, pinning him. Her fist swung up, landing a sharp punch square on his jaw. Pain shot through his face, and he staggered. Clutching his jaw, he blinked away stars dancing in his vision.
"I hate you, Daglan!" Her voice cracked as tears spilled over, glistening on her cheeks. Whirling around, she stormed off. Her footsteps heavy and furious as she left him behind in the dirt.
"Wait!" he cried, reaching out to the space where she'd been, his voice echoing into a void.
But she kept moving, her form fading, dissolving into darkness as his surroundings melted away. The dirt ground blurred, the cold settling into his bones until—
Daglan's eyes blinked open, the memory dissipating as daylight filtered through. The dream's echoes clung to him as he stared, disoriented, into the bright morning gleam.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up when we stopped for camp?" Daglan yawned, climbing down from the wagon. He rubbed the stiff muscles in his neck, stretching his back as the chill of dawn seeped into his bones. Just ahead, Kento was juggling, his movements fluid and quick as Ingrid tossed random objects his way, doing her best to catch whatever he tossed back.
"You kept mumbling in your sleep," Kento replied, not missing a beat. "So we figured we'd leave you to it. Vega says restless dreams teach you a lot—though I have no clue what he means." The smells of Vega's breakfast filled the crisp morning air, momentarily easing the ache of Daglan's dream.
As he sat down, letting the morning air fill his lungs, his mind drifted back to countless Graybarrow mornings. Where the smoky air, the warmth of his family, and Rozeree's laughter had felt like constants. He blinked against the sting of nostalgia, fighting the pang that lingered in his chest.
Just then, a pie came out of nowhere, splattering face-down in front of him. Bits of creamy filling painted his face. Kento's hearty laughter rang through the camp, a melody of pure mischief. Wiping the mess from his eyes, Daglan shot Kento a glare, softened by a reluctant smile. Ingrid, hands on her hips, had already begun scolding Kento, but her own smile threatened to break through as Kento rolled in the dirt, still cackling.
As the laughter settled, Daglan's gaze dropped to his hands, sticky with pie filling and warming in the morning sun. This, he thought to himself, this would be the key to Rozeree's return. Watching his friends banter and the lighthearted chaos of the camp, a quiet determination sparked in him. I'll bring her here. I'll show her the friends I've found, this strange, beautiful circus. Even if she's a thousand miles away, even if her heart's hard as stone—I know they can lift her spirits, just like they did mine.
"I see Kento is at it again." A voice slithered from behind, startling Daglan. He turned quickly to find Vega looming there, wearing his sweeping tailcoat and almost comically exaggerated top hat as always. His sharp-toothed grin gleamed, his beady red eyes twinkling with mischief as he took in the scene. "I'm glad you're awake, Daglan," he said with a casual nod. "No rush, but when you've had breakfast, let's have a word." With that, Vega pivoted and strolled away, his gait as deliberate as it was eccentric.
For as terrifying as Vega appeared, Daglan couldn't help but feel gratitude for the man who had offered him shelter without question. Vega, despite his monstrous appearance and formidable aura, had been nothing but kind, creating a sanctuary for lost souls like himself. In his way, Vega reminded Daglan of Koshu, a presence that was both solid and merciful. Maybe that's why all these strange, wonderful people follow him, Daglan thought as he watched Vega's retreating figure.
"Got you good, eh?" Kento's voice rang out behind him, and Daglan let a sly smile creep onto his face. He began relaxing his energy, melting into the world around him. He was the solidity of the ground, the scattered wagons, the clothing they wore. In the split second before reacting, he reached out to sense Kento's position .
With one swift motion, Daglan scooped up a handful of leftover pie filling, spinning around to meet Kento's grin with a perfectly timed shot. The sticky jam splattered across Kento's face. A burst of red and sweetness that sent Daglan into a laughing fit.
"You two are ridiculous!" Ingrid sighed, though Daglan caught the faint smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. Kento just licked the filling from his lips and chuckled.
"Too bad we wasted the pie—it's actually pretty good!" Kento laughed, wiping at his face with sticky fingers. Daglan joined in, his laughter echoing in the morning air, lifting the lingering tension he had previously felt.
As he watched his friends bicker and joke, the warm feeling of camaraderie settled over him. This is what I want to share with Rozeree. This life, these friends... this place of belonging. He made a silent promise to himself: No matter where she is, I'll bring her back. I know this circus, and these people, can bring her the peace and adventure she deserves.
Dawn had barely broken over the camp when Daglan found Vega making his morning rounds. The Headmaster cut an imposing figure against the pink-orange sky, his long black coat sweeping behind him as he inspected the preparations for the night's show. Despite his monstrous appearance there was something almost graceful about the way he moved.
"How was your sleep?" Vega's gravelly voice carried across the morning air as Daglan jogged up to him. He couldn't help but notice how the Headmaster's eyes seemed to pierce right through him. As if reading the unrest in his soul.
"It was okay. Just bad dreams." Daglan tried to keep his voice steady, but something in Vega's knowing look made him feel transparent.
"Memories?" The question was gentle, despite coming from such fearsome teeth.
"Yeah." Daglan's throat tightened as Rozeree's tear-streaked face flashed through his mind—her words echoing in his ears. The pain felt as fresh as the morning dew.
Vega paused his walk, turning to face Daglan fully. In the growing light, his red eyes seemed to soften. "You do well to think upon the memories your mind chooses to show you. It may not be the memory itself, but something more."
"Thank you, sir." Daglan nodded respectfully, though internally he echoed Kento's sentiment. He's right, that really doesn't make much sense. Still, there was something comforting about the cryptic wisdom. Like a puzzle he could turn over in his mind later.
The Headmaster's demeanor shifted suddenly, his massive frame tensing as he glanced toward the distant smog of Bolgue rising against the horizon. "You said before that you had never been out of Graybarrow. So I can assume your knowledge of Bolgue is minimal?"
"Yeah, I know it's more advanced than we are in Graybarrow," Daglan replied with a shrug, "but then again, everyone is."
The air around them seemed to grow heavier as Vega's expression darkened. "I know your goal may cause you to venture into the city." His voice dropped to a low rumble that seemed to vibrate in Daglan's chest. "However. I implore you not to. And if you must, under no circumstances should you start any trouble."
The intensity in those red eyes made Daglan's spine straighten involuntarily. "I understand, sir. I wouldn't want to cause you all any more trouble than I already have."
"One more thing before you go." Vega's small frame loomed massive, casting a shadow over Daglan in the early morning light. "Kento likes to think I am not privy to his actions. However, I know he sneaks off to the cities we stop at from time to time. The ignorant curiosity of youth." His sharp teeth glinted as he spoke. "If he accompanies you, which he no doubt will, then you are to keep him safe. If you were to betray him, it would be to betray the whole circus."
The words hung in the air between them like a physical weight. Daglan felt a chill run down his spine, not just from the morning air but from the deadly seriousness in Vega's tone. The Headmaster's usual warmth had been replaced by something ancient and dangerous. A reminder that beneath his friendly demeanor lay a being of tremendous power and fierce protectiveness.
As Daglan watched Vega continue his rounds, his mind raced with possibilities. He was definitely planning on going into Bolgue—he'd made that no secret—but what kind of dangers waited that could make even someone like Vega worry?
Daglan sat behind the tent, shoulders slumped, feeling as if the weight of the entire camp bore down on him. His talk with Vega left him unsettled. Along with the fragments of his nightmare and memories of his argument with Rozeree replaying in his head. The warmth of the morning sun did little to chase away the cold that seemed to have taken root inside him.
A soft crunch of footsteps brought him out of his thoughts. Ingrid had found him, her steps careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. She sat down beside him without a word, letting the silence settle between them. It was warm and quiet. Daglan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. Part of him grateful for the quiet presence, another part embarrassed to be caught like this.
"Hey," she said finally, her voice low, careful not to intrude too much. "Rough morning?"
Daglan looked down at his hands, calloused and smeared with traces of last night's dirt. He gave a short nod. "Yeah." He paused, his voice strained as he tried to find the words. "I had a nightmare. About… everything with Rozeree." He let out a shaky breath, hoping she wouldn't notice how raw the words sounded.
Ingrid gazed out over the tents, her expression thoughtful. "Sometimes, people have to go through their own storms before they find their way back," she said quietly. "Maybe she's searching, too."
"What if she doesn't want to come back?" The question left his lips before he could stop it, heavy with fear he hadn't admitted to even himself.
Ingrid didn't look away, her voice gentle but firm. "Just because she isn't here now doesn't mean she won't find her way back one day. From what you've told me, you two were too close for her to ever really forget about you."
Daglan swallowed, his gaze fixed on the ground as he tried to keep his composure. Ingrid's hand rested on his leg, steady and reassuring, a warmth that seemed to soften the sharp edges of his pain. Her presence was a quiet strength, a reminder that he wasn't alone in this, no matter how isolated he felt.
They sat there for a long while, words unnecessary, the silence between them full of understanding.
"So why does Vega dislike Bolgue so much?" Daglan eventually asked, breaking the silence.
Ingrid's brow furrowed slightly, her gaze distant. "I'm not completely sure. All I know is that he reacts to all the cities in this country the same. He once said this government is run by the same monsters he tried to escape in his homeland."
Daglan felt a prickle of curiosity; as much as he trusted Vega, he was realizing how little he actually knew about him. By the look in Ingrid's eyes, he could tell she shared the sentiment.
"He doesn't tell us much, and if you ask about his past, he always says, 'It's exactly that. The past.'" Ingrid's voice dropped, tinged with intrigue. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious."
Just then, a low, ominous voice drifted from behind them. "I heard he's an immortal demon cast out from the underworld, cursed to haunt the land with his circus!"
Daglan and Ingrid spun around, startled. Kento's snickering grin met them. His white hair almost glowed in the morning sun as he rocked back on his heels, clearly savoring the shock on their faces. "Or at least," he added, barely suppressing his laughter, "that's what an audience member once told me."
Daglan rolled his eyes, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "Leave it to you to make something creepy even creepier, Kento."
"Hey, I'm just reporting what I hear," Kento chuckled, giving a casual shrug. "Besides, it'd explain why Vega always seems to know things he shouldn't, right? And have you noticed? He doesn't look like anyone I've ever seen. And we travel a lot."
Ingrid snorted, a sly smile creeping onto her face. "Yeah, well, you don't look like anyone we've ever met either. Maybe you're his little demon lackey!"
Kento's eyes went wide, his hand flying to his chest as his jaw dropped in mock horror. "Me? A demon lackey?" He gasped dramatically, staggering back as if wounded. "By the very gods! I am appalled! Shocked! Betrayed!"
He let out an exaggerated huff, then struck a noble pose, his voice taking on a regal tone. "Me, a lackey? Never! A trusted confidant, perhaps. An irreplaceable presence, undoubtedly. But a mere lackey? Unthinkable!" Their laughter rang through the camp, a brief moment of levity before they returned to their preparations. Ingrid gave him a warm smile, looking deep into his eyes before she left.
The morning light cast long shadows across the circus camp as Daglan watched Ingrid's retreating back. His cheeks burned, a mix of embarrassment and something else he couldn't quite name.
"I see what you got going on there," Kento's words were a teasing whisper, his elbow nudging Daglan with playful precision.
"What are you talking about?" Daglan tried to sound casual, but the heat rising in his cheeks betrayed him.
Kento's laugh was a cascade of mischief. He spun back, eyes dancing with barely contained excitement. "Oh, one more thing!" He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. His gaze darted around the camp, checking for unwanted listeners. "You want to..." he paused, drawing out the moment, "go into town after the show tonight?"
Daglan froze, Vega's earlier warning echoing in his mind. His expression must have shown his surprise, because Kento's head tilted, curiosity replacing his previous mischief.
"What, do you not wanna go?"
"I just..." Daglan hesitated. "Vega knew we were going to go into the city together."
Kento's mock-scary voice returned, complete with exaggerated wiggly fingers. "I told you... he's a demon! Ooo!" The dramatic performance dissolved into a hearty laugh that seemed to bounce off the circus wagons.
"I'll see you later," Kento called, already jogging away. "You better get to Goliath before he gets antsy!"
It wasn't hard to find Goliath, his hulking frame moving tents and tables like a child does their toys. The ground trembling slightly beneath his feet as he set down another piece of equipment.
A rasping sound cut through the air behind Daglan, stopping him in his tracks. The voice was like shattered glass being ground underfoot.
"Your mastery of the Serkan techniques…is quite astonishing." The words seemed to scratch their way out of the speaker's throat.
Daglan's shoulders tensed as he turned. Azrael stood in the shadow of a nearby tent, a dark figure wrapped in a hooded cloak that seemed to drink in what little light reached it. Beneath the deep cowl, strips of dirty white bandages peeked out, with occasional tufts of dark hair sprouting through the gaps like weeds through cracked stone.
Daglan swallowed hard, fighting the urge to step backward. "The Lechi arts share some common ground with Serkan techniques…" He let the words trail off, uncertain how to address the man who had barely acknowledged his existence since he joined the circus.
The bandages around Azrael's face shifted, suggesting what might have been a smile underneath. "Tonight's performance," he rasped, taking a single step forward. "Partner with me."
It wasn't quite a question, but it wasn't quite a command either. The suggestion hung between them like smoke, impossible to wave away. Here was the circus's most mysterious performer, who had shown no interest in anyone, suddenly seeking him out.
Daglan's throat felt dry as he forced out the words. "But... don't you have an act? How could I possibly—"
His hood shifted, and something caught the morning light from within its depths. A row of broken teeth, jagged as shattered pottery, gleamed in a grotesque smile. The sight sent Daglan's heart hammering against his ribs.
"Why, you'll be dodging my blades, of course." Azrael took another step forward, his cloak rippling like oil on water. The temperature seemed to drop with his proximity. "We'll even blindfold you." His raspy voice carried an edge of excitement.
"Imagine it – the crowd holding their breath, watching you dance between flying steel, unable to see, trusting only your instincts..." The broken smile widened beneath the hood. "They'll be absolutely amazed. If you survive."
That last word hung between them, and Daglan couldn't tell if the quiet chuckle that followed was meant as a joke. The sound sparked something in Daglan's chest – a familiar heat that pushed back against the encroaching chill. Was Azrael mocking him? Testing him?
Daglan squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. The fear didn't vanish, but it transformed, crystallizing into something harder, sharper. Each of Azrael's words had been carefully chosen, he realized, not just to frighten, but to probe. To see if he would bend or break.
"What time should I be ready?" Daglan's voice came out steady, stronger than he'd expected. The broken smile beneath the hood widened further, and Daglan caught a glint of what might have been approval in the darkness. The morning sun chose that moment to break through the clouds, casting Azrael in even deeper shadows.
"Be at my tent with enough time to practice before the show." Azrael's voice carried a note of finality as he dipped into a bow – the motion unnaturally fluid, like water flowing downhill.
He turned to leave, his form seeming to blend with the shadows between tents. Then he paused, head turning just enough for his hood to catch the light. "Oh," his rasping voice drifted back, casual as discussing the weather, "bring bandages... in case you get nicked."
The words slithered into Daglan's ears and straight down his spine. His newly forged confidence cracking ever so slightly.
The evening brought with it a crowd unlike anything Daglan had ever witnessed. Before they had only stopped by tiny villages. The most they entertained were handfuls of weather-worn citizens and curious children. This... this was an ocean of bodies, pressing against each other like fish in a barrel, flowing between the tent poles and filling every available space with desperate eagerness.
But as Daglan peered out from behind the performance curtain, his amazement curdled into unease. Something was wrong with these people. Metic implements jutted from their bodies at awkward angles. Large pistons emerging from shoulders. Thin tubes weaving through forearms. Steel plates bolted directly into jawlines. The modifications were like wounds that refused to heal.
Their bodies spoke of hunger. Skin stretched too tight over visible bones. Arms thin as kindling. Cheeks hollow enough to cast shadows in the dim light. Yet it was their eyes that truly haunted him – sunken pools of emptiness, as if something essential had been drained away.
"What's wrong with these people?" Daglan whispered, his face and arms covered in small badges and scratches. "They look like... like walking corpses."
"This is Bolgue. All the cities are like this." Kento sighed. "Everyone covered in those horrible metics, looking half-dead inside. It's why Vega keeps bringing the circus back around here."
"Makes sense..." Daglan scanned the faces again, hoping they'd turn up here. Please be here Rozeree. His chest tightened as an unbidden image flashed through his mind: Rozeree, her bright eyes dulled, her skin stretched tight over metal implements, discarded by Vilrux like a broken tool. The thought of her ending up here, another hungry ghost in this mechanical graveyard—
"Hey, we're about to start!" The sound yanked Daglan from his nightmare. Spinning to see Ingrid, her eyes bright with an almost feverish excitement. Her usual composure had given way to barely contained energy, fingers drumming against her thigh as she bounced on her toes. Her grin stretched wide, teeth flashing in the dim backstage light. "I get to preform tonight, I'm so excited!" She caught herself nearly shouting and clapped a hand over her mouth, taking a deep breath to steady herself. The shadows behind her rippled like disturbed water.
"I don't know why we didn't do this before." Azrael's voice scratched through the darkness, each word dragging across their ears like rusty nails.
Goliath's massive hand gripped the heavy burgundy curtain, pulling it back slightly. "Ready..." his voice rumbled in like distant thunder. The crowd's murmuring grew louder, a hungry sound that made Daglan's skin prickle.
Center stage stood a new device. A massive wheel constructed from aged oak and polished steel. Thick leather straps hung from strategic points around its circumference, well-worn but sturdy.
Azrael and Ingrid moved in perfect synchronization, their steps measured and deliberate as they approached the stage. Ingrid's earlier excitement seemed to transform into focused intensity, her shoulders set with determination.
Without a word of hesitation, Azrael's bandaged fingers worked the leather straps with practiced precision, securing Ingrid firmly to the oak wheel. Each strap's soft creak seemed to echo in the absolute silence that had fallen over the tent.
Azrael glided to the front of the stage. With a flourish, he produced a handful of throwing knives. The blades caught the lamplight, their edges honed to lethal sharpness.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, the sound accompanied by the discordant tinkling of their implements. Their sunken eyes fixed on the gleaming blades, hungry for whatever might come next. Azrael turned and walked back to Ingrid with predatory grace, the knives vanishing into the folds of his cloak
Ingrid gave a barely perceptible nod, and Azrael's bandaged hand shot out, gripping a steel rung. Using his whole body, he sent it spinning violently, before stepping back. Ingrid's startled scream pierced the air as she whirled end over end.
Azrael's cloak suddenly billowed outward like dark wings. The knives caught the light as they sailed upward, a deadly constellation hanging for one breathless moment. Then, moving faster than eyes could follow, Azrael snatched each blade from the air and sent them hurling toward Ingrid. Each throw landed with a solid thump that seemed to echo through the tent.
As the wheel's momentum slowed, Azrael swept into another deep bow. The knives formed a perfect outline around Ingrid's body, buried deep in the ancient wood. The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.
Until a woman in the front row let out a blood-curdling scream.
"She's dead! She's dead!" The woman pointed at Ingrid's limp form, where a throwing knife protruded grotesquely from her eye. As panic swept through the crowd, Azrael calmly walked over and yanked both knife and eye free in one fluid motion, triggering another wave of horrified sounds.
"WELCOME TO THE FREAK SHOW!" Ingrid suddenly sprang to life, letting her tongue fall out and grinning broadly. The crowd screamed again and Azrael casually popped her eye back into its socket before cutting her down with practiced grace.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Vega's voice boomed as he stepped onto the stage, "prepare yourselves for a display of the weird and wondrous, the strange and unsettling. Welcome! To the Wandering Menagerie Circus! A round of applause for Azrael the Faceless Man and Eyeless Ingrid!" As Goliath cleared away the wheel, Ingrid shot Daglan a smile that made his cheeks flush. "These performers may not be what you're used to seeing in everyday life, but they possess bodies and abilities that will leave you amazed and afraid! So sit back, relax, and prepare to be amazed by the freakish talents of our performers!" Vega threw his hand up dramatically. "Please, a round of applause for our next performance! Azrael the Facless Man, and Daglan the Lechi Master!"