Darkness engulfed me. Not the kind that made you blink to adjust your eyes, but an endless void—thick, suffocating, and alive. My head throbbed with pain, each pulse like a hammer striking my skull.
Why did I freeze? Why couldn't I protect them? Was this all I was meant to be—helpless, weak, a coward?
I opened my eyes—or maybe I didn't. I couldn't tell. The void stretched endlessly, devoid of light, sound, or reason.
"Am I dead?" I whispered into the void, my voice trembling, swallowed whole by the emptiness.
Then, laughter. Sharp, piercing laughter that bounced off nothing, echoing endlessly. It wasn't joyous, but fractured, screeching—like rusted metal rods scraping against each other.
"No, my dear little godling," came a voice, high-pitched and singsong. "Not dead, not yet. Not even close, really. But you might wish you were soon! Hehehehe."
A single spotlight flickered into existence above me, like a stage light in a forgotten theatre. The darkness retreated slightly, just enough to reveal a figure perched on a throne—or, rather, a grotesque parody of one. It was a mess of mismatched objects—twisted swords, broken chains, shattered mirrors, and hundreds of smiling masks strung together in a mockery of regality.
The figure lounged across it like a lazy king, legs draped over the armrest. He was dressed in an ill-fitting jester's outfit—patched together with scraps of fabric, the colors clashing violently. His face was pale, with painted-on red lips that stretched too wide, almost splitting his face in half. His eyes were mismatched: one glowed a faint gold, while the other was a deep, dark purple.
"Wh—who are you?" My voice cracked, my legs trembling as I tried to stand.
He grinned wider—impossibly wide. His head tilted to one side like a curious bird.
"Me?" he asked, leaping from his throne and landing with an exaggerated flourish. "Oh, you can call me…" He paused, twirling an imaginary mustache. "…The Fool! Yes, yes, that's what they used to call me. Not 'Great.' Not 'True.' Just The Fool. Isn't that hilarious?"
I took a step back. The Fool tilted his head further, his grin faltering for just a moment.
"Oh no, don't be shy! Come closer, little godling. We're friends, aren't we?" He took a step forward, his movements jerky and unnatural, as though his joints bent in all the wrong directions. "I mean, look at you! So pitiful, so small, so… broken. You remind me of me. Well, a long, long, long time ago."
"W-what do you want?" I stammered, my voice trembling.
Me? Want? Oh, I don't want anything. I'm here to give you something!" He disappeared into the shadows, appearing behind me. His voice dropping to a whisper "A little… gift. A teensy, tiny favor to help you climb out of that pit of despair. A bargain, if you will. A bit of your sanity in return for my power. I mean, look at you! Lost, powerless, alone. It's tragic."
His grin vanished, replaced by a mock pout. "Poor little Cairith. Lost his daddy. Lost his mommy, his servants, his father's domain, his everything." He paused, his expression shifting to mocking delight. "Wait! You still have your misery! Hahaha, that's good! That's precious! Hold onto that—it's fuel."
"Shut up!" I snapped, my voice echoing in the void. "You don't know anything about me."
"You really think so?" The Fool's voice turned sharp, cutting through my anger like a blade. His grin returned, darker this time. "Oh, Cairith, I know everything about you. I know how you broke in front of your father's body, crying like a weak, helpless little boy. I know how you watched your servants die while you stood there like a stone statue. And I know," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, "that you hate them. All of them. The Council. Freya. The gods who stole your family, your home, your pride."
I froze, my breathing ragged.
"I can help you," The Fool continued, circling me like a predator. "I can give you the power to make them kneel. To rip the crowns off their smug little heads and dance on their broken thrones. Doesn't that sound delightful?"
He stopped in front of me, extending a hand. His fingers were long, almost skeletal, and his nails were painted black.
"Take my hand, Cairith. I'll give you everything you need. Power. Strength. Revenge." His voice turned soft, almost seductive. "I'll make you a god they'll fear."
My gaze fell to his outstretched hand. My body trembled, every part of me screaming to take it. If I did, I could avenge them. I wouldn't need to feel this empty. But then I remembered my father's last words. Protect him. Don't make my sacrifice worthless…
"No," I said, my voice shaking but firm. "I won't sacrifice myself to become like them."
The Fool's grin faltered. He stared at me for a long moment, then burst into laughter—louder, harsher, more unhinged than before.
"Good, good!" he howled. "I like that. I like a challenge. You're not ready to play the game yet, but don't worry." He leaned in close, his mismatched eyes locking onto mine. "You will be."
Before I could respond, he stepped back and clapped his hands. The spotlight above us shattered, and the void rushed back in. His voice echoed as I fell, tumbling endlessly into the dark.
"Call me when you change your mind, little godling. I'll be waiting. Hehehehe…"
The darkness shattered, and I felt myself falling—cold air rushing past me. I landed hard, my body slamming into something soft yet foul-smelling.
When I finally came to, I was in an alleyway, next to a heap of garbage. My body was covered with all forms of dirt and bruises. A sharp pain lingered in my head.y
"What happened… why am I"
I tried to stand back up but my legs gave up, I fell crashing down into the heap. For some reason my legs were shaking. A lingering feeling of fear remained in my heart. As if I had seen a terrifying beast.
A few hours passed by as I lay there, a few gods passed the alley some looked at me with pity in their eyes, some had a weird grin but none of them spared me a second glance. I finally garnered the strength to walk, squinting my eyes as I slowly made my way out into the harsh sun.
I was in some town. The air reeked of mildew and ash, the stench clinging to my nostrils like a curse. The sound of clanging metal and desperate shouts filled the streets, replacing the soft melodies of my childhood estate. Everywhere I looked, I saw decay—not just in the crumbling brick homes, but in the cracked and broken statues of ancient gods.
"This place, don't tell me. Am I in the divine slums?"
Even though I had never seen it myself, I remember my mother vividly describe it as a place filled with low and Demi gods. Failures who could neither get a domain nor followers. She had always forbidden me from coming anywhere near here.
A few people rushed by me as they passed through the busy street.
In the middle was a huge crown staring at a pole, on top of which was a skeleton, skin half decayed as maggots chewed through it.
I wonder what they did to deserve such a cruel punish— my heart stopped, as my vision turned down towards a broken war axe next to the pole.
"Th—this can't be." I fell to my knees, tears erupting from my eyes. "N—no. Tha—that skeleton. It can't be. Dad?"
It felt as if something was chewing me from inside out. My body was cold, breathing felt like a chore. My guts felt like they were being torn to shreds. I felt stiff as ice as I fell to my knees.
I simply wanted to disappear.
That night I spent wandering around the market. It was filled with drunkards whose mouths smelled worse than dead animals. I was hungry, sleepy it most of all terrified.
What was gonna happen to me? How was I going to survive?
By midnight it was cold. Oh so very cold. I found a little rag on the ground which I laid down on. The dark feelings of dread coming to haunt me. The fools offer lingered.
What if I had taken the deal?
I wouldn't have to sleep like this. I wouldn't have to feel this hole in my chest. I could show those true gods, what I felt and then, then… It still wouldn't change anything will it?
"Mom, Dad… what should I do?" I sobbed, crying myself to sleep.