Lucian kept to the shadows, his breath slow and steady. The tall trees around him stretched into the sky, their thick branches twisting like bony fingers. The air smelled of damp earth and old leaves. A flicker of movement caught his eye in the distance, followed by the sound of drums, cymbals, and trumpets signaling a parade. His instincts told him to leave, but something held him in place. He pressed himself against a tree, his heart pounding against his ribs as the sound grew closer.
Then he saw them.
At first, he thought they were banners fluttering in the wind, their deep blue fabric catching the light between the trees. But they were moving with purpose, shuffling forward not like people but like objects dragged by invisible strings. They were not human, they were cards. Tall and flat, their rectangular bodies swayed unnaturally as they walked, supported by thin stick-like limbs that barely looked strong enough to hold them up. Their movements were stiff and awkward, like marionettes barely held together. Each one bore a suit like Diamonds, Hearts, Spades, Eyes, and many others. They are also dressed in the same deep blue, with dark capes flaring behind them despite the lack of wind. Wide hats sat upon their tops, balanced like absurd crowns.
Lucian's fingers dug into the bark of the tree as he watched. His mind screamed at him to look away, but curiosity held him still. The sight before him was wrong in a way he could not explain. Cards should not move. Cards should not march in unison. Yet here they were, moving with eerie coordination as if answering to something unseen.
Then the cards shouted, their voices echoing through the air: "Make way! Make way for the Ace of Nightmares! The Dread Queen of Maddened Murmurs and Hollow Laughter! The Ruler of Dreams whose voice lingers in the minds of the cursed, a song of sweet delirium that never fades!"
Lucian's gut twisted. The words hung in the air, thick with something far heavier than excitement. This was not reverence but fear. He pressed himself closer to the tree, every muscle tense as the procession moved forward.
At the front, figures unlike the walking cards strode forward in chaotic unity. They did not march like soldiers but drifted through the parade with eerie grace, their movements erratic yet deliberate. Their outfits were a spectacle of disorder like some wrapped in elaborate coats with too many buttons, others draped in patchwork robes stitched together with shimmering thread. Hats sat at odd angles, some tall and bent, others curling unnaturally wide. Masks flickered between expressions of joy, sorrow, and madness, shifting as they moved.
Lucian's breath hitched. They looked like Triboulet not in their features, but in their presence. Their laughter rang through the air, high-pitched and unsettling, blending with the sound of distant instruments. Their eyes, those who had them, glowed with an unnatural light. They were not ordinary beings. They were Jokers. Hundreds of them.
Lucian's mind latched onto the thought. They were not just part of the parade but they were the ones leading it. And if Triboulet was one of them, where did that leave him?
Then, at the very end of the procession, the carriage appeared. It was unlike anything Lucian had ever seen. Its frame shifted and pulsed, as though refusing to settle into a single shape. The material was neither wood nor metal but something alive, its surface rippling like liquid forced into solidity. The wheels did not roll but dragged, groaning with each turn as the ground beneath them bent to accommodate their weight. The air itself responded to its presence. Trees, shrubs, and vines shuddered before pulling themselves aside, clearing the path as if they, too, had heard the command. The very landscape obeyed.
Lucian's chest tightened. His heartbeat pounded wildly. Something deep inside him recoiled, warning him to look away. But he could not. The space around the carriage rippled, the air twisting as if reality itself rejected what it carried. Lucian's breath came in shallow gasps, his pulse hammering against his skull. It felt like something inside the carriage was staring directly at him watching and waiting.
Then, a voice beside him: "Why are you here, Triboulet?"
Lucian flinched and turned his head fast. Floating in the air beside him was a large eye, single eye with no body or face. Its white was a pale gray, and its iris swirled with shifting colors. "Mother Nightmare will scold you," the eye said, its voice calm.
Lucian could not find words. Triboulet? Was that who this eye thought he was? His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
More figures appeared, slipping through the trees like smoke. Some had too many arms; others had no faces. The closer they came, the harder they were to understand, as if they were not supposed to be seen. They circled around him, their heads tilting, their movements twitchy and strange.
"Triboulet, why are you so quiet?" one asked, its voice layered like many people speaking at once. Another leaned close, its head moving like a puppet with broken strings. "No laughing? No dancing?" Its fingers twitched.
Lucian forced himself to stay still. They think I am Triboulet. He glanced at his hands. They were thinner than before, his nails longer. He reached up, touching his face. The shape was wrong.
"Something is not right," one of them whispered. "Is the other side truly so terrible?"
A low murmur spread through the group. Lucian fought against the panic creeping up his throat. The other side? What did they mean?
Then, a taller figure stepped forward. It was covered in deep blue robes, its face hidden behind a shifting mask that flickered between a wide smile and a deep frown. It studied him with something like concern. "You must leave, Triboulet. If Mother Nightmare sees you like this, she will be very, very upset."
Lucian nodded slowly, copying the way the others moved. The figure sighed, relieved. "Good. You should be working hard to open the gates. You would not want to disappoint her."
A cold weight settled in Lucian's chest. Gates? To the real world? Something inside him clicked. This place wherever it was, was connected to reality. If they truly believed he was Triboulet, then that meant this thing had access to those gates. And if he could use that connection...
Lucian took a slow breath. "How do we connect to the real world?"
The floating eye twitched. "Triboulet, you already know that."
Lucian held his breath, but the eye answered anyway. "Every thinking being in the real world is tied to this realm. We plant seeds of madness in their dreams, and when it grows strong enough, it becomes a gate." The eye blinked, annoyed. "But they keep closing our gates. The infestation does not spread as it should. It is frustrating."
Lucian grabbed onto that thought. A gate. A way to go back. He pushed further, his voice careful and steady. "If I planted a seed, could I return?"
The eye's swirling colors slowed, its iris shrinking as if processing his words. A sharp stillness filled the space between them. Lucian forced himself not to shift under its gaze. Had he pushed too far?
The eye narrowed slightly, its movement almost suspicious. Then, after a moment, it gave a slow, measured nod. "Of course," it said, its voice calm but distant. "You are the one who planted it. You only need to follow the thread." It sighed, the sound hollow, like wind passing through an empty place. "You should not waste time here. Mother Nightmare expects the work to continue."
Lucian's stomach tightened. His mind latched onto the words. The work. What work?
The eye drifted closer, its form pressing into his space. "Go now, Triboulet," it murmured, voice lowering into something eerily soft. "And when you return, we can watch the genocides together again."
A cold shudder ran down Lucian's spine. Genocides. The word was spoken with ease, like discussing the weather. As if it was a simple, expected thing. How much blood had Triboulet spilled? Lucian felt something inside him coil in disgust.
But there was no time to dwell on it. He had what he needed. He closed his eyes and reached inward. A connection. He had felt it before, a thin, invisible thread between himself, Triboulet and the Soul Carver.
Was that the thread? The one leading back? He reached for it.
The air twisted. A deep pressure built in his skull, pressing down like unseen hands trying to shove him back. His surroundings blurred, stretching like melted wax. The voices of the parade grew distant, fading into warped echoes. The world bent and buckled.
Then, just as the pull of the connection began to take hold, a voice cut through the distortion. It was rich and deep, yet unnervingly high at the same time, like two voices speaking over one another. "A human?"
Lucian's body stiffened. His focus wavered. The air rippled violently, as if reality itself recoiled at the mistake. His eyes flickered open for a fraction of a second.
And he saw it.
At the front of the bizarre, pulsing carriage, someone or something was staring directly at him. It was huge. A head far too large for its body, its features sharp and exaggerated like a distorted doll. Pale, unnaturally smooth skin stretched over a wide, grinning mouth. Its eyes were massive, round orbs that gleamed with something that was not quite curiosity but not quite hunger either.
Lucian's pulse hammered in his ears. It had noticed him. It leaned forward, its enormous head tilting at an unnatural angle. The movement was too smooth, too aware. "A human," it repeated, slower this time, almost savoring the word.
The figures around it stirred. The laughter of the parade faltered for a breath, just enough to feel wrong. Lucian's mind screamed. Go. Now.
He yanked himself back into the connection. The world twisted violently. The last thing he saw was that grinning face, its lips curling wider as if amused by his escape.
Then, silence.
Lucian opened his eyes. The real world greeted him once more.