The throne room was silent, the air heavy with tension. Alex, still adjusting to his newfound identity as the Fool, sat slouched on the silver throne, his fingers lightly drumming against its armrest. Beatrice stood at his side, her posture as precise as her icy blue gaze. She was a ghost of elegance and lethality, her presence both reassuring and unsettling.
"Beatrice," Alex said, his tone measured, though inside he still grappled with the absurdity of his situation. "Summon Luka to the meeting room."
The maid inclined her head. "As you command, Your Majesty."
"And..." Alex hesitated, the words catching in his throat. It was strange, this authority he now wielded, this role he had no choice but to play. "Inform the Umbrella cult I'll meet them. Prepare the meeting room."
Beatrice tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. "Understood, Your Majesty. Do you wish for me to delay Luka's audience until after the Umbrella meeting?"
"Yes," Alex replied. He paused, weighing his next words carefully. "Afterward, summon Radak the court magician, and the royal judge. I'll need their counsel."
"As you wish." Beatrice bowed again, her movements fluid and graceful.
As she moved to leave, Alex caught himself watching her. Memories—no, fragments of memories—stirred in his mind, painting a picture of who Beatrice truly was.
The Assassin Princess
Beatrice had been born into royalty, the princess of a kingdom now lost to history. Her father, a weak and desperate king, had gambled his throne away, betraying allies and trading lives to secure temporary peace. When that fragile alliance crumbled, so did his kingdom.
On the night of her kingdom's fall, assassins were sent to kill the royal family. Beatrice survived, but not through luck. Her latent potential had awakened in that moment of despair. Moon magic—the chaotic and unpredictable blessing of the Goddess of the Moon—manifested in her as unparalleled stealth. She disappeared from sight and memory alike, a phantom walking unnoticed among her enemies.
She was taken in by a guild of assassins who recognized her gift. There, she honed her skills, becoming a blade in the shadows and a master of silent death. Yet her talent marked her as more than just another killer.
It was the Fool himself who had discovered her, offering her sanctuary in exchange for unwavering loyalty. She became his personal shadow, his maid, his confidante. To some, she was a myth, a story to frighten disloyal courtiers. To others, she was a weapon, honed to perfection.
Radak: The Mage-Judge
Radak was a figure of dread in Reselo. Born into squalor, he had clawed his way up through sheer brilliance and ruthless ambition. He was a master of Magician magic, the rarest and most revered of all magic. It was said that those who wielded Magician magic could reshape reality, heal any wound, and even create life itself.
Yet, mastery of Magician magic came at a cost. To even begin learning it, one had to master all six other magics: Fool, Sun, Moon, High Priestess, Ace of Cups, and Ten of Cups. It was a feat so arduous that only the most gifted—and the most obsessed—could achieve it. Radak was one of the few.
As the royal court magician and the kingdom's judge, Radak was both feared and respected. His judgments were absolute, his magic terrifyingly precise. It was said that his spells could raise cities or reduce them to ashes, that his gaze alone could strip a man's soul bare.
But there was more to Radak than his power. Rumors whispered that he harbored ambitions that stretched far beyond the court, ambitions that might one day place him at odds with the Fool.
The Seven Magics of the Shadow Garden
Magic in Reselo was a gift from the gods, each type reflecting the divine truths of the universe.
Fool Magic (Chaos): The most unpredictable, capable of healing and killing in the same breath. Its chaotic nature mirrored the God of Liars, whose whimsy shaped its power.
Magician Magic (Creation): The pinnacle of magical mastery, allowing the user to manifest desires, heal wounds, and create life.
High Priestess Magic (Mystic): Magic of foresight and divination, capable of glimpsing the future or weaving dreams into reality.
Sun Magic (Radiance): Magic of healing and morale, used to inspire and strengthen.
Moon Magic (Illusion): The craft of deception, creating false realities that could confound even the sharpest minds.
Ace of Cups Magic (Emotion): Manipulating emotions, amplifying or soothing them to sway hearts and minds.
Ten of Cups Magic (Harmony): Magic of balance and unity, creating fleeting moments of perfect peace.
Few ever mastered even one type of magic, let alone all seven. Radak's mastery marked him as one of the most dangerous individuals in the realm.
Alex leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he processed the fragments of memories and knowledge now swirling in his mind. He was no longer just Alex, the doctor. He was the Fool, the ruler of Reselo, or at least he is fused with the emotions of The Fool.
"Beatrice," he called, his voice steady.
The maid turned, her gaze sharp.
"After the Umbrella cult meeting, ensure Radak and Luka are ready. I'll see them both."
"As you command, Your Majesty," Beatrice replied, her tone neutral.
As she exited the room, Alex let out a slow breath. He could feel the chaotic energy of Fool magic coursing through him, wild and untamed.
The Umbrella cult awaited, their fanatical devotion a double-edged sword. Radak loomed as a shadow of power and ambition. Beatrice stood as a silent reminder of the Fool's influence.
The sudden shift in the Fool's demeanor had not gone unnoticed, least of all by Beatrice. Years as an assassin had honed her instincts to razor-sharp precision, and she was an astute observer of human behavior. The Fool's decisions the previous day had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, one that only grew as she reflected on the man who now sat atop the silver throne.
The Fool, a title whispered with both reverence and fear, had once been a beacon of justice and compassion. Before the tragedy that claimed his wife, Roselia, he had championed the causes of the downtrodden, relentlessly pursuing equality and fairness. It was his vision of a kingdom free from the chains of slavery that had won him the loyalty of his people—and the enmity of the powerful.
But all that had changed seven years ago.
When Roselia died, the Fool's light had dimmed, replaced by a cold, calculating darkness. His once-passionate pursuit of justice turned to cruelty, his sense of fairness replaced by arbitrary acts of violence and domination. The man who had vowed to dismantle slavery became a tyrant who ignored its existence, his attention consumed by his own despair.
Beatrice had seen the shift firsthand. She had watched as he tore apart anyone who dared defy him, his chaotic magic wreaking havoc on both ally and enemy alike. The kindness in his eyes had vanished, replaced by an abyss of grief and rage.
Yet now… he seems to be more alive than he ever was.
As Beatrice prepared to summon Luka and arrange the Umbrella cult meeting, she found herself reflecting on the Fool's newfound ambition. His declaration to abolish slavery had come as a shock. It wasn't just the boldness of the decree, but the conviction behind it. It felt genuine—like the words of the man she once served, not the tyrant who had replaced him.
Could he be returning to the ideals he once held dear?
The possibility unsettled her. Beatrice was not sentimental, but she was loyal. The Fool was her master, and she had pledged herself to his cause, even when that cause had descended into madness. But this shift—this potential for redemption—introduced uncertainty.
Was it a fleeting whim? A calculated ploy? Or something deeper?
The Fool's love for Roselia had been the stuff of legend. She was said to be the only person who could calm the chaos within him, her presence a balm to his unpredictable nature. Together, they had envisioned a kingdom free from suffering, a land where magic and power were used for the betterment of all.
Her death shattered that dream.
The circumstances of Roselia's demise remained shrouded in mystery, but the aftermath was clear: it broke the man who once inspired hope. For years, the Fool had ruled as a tyrant, his wrath unending, his grief driving him to destroy what he had once sought to protect.
Now, seven years later, there were cracks in that cold façade.
Beatrice's Thoughts
As she strode through the halls of the palace, Beatrice allowed herself a moment of contemplation. The Fool's kindness toward Luka—the peasant who, by all accounts, should have died at his hands—was uncharacteristic. It wasn't mercy, exactly. It was something more measured, more deliberate.
The decree to abolish slavery was another clue. It wasn't just an impulsive act of cruelty or chaos. It was a carefully considered move, one that required planning and vision.
Is he trying to honor her memory? Beatrice wondered. Or is this another game, another layer of his madness?
When Beatrice returned to the throne room to relay her messages, she found the Fool sitting quietly, his gaze distant. There was a strange stillness about him, a calm that she hadn't seen in years.
"Your Majesty," she said, bowing low. "Luka will be summoned to the meeting room after your audience with the Umbrella cult. Radak has also been informed and will be ready to meet you."
"Good," the Fool replied, his voice low and even.
"Is there anything else, Beatrice?" The Fool inquired, his voice carrying the same indifferent monotone, as if weighed down by an eternity of tedium, his gaze inscrutable beneath the faint shimmer of mystique.