He's the realm's most infamous jester—yet nobody laughs harder than he does when the ground shakes, fangs gleam, and ruin comes charging. Behind the painted grin lies a man whose jokes keep the darkness at bay… for everyone else.
Kieran "Kicks" Vale was supposed to be on break. King's orders, in writing: "One week's reprieve from ze chimera catches, juggles, and jousts, you clownish whirlwind." But when a feral roar pitched through Verdantia's midday sun, Kieran couldn't resist one last performance.
The square of Emberfall bustled with merchants hawking spiced meats and scribes selling love-lorn poems. Children chased beggar dogs under fluttering pennants. Kieran, clad in bedraggled motley of faded emerald and scarlet, perched atop a wobbling crate, spun an orange—until the square quaked like an angry giant stamping its foot.
"Ladies and gentlemen… and assorted livestock! I present to you: the World's Most Unusual—" He paused, sensing the change in the air: a wet snarl, a thundering heartbeat of claws on cobblestone.
From the narrow alley he emerged: a chimera half-scaled beast, the other half hulking lion fused to an eagle's wing and a goat's despairing head. Saliva dripped from its three maws, and its goat visage bleated in pure, unhinged terror.
"—Chimera!" Kieran finished with a flourish, tossing the orange into the air. It exploded with a splat at the beast's hooved foot. He bowed theatrically. "Welcome back! I was hoping you'd show! No autographs, please—these wings are under a no-touch policy."
An eagle head squawked. The lion lunged. The goat bit at Kieran's floppy hat.
Behind him, a dozen market stalls shattered. Shrieks and scrambling feet provided an impromptu soundtrack. But Kieran never flinched. Instead, he kicked off the crate—and tripped backwards, performing a perfect somersault that sent the chimera momentarily off-balance.
You know, even I admire that pratfall, the Lonely Star muttered, its voice a weary echo in Kieran's mind. You really should've taken that vacation.
Kieran landed on one knee, flashing a grin. "Oh, come on, you devilish pet project. I haven't even warmed up!" His free hand plucked a handful of colorful orbs—illusory firecrackers that hissed with ear-splitting pops and harmless sparks. He flicked them at the beast's wings; they erupted in similar crimson sparks, giving the chimera a faceful of light.
Faceful of light… pale comparison to the void you're harboring, the Star sighed.
The chimera roared—louder this time, as if offended by such juvenile tricks. Wings beat, stirring a dust devil that whirled pottery shards around like confetti. Kieran hopped onto a broken barrel, juggled three daggers, then tossed them in a perfect arc. Each blade embedded itself in the beast's flank.
The crowd gasped. One dagger went clean through the goat head. Another pinned an eagle wing to its lion side. The third clattered harmlessly off ivory—proof that this was no amateur's stunt.
Kieran hammed it up, striking a pose. "Ta-da! Thank you, thank you! I'll be here all week—unless the magnanimous crown relocates my contract!" He winked.
Then, with no more kettle drums or trumpets needed, he uttered two words under his breath: "By thunder's balls—"
And the wind answered. Black clouds roiled over the square. A jagged bolt lanced down, striking between the chimera's forelegs. The impact crackled like a hundred coachwhips snapping at once. The beast dropped, twitching, its scorched fur steaming in the noonday heat.
Moments later, Kieran sauntered forward, nonchalantly brushing soot from his tunic. He crouched beside the downed monstrosity and patted its flank. "Sorry, big guy, but rules are rules."
A collective, awed silence hung in the air—then the crowd erupted in cheers. Children whooped; merchants banged pans; a handful of blacksmiths spat sparks from their forges. Even the local scribe—who'd been drafting a very expensive love sonnet—hoisted his quill like a conductor's baton.
Kieran bowed low. "Thank you, Emberfall! Your applause fuels the next trick. Please remember to tip your jester, or I'll be forced to perform really embarrassing poetry!"
Cheers and coin clinked in the open satchel at his feet. He winked at a wide-eyed girl offering him a sweet bun. Kieran took a bite, crumbs sprinkling like gold dust. "Delicious—just like my egotistical bulges!"
You really should watch the sass, Kicks, the Lonely Star murmured. One day you'll finish yourself off with a curse.
Kieran tapped his forehead. "I know, Starling. But if I stop cursing, I might actually be boring. And boring is how the gloom sneaks in."
A soft voice drifted over the crowd. "You never cease to amaze me."
Kieran turned to see a petite figure stepping from the shadow of the archive steps. Eira Wynn—royal archivist and curse linguist—wore the pastel blues of her station. Books and scrolls tucked under one arm, while the other hand fluttered toward her throat, as though recalling the breath she'd almost lost.
She bore no purse or dagger—only a small satchel of parchments. Kieran noted her eyes, the way they reflected sorrow and something like… concern. Odd. Most people simply stared.
He dusted crumbs from his knee. "Ah, Princess of the Written Word herself. Come to steal my secrets, or merely my crumbs?"
Eira smiled faintly. "Your illusions don't hide much, jester. But I sense… more." She stepped closer, inspecting his soot-streaked face. "That explosion of power. You didn't just call the storm—you commanded it."
Kieran's grin faltered for a heartbeat. He looked at the square: festivities renewed, children playing in the dampened puddles. "All in a day's work, love. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a crowd to entertain."
She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear, voice barely above a whisper: "There's sadness in your eyes."
The jester's face snapped back to its customary mask—wide eyes, big grin, comic tilt of the head. "Sadness? Why, this? This is happiness!" He juggled three remaining daggers. "See? Knives, laughs, applause—best day ever!"
He really is in denial, the Lonely Star snarked.
Eira's gaze stayed on his eyes, not the show. "One day, Kicks… someone will ask for your truth and not your performance."
He halted mid-juggle, daggers suspended in air like iron raindrops. The world paused—just for an instant. Then Kieran gave himself a hard shake, daggers clattering back into his pouch. "Right you are! And I can't wait for that day." He winked at the crowd. "Now, who's up for an encore? Or shall I ride into the sunset on a unicycle?"
Laughter echoed. Kieran bowed, then bounded toward his battered cart, where his battered lute, battered umbrella, and battered hat awaited.
As he rolled off—with Eira falling into step beside him—the jester's laughter trailed behind like confetti. But inside, his heart felt hollow, like an empty drum begging for a fill.
He can't keep this up forever, Eira whispered, more to herself than to him.
"Forever's a mighty long time," Kieran chirped, striding into the narrow lane that led away from Emberfall's cheering square. "Good thing I'm impatient."
And desperately afraid? The Lonely Star sighed.
He hummed a cheerful tune, eyes ahead. But sometimes, the brightest smile casts the darkest shadow. And Kieran Vale's mask was about to crack.
Chapter 1: The Clown Enforcer
Moonlight glinted off the Tower of Standards as Kieran Vale lay sprawled atop his battered cart, lute strings humming under his elbow. A calendar etched into a scrap of parchment next to him read: Day Seven: Mandatory Rest. Clearly, nobody had consulted the laws of chaos.
He popped open a flask, took a sip of sour plum wine, and sighed. "One more day," he murmured. "Then I'll nap. And by nap, I mean sleep for two weeks, undisturbed."
A gust of wind rattled the shutters overhead. Kieran squinted. The night sky churned with unnatural clouds—an omen.
His fingers found his daggers. "Star?"
Go fetch coffee. I'll handle the roar, the Lonely Star replied, its tone bored.
Kieran rolled off the cart, nearly face-planting in a pile of old pamphlets: Regulations on Licensed Spells. He muttered, "Nothing wrong with a small thunderclap." Sprawled in his motley, Kieran stumbled toward the square, cloak snagging on a crooked sign that read Emberfall: Population 3,247.
At the fountain's center, a phantom glow pulsed. A low growl—liquid and menacing—rippled through the stone basin.
From the shadows, four bright eyes glowed. The flicker revealed knotted fur and quivering wings. Clearly, this was no garden-variety cat.
"Now?" Kieran asked the empty air.
Now.
He grabbed his jester's staff—a gnarled stick topped with a comical porcelain face that cackled if he tossed it too hard. Tonight, though, he hefted it like a warhammer.
A snarl split the stillness. The chimera lunged. One moment a shadow, the next a draconic blur.
Kieran sidestepped, tripped over his own cloak, then somersaulted up to his feet, staff spinning like a baton. He braced for impact.
But no impact came. With a flick of his wrist, he sent a volley of applause—illusory petals that burst like fireworks. The chimera recoiled, nostrils flaring at phantom blossoms.
Kieran spun the staff overhead. "Flower power!" He slammed it down. A shockwave rippled beneath the chimera, sending it staggering. Kieran grinned—victory already his.
Child's play, the Star snarked.
The beast, enraged, flared all three heads. Each let loose a different breath: flame, corrosive acid, and a blast of shrieking sound that shattered pottery three streets away.
Kieran's grin faltered—just a crack. "Well, that's rude."
He lurched back, scuffing his boots. Around him, the square's lanterns sputtered out, one by one. In the gloom, only the chimera's eyes and that unsettling green glow of the fountain remained.
Time to turn up the show. Kieran lunged into a breakdance that transitioned into a backflip. From midair, he hurled his fireworks-staff directly at the beast's lion head.
The staff struck true, releasing a burst of light and laughter—literally. A spell woven from joy and jester's guffaws: anyone who heard it would laugh uncontrollably for fifteen heartbeats. The lion roared mid-chuckle, its jaws snapping between guffaws. The goat bleated "baa-ha-ha," tripping over its own acid-soaked hooves.
See? A bit more finesse, the Star conceded.
As the spell faded, the chimera staggered—momentarily dazed. Behind it, Kieran clicked his tongue and produced three gleaming bolts from his sleeve. "By my grandmother's wooden leg—catch!"
He flung the bolts in a perfect arc. They embedded themselves in the chimera's scaled flank, anchoring a second jester's gimmick: a dampening sigil that sapped the beast's fury.
With a final shriek, the chimera collapsed into the fountain, Aquarius spilling over the rim as water and magic combined into a harmless mist. The square fell silent, save for dripping stone and the distant cry of an alarm bell.
Kieran dusted his hands. "Ta-da."
The lanterns reignited, one flickering at a time. Torches blazed back to life. From the alleyway spilled Emberfall's night watch—sleepy men and women with wide eyes.
"Vale!" barked Captain Marspin, iron gauntlets clanking. "What in the Seven Spirals are you doing in my jurisdiction?"
Kieran bowed low. "Testing local hospitality. Five out of seven stars—room for improvement on snacks." He tossed the plum wine flask at the captain's boots. "Complimentary."
The watch laughed, tension easing. Marspin knelt to examine the now-purring chimera. "By the king's teeth… you did it. And with a rhyme and a dance."
Kieran flashed his trademark grin. "One clown's work is never done." He turned to the fountain, where Eira Wynn stood, her face lit by moonlight. Scrolls peeked from her satchel like shy specters.
"Librarian," he greeted. "Come to critique my choreography?"
Eira crossed her arms, brow furrowed. "Or to study why you hide your power in jokes."
Kieran swallowed. The square felt too small, too silent. He forced a chuckle. "Power? I'm just a fellow who hates paperwork."
Her gaze didn't waver. "I've read your file. Every illusion, every dampener, every—"
A thunderclap cracked overhead, louder than any jester's orchestra. Rain began to fall, not in drops, but in ribbons of light, dripping sparks that fizzed on cobblestone.
Kieran's heart clenched. "Star?"
Brace yourself.
He swallowed. The moment to hide behind pratfalls and punchlines had passed. Chapters awaited—stories of found families and buried grief.
And the first page was already written in thunder.