The wooden door groaned as it slowly opened, sending a shiver down my spine. Only a narrow slit moved—barely enough for a single person. I glanced back at Mr. M, bowing as always, and realized there was no turning back. My steps were heavy, almost like climbing a steep mountain, as I crossed the threshold.
"Good luck," Mr. M said.
Good luck… What did he mean by that? I took another step forward, and the door creaked again. It was about to close. I looked at the door, then at the room ahead. Darkness swallowed everything. I stretched out my hands, trying to sense the space, until my toe struck something hard.
"Ouch! Damn! That hurts!"
How could I hurt myself so badly while wearing sturdy shoes? I bent down and realized—I was barefoot.
"I was sure I had shoes on…"
A lazy, yawning voice drifted from the shadows, mingling with my pain:
"Ah… you've arrived, Fool. Let me light the room for you."
Three slow, deliberate claps echoed. Torches flared to life one by one, casting flickering light over the dusty room. Shelves lined the walls, mostly empty, some books scattered and worn. A desk stood with papers and a single candle. A wooden table with two chairs sat in the center. Yet, no one was in sight.
Then, a hand touched my shoulder lightly, and a tired voice said,
"Hello."
The Fool: "Hello?" My heart nearly leapt out of my chest—when did he get here?
I looked closely. A young man, light beard, shoulder-length curls, wearing a white shirt and brown pants with suspenders, barefoot. Exhaustion weighed on his face.
The Fool: "So… who are you, sir?"
The Magician: He yawned. "I am the Magician."
The Fool: "The Magician? You're in charge of the test?"
The Magician strolled forward, nudged a chair into place, and sat casually.
The Magician: "Yes. I oversee your test—or trial."
The Fool: "Then… what happens now?"
The Magician: "Sit first. Then we'll see."
I pulled the chair and sat, eyes fixed on him. He rubbed his forehead and dark circles marked the exhaustion beneath his eyes.
The Magician: "So, you really are the Fool. Last time I saw you, you were twenty."
The Fool: "You know me?"
The Magician: "Yes… we've met before. Or perhaps I shouldn't say that."
The Fool: "But I don't remember you! If you know me, do you know my name? Or what I look like?"
The Magician hesitated, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his face.
The Magician: "I cannot tell. But… your face… it's gone."
The Fool: "What do you mean?"
He snapped his fingers, and a mirror appeared before me. I stared. No face, no features—yet I could see, hear, even smell. A strange, eerie scent hung in the air.
The Magician: "Do not worry. It's only a mask hiding your features. This is the Fool's mask."
I looked back at him, then at the mirror, anxiety rising. Nothing had felt strange entering—but now, every step seemed heavier.
The Magician: "You may want answers. But answers are not easy. They lie… here."
He snapped his fingers again, and the mirror vanished. His hands clasped in front of me, holding my gaze, then released, revealing three cups and a small ball before me.