Klara was, quite frankly, rather proud of herself.
Sitting upon the high-backed bronze chair, she allowed herself a metaphorical pat on the back. Her smirk was hidden by the gray fog, of course, but her pride was not. Well done, Klara, well done, she congratulated herself as she eyed Adrian from across the long table.
The Mirror sat idle, his back pressed to his chair, one hand resting lazily at his jaw as he watched Lady Justice chatter on. No one else would notice it, but Klara swore she could see the faintest tightening at the corner of his mouth. Ah, yes—she'd turned his neat little plan right on its head, and wasn't that just delicious?
See, Mister Mirror, you might have wings and fire, but you're still playing at my table. I don't care if you're a Mirror or a dragon in disguise—you throw bait at me, I'll happily feed it back to you. Who's the Fool now, hm?
She was lampooning so hard internally that she nearly missed the pause. Audrey, bless her innocent heart, had turned those wide, sparkling eyes up at her. The girl's gaze was full of trust, reverence… and, to Klara's barely contained amusement, outright adoration.
Klara stiffened for only half a beat before she coughed lightly into her hand and nodded, magnanimous as a queen. The sight of Audrey's radiant smile warmed her despite herself, softening the edges of her lampoon. Adorable. Absolutely adorable. Someone protect this girl before the world chews her up.
Still, she couldn't stay soft for long. The meeting was still moving forward. She let her expression sober and turned toward Alger.
After receiving a subtle nod of confirmation from him, she shifted her gaze to the member opposite her and spoke with deliberate anticipation:
"Mr. Hanged Man, my tip allowed you to finish Vice Admiral Hurricane. Have you prepared the complete pituitary gland of a mature Rainbow Salamander?"
Alger's weathered face was calm, but Klara noticed the shadow in his eyes. "That's one of the reasons why I returned to the sea," he replied steadily. He inclined his head with the smallest trace of pride. "I've gotten the Beyonder material you wanted. But…" his voice slowed, heavy, "…how should I give it to you?"
The words settled like stones in water.
Audrey froze. Her lips parted, her bright mind racing ahead only to run into wall after wall. It's impossible to just give my address, she thought. Nor can I go through Xio and Fors—that would reveal too much. No… there must be another way.
Klara watched her, a little sympathetic, mostly amused. Poor thing was too honest for this world.
Meanwhile, Audrey pressed on in thought: Emperor Roselle once said that when we must, we should choose the lesser of two evils…
Klara's heart stirred. Her lips curled in a smile as she lightly tapped the edge of the long bronze table.
"Miss, Sir," she said smoothly, "are you willing to cooperate with me in making an attempt regarding this matter?"
The word attempt immediately changed the atmosphere.
Justice's face lit up in delight, though she carefully schooled her posture into something more elegant, nodding as though she hadn't nearly bounced in her seat. "I'm very willing to cooperate," she said with practiced grace. But her eyes sparkled, and Klara didn't need Spectator powers to know she was practically vibrating inside.
As a Spectator, Audrey remembered clearly: the Fool had only ever used the word attempt twice before. The first was bringing her and The Hanged Man into this mysterious space. The second was granting them honorary names to attempt prayer. Both had succeeded, proving the mysterious power of "Him." What would it be this time? What could possibly top those?
Alger, by contrast, stiffened like a wire pulled taut. Attempt… His wariness flared as questions tumbled one after the other. What does 'He' want to do? What is 'His' true purpose? Is this good or bad for me? The memory of Vice Admiral Hurricane's rotting corpse flashed behind his eyes. He lowered his head slightly, voice respectful: "Your wish is my wish."
Beside him, Derrick blinked between them. Poor boy looked utterly lost. Attempt? Trial? Why did the others look like they were standing on the edge of a cliff? To him, it was only another mystery in a sea of them.
Klara tapped the table again, her smile growing. "This attempt will make your transaction easier and safer, and it will definitely be sufficiently confidential."
She turned her head deliberately toward Alger. "Do you remember the sacrificial ritual described by The Sun?"
Alger's heart lurched. Still, he answered truthfully, "I remember. I do come into contact with such things usually."
Klara noted the flicker of unease that crossed his face. In the Fifth Epoch, "sacrifice" was synonymous with evil gods and devils. If this was the path she offered, it meant walking an abyss so deep it might swallow him whole.
Klara's lips quirked. Oh, you think it's terrifying now? Wait until you realize I'm making you build the abyss with your own two hands.
She let the moment stretch, then continued, "My idea is for you to sacrifice the Beyonder material to me through the ritual. I will then bestow them to Miss Justice. A transaction like this will be beneficial for both of you."
Audrey's jaw nearly dropped. For a moment she forgot herself entirely. Sacrifice… and then bestowal? That's—that's something only gods do. This is divine!
She trembled with excitement. Their Tarot Club wasn't just different from other organizations—it was transcendent. It was holy. She very nearly whispered "Praise the Lady" out of habit, but at the last second corrected herself, murmuring reverently in her heart: Praise Mr. Fool.
Alger, however, only grew warier. He lowered his head further, thoughts whirling. Honorable Mr. Fool, what do I need to do?
Klara raised her hand and pressed her fingers lightly against the table. "Like I said, this is only an attempt. It might not succeed, so it will need your cooperation. First of all, prepare an altar. It need not be elaborate—simple, even crude, is enough. The only requirement is to engrave or draw this symbol."
As she spoke, light shimmered into existence in the air above the table. Lines twisted and curved until the symbol of the hidden pupil-less eye merged with contorted lines. It was the same sigil carved into the back of her throne.
The members leaned forward instinctively, memorizing it. Audrey's breath hitched as she committed every curve to memory. Derrick frowned in concentration. Alger's face tightened with restrained unease.
Klara, meanwhile, allowed herself a sly satisfaction.
She already knew the trick. She already knew the truth—that this "sacrifice" wasn't true godhood but clever exploitation of the gray fog's strange nature. She knew she couldn't maintain a stable channel on her own. She knew this was only possible here, above the fog, and with their unwitting help.
But they don't need to know that, do they? All they need is the illusion. The truth can stay safely tucked behind the mirror.
Her confidence rose with every heartbeat. This was more than just a transaction; it was another proof, another brick in the altar of The Fool's image. She had them, hook, line, and sinker.
"As you attempt the ritual," Klara added with a smile, "if you forget the symbol, you can always pray to me—and you will remember."
The table fell silent. Even Adrian finally lifted his head a fraction, his eyes lingering on her with that unnerving stillness.
Klara kept her smile steady, though inside she was lampooning wildly. Yes, yes, keep staring, dragon. Memorize it well. I may be dancing on wires above a chasm, but I'll be damned if I don't look graceful while doing it.
The moment her gaze crossed Adrian's, something shifted. His dark, polished eyes reflected her smugness right back at her, and before she could decide whether to scowl or smirk harder, he moved.
A ripple spread across the air, silvered like water disturbed by a pebble. A mirror unfolded before him, tall and gleaming, catching and distorting the faint glow of the gray fog.
"I may be able to help," he said simply, his voice clipped, annoyingly confident.
Then—snap. His fingers clicked, and the great mirror cracked cleanly, neatly, splitting into four shards that folded and condensed into palm-sized ornaments. They hovered for a heartbeat, before settling in his hands like tame birds.
He angled the mirror shards toward the symbol Klara had so graciously revealed. The sigil burned itself into the reflective surface, etched there in spectral permanence.
"This should help, though it won't last forever," he remarked, tone maddeningly casual. He slid one toward Audrey, another to Alger, another to Derrick, keeping the last to himself.
Audrey was beside herself. She nearly gasped, taking the ornament with both hands like it was a blessed relic. Alger's mouth tightened as he accepted his with visible hesitation, but he did not refuse. Derrick, bright-eyed and earnest, thanked Adrian with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the Fool alone.
Adrian glanced at his own mirror shard, tilting it once before lifting his gaze directly back to Klara.
Her teeth clicked as her tongue pressed to the roof of her mouth. Well, not like it really did anything… just a parlor trick with shiny glass. But no—no, wait. Of course. He's trying to get under my skin. That smug little dragon—ugh! He's baiting me, waiting for me to slip, hoping I'll reveal more than I intend. Oh, Klara, come on! That's literally one of the most common tactics. You use it all the time yourself!
She forced her face smooth, regal, the very picture of unbothered omnipotence, though inside she was lampooning herself into the grave.
"Alright," Audrey answered cheerfully, utterly oblivious to the silent duel between Fool and Mirror. With Mr. Fool, rituals aren't tedious and troublesome!
Her faith was radiant. Klara fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. Adorable. Hopelessly, devastatingly adorable.
The Hanged Man, still clutching his shard like it might bite him, gave a curt nod.
Klara cleared her throat, continuing as though Adrian had not just stabbed a needle of irritation into her ribs.
"Secondly," she said, her voice smooth as glass, "follow the normal procedure. There's no need to burn additional herbs or apply the holy oil. There is no restriction on time; simply chant my name. Remember—recite the prayer in ancient Hermes or Jotun."
She let the words settle, then intoned the formula slowly, deliberately, watching each member's face as they memorized:
"Your devoted servant prays for your attention.
I pray for you to take his offerings.
I pray for you to open the gates to your Kingdom."
"After you finish chanting," she continued, "combine the materials containing spirituality with the natural power created by the incantation. Wait for my response.
"If you fail—change from ordinary spiritual materials to Beyonder materials, and attempt again from the beginning."
She ended with a small, patient smile, the kind that dared anyone to say they hadn't understood.
Alger's brows furrowed ever so slightly. His earlier suspicions began to crystallize. Yes… the Fool is experimenting again. Always experimenting. Each 'attempt' is another brick pried loose from the prison He's caught in. This ritual isn't just for us. It's for Him.
Klara, watching him through the veil of fog, knew exactly where his mind was going. She could almost hear his silent conclusion: The Fool intends to descend one day. That's why He formed the Tarot Club. That's why He needs us. We are His bridge.
She kept her smile, serene and lofty, but inside she was laughing. Oh, Alger, you suspicious, gloomy fish-man. If only you knew how much of this is smoke and mirrors. If only you knew I was as much a prisoner of this game as you are.
Still, his suspicion was useful. Suspicion kept them obedient. Suspicion kept them wary of leaving.
After finishing the instructions, Klara softened her tone just enough to feign intimacy:
"The sacrificial ritual requires timing. Mr. Hanged Man, when do you plan to make the attempt?"
Her gaze rested on him, steady, demanding.
Alger inhaled slowly, bowing his head. "The Rainbow Salamander's pituitary gland is the only Beyonder material I currently have. As for ordinary spiritual materials, I do have quite a lot… Mr. Fool, once the gathering ends, I'll immediately attempt the first scenario. If it fails, I'll seek out other Beyonder materials. Once I obtain them, I'll pray to confirm a time."
He could not help but glance sideways at Audrey, the unspoken question clear.
Audrey straightened proudly, her curls bouncing as she said without hesitation, "If more Beyonder materials are required, I'll compensate you afterward. I can't promise the specific type, but I'll do what I can!"
Klara's lips curved despite herself. Ah, yes. As expected of our little golden goose. So quick to offer, so eager to please.
If she had lungs here, she might've sighed. Instead, she chuckled softly. "We have come to an agreement."
Her eyes swept over Audrey, and she added with faint gravity, "Once Mr. Hanged Man's attempt succeeds, I will inform you of the bestowment ritual."
Audrey nearly sparkled. "Alright!" she said, utterly confident in Klara's abilities. Her mind was already racing, imagining futures, applications—transactions beyond mere materials. She bit her lip, but her eyes betrayed her excitement.
Money, items, everything could be exchanged this way. The Tarot Club isn't just a secret gathering—it's an entire divine marketplace…
Klara could practically hear the gears in her little head spinning. Good. Let her dream. Let her hope. The more they believe, the stronger this masquerade becomes.
With the matter of sacrifice settled, Audrey hesitated only briefly before lifting her chin. "Mr. Fool, I've found two ladies suitable for our Tarot Club. Both are Beyonders, with circles and resources in Backlund. They are discreet, trustworthy, and have decent personalities. Would you allow them to join?"
The table stirred with new energy. Alger's eyes narrowed slightly, instinctively suspicious. Is Justice already building her own faction? Derrick leaned forward, eyes shining, eager for more friends, more allies.
Adrian, infuriatingly calm, simply glanced at Klara as though testing how she would react.
Klara tilted her head, hiding her frown behind the gray mist. Truth be told, she hadn't wanted this. She had imagined the Tarot Club as an elegant lattice of hidden strings—each member a node, each connected to her alone. Subordinates could be useful, yes, but they muddied the purity of her design. And yet… Audrey's words tugged at her weak spot.
Backlund. Beyonders in Backlund. They could have ties to the Secret Order. To Lanevus. To the trail I need.
She let her hesitation show, the tiniest crease of her brow, enough to make them think she weighed something vast and divine.
Finally, she spoke evenly: "It will require examination. Miss Justice, use a clandestine method that will not expose you. Let them know my name, and gauge their interest."
Audrey's cheeks flushed with excitement. "Yes, Mr. Fool!"
The meeting wound down in the familiar rhythm of ritual. A few more exchanges—small confirmations, lingering glances, quiet thanks. Then, one by one, the members faded back into their respective worlds.
The Sun, the Hanged Man, Justice—all slipped away.
The gray fog was quiet. Too quiet. Klara allowed herself the briefest moment to sag against the throne's back, one hand rubbing at her temple. She hadn't realized how exhausting the act was until everyone vanished. It was a performance, a ritual all its own: balancing aloof grandeur, sly manipulation, and quick improvisation, all while Adrian's mirrors scraped against her nerves.
She was just about to close her eyes when a voice cut the stillness.
"Finally… we're alone."
Her eyes snapped open. Adrian loomed over her—towering, shadow swallowing the already dim gray light. He was close. Too close. His hands pressed firmly against the armrests of her throne, pinning her neatly in place.
Too close, too close!! AHHH—I FORGOT, HE GOT HERE ON HIS OWN!
Klara forced her lips to curl into a smile, even as her chest screamed to leap out of her ribcage. "Oh, Mirror? Daring, aren't we?" she purred, deliberately husky, hoping—praying—it would at least knock him half a step off balance.
But no. Not even the faintest twitch. No smile. No blush. No smug smirk. His perfect face stayed carved in that infuriatingly indifferent marble mask.
Ugh! This is exactly what I hate about good-looking people. They don't have to try. They don't have to laugh or smile or work at anything. Just stand there, look dramatic with their cheekbones, and suddenly everyone thinks they're profound. Meanwhile, me? I have to scheme and sweat and bleed and juggle three divine plates just to keep the house of cards upright. But him? One broody glare and boom—mystery incarnate. It's not fair!
"…You are an enigma," Adrian muttered finally, his voice low, reverberating in the fog. He didn't move an inch, didn't even give her room to breathe. "…I saw Miss Justice, clear as day. The sailor and the sun, too. They were reflected in my eyes. Truth cannot hide when faced with its own reflection."
Klara straightened instinctively, spine pressing taut against the throne. His eyes bore into hers with that relentless intensity.
"But you… I can't see you."
The faintest edge of frustration tinged his tone, and Klara's lips curled into a grin before she could stop herself. Ah, sweet victory. Just a taste.
"What do you mean? I'm standing in front of you." She teased, tone laced with mock innocence.
Nothing. No reaction. Not even a sigh.
Instead, he leaned closer, voice dropping: "…You are no god."
Klara scoffed inside, biting back the urge to roll her eyes. I already knew you knew, dumbass. Instead, she only let out a slow, measured exhale, feigning mild boredom.
He pulled back at last, his tall frame retreating a single step—but his words lingered like a blade poised above her throat.
"…But you are favored by one."
That made her flinch. The smirk faltered, and her heart seized.
Adrian's gaze was sharp, unwavering. "Remember this, Fool. The Mirror is an absolute truth. Nothing can hide from its own reflection. The fact I cannot see you does not mean you're beyond it. It simply means the mirror I hold is too dull… for the brilliance of you and your guardian."
His eyes narrowed, then softened by a hair. "Wait for me. I will stare into your eyes and show you your true self in due time."
And just like that—he was gone.
Klara sat frozen, staring at the place where he had been, her hands curled so tightly around the throne's arms that her knuckles ached. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted one hand and pressed it to her chest. Her heart hammered like a frantic prisoner rattling its cage.
"…The real… me."
Her whisper echoed into the fog, thin and trembling, swallowed quickly by the endless gray.