The dim light of the gas lamp on the desk cast long, dancing shadows across the room, illuminating only fragments of the books and papers that surrounded Noir. Outside, the city sounds had long faded into the deep quiet of the night. Noir didn't notice, lost in the complex details of this new world, and now, the utterly terrifying revelation of the ritual. He felt its vastness, the endless mysteries beyond Alder's familiar room, a complexity far greater than anything from his old life. As he continued to absorb the written words, a chilling understanding grew: this was a world not just of steam and cities, but of something deeper, something touched by the very gods whose names marked the days of the week. And he, the Fool, had just stepped onto its grand, absurd stage, with a university class waiting for him in the morning.
Noir's mind reeled with the revelation of the ritual. The Fool that doesn't belong to this era.The realm of absurdness.The Castle's mists. Every phrase in the inscription echoed the impossible events of his transmigration, each word a confirmation of his deepest fears and most outlandish suspicions. Had Alder, this quiet historian, been trying to contact that enigmatic entity, the Host? Had he, Noir, merely stepped into a pre-existing summons, a trap sprung by another's ambition? The questions swirled, a maelstrom of confusion and dread, but then, a strange, almost absurd compulsion took hold. If this ritual was the key, if it truly led to that 'Castle of Fabrications,' the one Lena had spoken of, then he had to try. He had to know. He had to reclaim some semblance of control over his own fate, even if it meant plunging headfirst into the very heart of the absurd.
He closed his eyes, forcing away the chaotic thoughts, focusing intently on the words. He recited the prayer silently in his mind, his fingers tightening around the ancient parchment, the fragile paper a tangible link to this new, terrifying reality. He poured all his confusion, his frustration, his desperate need for answers, his gnawing fear, into the invocation. The dim glow of the gas lamp seemed to flicker, then to intensify, and then… everything blacked out again.
He reappeared not in Alder's room, but in the familiar, unsettling expanse of the grey mists. This time, however, he wasn't alone. Standing a few feet away, also shrouded in the swirling haze, were two other people, their forms indistinct in the ethereal gloom.
Miles away, onboard a ship battling the gentle swell of the endless sea, a young man in his early thirties stood on the deck. His dull blue hair, reaching a few inches below his shoulders, swayed slightly in the bracing sea breeze. Clad in a black shirt and trousers with a long coat that billowed around him, he clutched an artifact with a reverence that spoke of its immense value. It was the Compass of Destiny, a relic whispered to take its possessor to their desired destination, a guide through the treacherous currents of fate. The compass's body was glass-like, with swirling mist trapped inside it, and it guided the path with the subtle movement of that mist. As he held it, the compass's internal mist began to freeze, solidifying into crystalline patterns, and it started to glow with an insistent, unearthly light, humming with a low, resonating vibration that filled his chest. In the next instant, the blinding glow enveloped him, and he, too, was summoned away, dissolving into the swirling grey mists.
Simultaneously, within the opulent confines of a noble palace, a young woman in her early twenties sat before a grand, silver-framed mirror. This wasn't just any mirror; it was an artifact rumored to have once belonged to the enigmatic Shadow Emperor himself – the Mirror of Desires. Legends claimed it could project the deepest desires of its wielder, and if a long, profound connection had been forged, it could even manifest them in reality. As she gazed into its depths, lost in a fleeting thought of grand adventure, the mirror began to shine with an intense, blinding brilliance. With a soft hum that seemed to resonate with her very soul, the girl, too, was brought into the grey mists, her wish unknowingly answered.
The man with dull blue hair and the noble blonde girl stood in the swirling grey, utterly confused, their eyes wide with disbelief and a touch of primal fear. Their bewildered gazes fell upon Noir, who, despite his own internal turmoil, seemed to be processing the impossible with an unnerving, almost unsettling calm.
"What… what is happening?" the man finally stammered, his voice raw with shock, a tremor running through his frame.
The girl nodded vehemently, her hand instinctively reaching for the mirror that was no longer there. Her expression was a mix of terror and burgeoning excitement. "Yes! Where are we? Who are you?" she demanded, her voice high-pitched.
Noir, though his mind screamed for answers as loudly as theirs, quickly calculated his next move. He had two choices: act completely dumb, as bewildered and lost as they were, or seize control of the situation, take the lead. He recalled the Host's words, the absurd "game," and his assigned role: the Fool. If this was indeed a stage, then he might as well play the lead. He had nothing left to lose, and everything to gain by appearing powerful.
He chose to play along, to embody the role of the enigmatic, all-knowing entity. "This," Noir began, his voice resonating with an authority that surprised even himself, a deep, captivating tone that seemed to draw the very mist around him, "was an attempt." As he spoke, his mind raced, trying to reconcile the formless mist with the 'Castle of Fabrications' he had encountered before. Why wasn't it here? Was it a different phase of this realm?
As if in direct response to his silent query, the grey mists swirled violently, coiling and coalescing and solidifying around them with impossible speed. Pillars rose, impossibly tall, reaching into an unseen ceiling, their ornate carvings shimmering into existence. The colossal crimson moon pulsed into being at the far end, bathing the emerging structure in an eerie, sinister light. The grand, rectangular table materialized, stretching into the eerie distance, leading to a singular, imposing chair at its head. The Castle of Fabrications had manifested, vast and mystical, a theatre for the absurd.
At the very same moment, a thought, clear and commanding, flashed through Noir's mind: A mighty lord needs proper attire. In an instant, his simple linen shirt and trousers vanished, replaced by a fantastic dark grey suit with a long coat that cascaded dramatically below his knees. The familiar sensation of fine, luxurious fabric, far grander than his previous clothes, settled upon him, enhancing his confidence.
He walked with newfound confidence, almost a regal swagger, to the head of the rectangular table, to the very chair where the Host had sat during their last, terrifying encounter. This time, the other end of the table was conspicuously lacking a seat, reinforcing his new, singular position of authority. He settled into the ornate chair, its carved wood perfectly molding to his form, and gestured grandly to the two bewildered newcomers, a silent command for them to take the newly appeared seats opposite him.
"Welcome," Noir said, his voice now deep and captivating, filled with an unearned but utterly convincing gravitas. The words flowed effortlessly, as if he had been born to utter them. "Welcome! to my lair, my castle. The place where absurdness remains." He leaned forward slightly, a theatrical glint in his piercing black eyes, his face subtly obscured by the lingering mists, enhancing his mysterious aura. "This is where wishes are granted. Where fate is determined." He didn't mean a single word of it; he was simply babbling, pulling phrases from the ritual and his own cynical observation of the world's bizarre turn, but the words held an undeniable power in this strange realm, binding his listeners.
The girl gasped, her eyes wide with a sudden, excited realization. "My wish! My wish has been fulfilled!" she exclaimed, her voice trembling with barely contained joy, the wonder overriding her earlier fear. "I had always wished for an adventure!" She looked at Noir, her gaze filled with awe, reverence, and a complete belief in his pronouncements, and then she executed a low, graceful bow, as if greeting a deity, a true lord of this strange domain. "It is an honor, my Lord."