Acquaintance?
The parchment in his hand shimmered like liquid gold, and I could feel its pull, almost as if the ink itself whispered my name. But before I could make sense of the offer—or my own thoughts—I found my voice.
“Wait.” My words came sharper than I intended. “Who… who are you?”
The ringmaster paused, his silver eyes flickering with amusement. “Ah, yes. Of course. Formalities.” He tipped his top hat and stepped back, sweeping into a low, theatrical bow.
“I am Rui,” he said, his voice velvety, with a lilt that rolled like thunder in the distance. “Ringmaster of the Midnight Circus, custodian of its wonders, and curator of the extraordinary.”
"But titles are a dime a dozen,” he continued smoothly, adjusting his hat. “You may call me Rui. Or simply ‘Ringmaster,’ if it suits your sense of mystery.”
I crossed my arms, trying to appear braver than I felt. “You’ve told me what you are. But that doesn’t tell me who. What is all this really? And why am I here?”
His smile deepened, but it didn’t feel reassuring. If anything, it felt like a test.
“Haven't i answered that dear? Or maybe my answer didn't ring a bell to your ears like the others,” he said, nodding approvingly. “The Midnight Circus is a place between worlds. A sanctuary for the lost, the forgotten, the extraordinary. It exists for those who need it—those the world has cast aside or cannot comprehend.”
His gaze bore into me. “And you, my dear, stumbled into its embrace. That doesn’t happen by chance.”
“I didn’t stumble,” I countered. “I got lost.”
“Lost,” he mused, rolling the word over like a fine wine. “Indeed. But every wandering soul has a purpose, whether they know it or not. The Menagerie has called you because it sees potential. It sees you.”
His words lingered, and a strange warmth stirred in my chest—a mix of fear, curiosity, and a dangerous flicker of hope.
“And you?” I pressed. “What’s your story? Why are you here?”
For the first time, his smile faltered. It was so brief I almost missed it.
“My story,” he said quietly, “is of little consequence. What matters is the Menagerie. It has been my charge for… a very long time.”
“How long?”
He tilted his head, as if pondering whether to answer. “Long enough to know the weight of eternity.”
That crack in his mask widened ever so slightly, revealing something raw and weary beneath. Then, just as quickly, he straightened, the theatrical confidence returning.
The parchment lingered in my hands, its gold script shifting like it was breathing. Rui had taken a step back, his silver gaze calm but watchful, as though he already knew the answer I hadn't given.
But then... the music changed.
The haunting violin melody that had been playing since my arrival softened into something different—livelier, with the lilting rise and fall of a ballad. A warm, inviting tune that felt out of place amid the eerie spectacle.
Footsteps echoed from behind one of the nearby tents.
“Ah.” Rui's composure seemed to falter, just for a heartbeat, before he turned toward the sound. “It seems one of our... other performers wishes to make his entrance.”
A figure emerged from the mist—a bard, or at least he seemed like one. His clothes were a patchwork of mismatched fabrics: deep forest green stitched with pale gold threads, the hems worn but elegant. A lute hung lazily from a strap across his back, and a silver pendant in the shape of a crescent moon rested against his chest.
“Ah, the great Rui,” the blonde haired bard said with a teasing bow, though his voice carried more warmth than mockery. “Still recruiting lost souls for your menagerie of curiosities, I see?”
“I offer salvation from a world that has forgotten you,” he said carefully. “A place where you can be more than ordinary. Where you can belong. Is that truly such a terrible thing?”
Rui’s smile tightened. “Tsukasa. Must you always interrupt at the most... delicate of moments?”
Tsukasa.
The bard's gaze shifted to me, and his smile softened, genuine in a way that made my heart skip.
“I tend to appear when I’m needed,” he said, almost as if it were a joke—but there was a weight behind his words. “And you are?”
“I... don’t know if I’m staying,” I admitted, clutching the parchment closer to my chest.
“Ah.” Tsukasa’s gaze flicked to the contract for only a moment before he stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Has he told you everything? Or just the parts that sound lovely?”
Rui’s eyes narrowed.
Silence.
The parchment burned cold in my hands.
Tsukasa took another step closer, as if testing Rui's patience. His gaze softened—not for me, but for him.
“You’ve done so much to protect this place,” he said quietly. “But at what cost, Rui? How many more will you collect before you’re satisfied?”