Chapter Text
Deep night had descended upon Backlund, and the crimson moon in the sky embraced all its inhabitants with a tranquil glow, lulling them into a sweet slumber. Its rays filtered through the small apertures of St. Samuel’s Church, casting a brilliant starry sky upon the darkened walls. Beneath this celestial glow, a slender young woman in red gloves walked silently, a mysterious smile playing upon her lips.
She nodded to the robed preacher on duty before descending into a hidden passage that led to the lower level. Fearless in the darkness, she stepped down the spiral staircase, her heart pounding in anticipation.
'I just need to wait for Deacon Leonard to finish his bathing ritual and deliver the message… Cindy, you can do this!'
Leonard Mitchell, deacon of the Church of the Evernight Goddess and an angel of the Second Sequence. In other words, an extraordinary man, one of those closest to the Gods themselves. The Red Glove had heard that he had once been her superior in the squad before retiring long ago. He was also known to be well acquainted with Madame Daly. Perhaps it was because the woman oversaw the library, a place the deacon visited from time to time? She didn’t want to think there was some clandestine romance between them...
A soft splash.
At last, her steps halted before the underground spring of holy water. Rumors whispered that their deacon, having ascended to the Second Sequence, was required to bathe regularly, to cleanse himself of human sin and stand pure before the Goddess. The notion suited Leonard perfectly: the distant figure at the pulpit, preaching in solemn detachment, or seated in his office, gazing out upon the suffering streets with silent sorrow. Cindy, enraptured, ventured closer, drawn by the forbidden temptation of glimpsing an angel in the flesh.
Warm lamplight, adorned with etched stars at its center, shimmered upon the still water’s surface, reflecting pale, bare skin glistening with droplets. Wet, dark hair clung to the smooth expanse of his back and legs, tracing his form in a way that stirred thoughts unbidden. His hands were clasped together in prayer, as always, his face alight with reverence, devotion, and piety, all directed toward the heavens, where She resided.
"Oh, Mister Fool, I hope you are watching over this follower at this very moment..."
What?
The name that had just escaped their deacon’s lips, it wasn’t simply another god’s name. It belonged to an underground sect! Cindy’s eyes widened in shock. Stumbling backward, she searched frantically for the shadows, her instincts urging her to disappear, to assess the situation from a safer vantage. It was impossible. An angel who had served Her for decades could not be a worshiper of a false god!
But before she could slip into darkness, she froze, her throat suddenly ensnared. Not only that, her arms, her legs, even her face were constricted by sleek, silken strands of black hair. The Second Sequence ability! Cindy thrashed, muffled sounds of panic escaping her lips. It felt as though the God of Death himself was breathing down her neck, and despite the stifling underground heat, a chill crept over her skin.
Behind her, water sloshed as if the deacon had risen from the spring, stepping toward his captive voyeur. Footsteps. The clinking of belts. Cindy’s vision swam with the combined weight of suffocation and the dread of what awaited her.
Then, she was hurled onto the ground. Coughing, she gasped desperately for air. But just as she reached for the safety of the shadows by the wall, a firm grip seized her ankle and wrenched her back, dragging her across the stone floor.
"P-please forgive me... I didn’t mean to..."
Her voice trembled, pleading, as she turned her gaze up to the angel of the Goddess’s church. But what she saw was something she should never have laid eyes upon.
"You saw."
The ever-serene green eyes, in which worshippers often found the same peace granted by the Goddess, were now cold and indifferent. Leonard regarded the Red Glove impassively, then glanced down at his own abdomen, following her stricken gaze. Slowly, his lips curved into a terrible smile. As if boasting, he traced a hand over his wet, exposed skin, his fingers outlining the dark, embedded sigil, a pupil staring forth from its inky prison, a symbol of change, of secrecy, and...
"It’s His mark. Beautiful, isn’t it?"
Cindy numbly nodded, scrambling backward as tears welled in her eyes. Clad in pristine white robes, Leonard had always resembled a gentle angel, but now, half-clothed and bearing the sigil of a forbidden god, she no longer knew whether she should flee the church or warn the priest outside of the blasphemer within these sacred walls.
Those glowing green eyes, framed by crescent shadows, bore into her, sharp teeth glinting beneath the lamplight. They looked ready to tear into her throat in a single bite.
"I know you. Cindy of the Red Gloves."
The moment he spoke her name, she shuddered violently, struggling against the binding strands.
"Doesn’t it sadden you? You and your comrades fight so hard, die in distant lands, and not even your ashes always make it back to the church..."
"No! No...!"
"But He is not like that. His followers are cherished."
He reached out, his motion more akin to that of a monster beckoning its prey.
"He accepts all. Even you. So, make your choice, become His sustenance, or His beloved disciple?"
Cindy’s breath hitched as she watched the pointed, wolf-like ears emerge from the deacon’s head, a tail flicking behind him, casting shifting shadows against the walls. And then, from between his ribs, two more pairs of arms began to take shape, reaching for her.
The sight of his partially revealed mythical form was the last thing she registered before darkness claimed her.
Silence settled over the underground chamber, disturbed only by the quiet drip of water.
"Weak..."
With a heavy sigh, he knelt beside her. Two fingers traced the curve of her chin before settling lightly at her throat, feeling the steady thrum of life beneath her skin.
"So weak. Is this truly the kind of soldier I trained you to be?"
'It’s not yet time for a sacrifice...'
With a distant thought, he reached into her mind, weaving a nightmare of a monstrous entity, one entirely unrelated to himself.
Returning to the spring, Leonard finished drying his body and draped himself in his white robe. It was long and heavy, so unlike his Red Glove uniform, but... he would endure it. Just a little longer.
A smile spread across his lips as he recalled that today, at precisely three in the afternoon, the Tarot Club would convene.
'Ah, Mr. Fool himself invited us to play. Perhaps I should visit Madame Daly again and suggest a round of poker. Or... would it be more fun to enter the dreams of a skilled Red Glove?'
Ascending to the surface, Leonard informed the preacher that Cindy had fainted upon witnessing his true form. Just minutes ago, his face had twisted into something unrecognizably monstrous, but now, it was the picture of concern.
Left alone in the grand hall of the church, where prayers to the Goddess echoed daily, the deacon cast his gaze upward, eyes fixed on the heavens.
But his thoughts were far from the Evernight Goddess.
'I wonder if Mr. Fool will praise me if I win.'
A gray mist crept through the ancient castle, wrapping itself around the towering, cracked columns and the long bronze table standing at its center. At the head of the table sat a young man dressed in a double-breasted suit and a top hat. Tapping his fingers lightly against the armrest with an amused smile, he appeared to be waiting for something with great anticipation. Then, with a snap of his fingers...
One by one, human figures materialized within the palace!
Each took their place upon the stone seats surrounding the table. Closest to the mist-cloaked young man sat a lady in an opulent green gown. She rose gracefully and curtsied before offering a greeting,
"Good day, Mr. Fool."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, his gaze sweeping over the assembled figures as they each, in turn, greeted their god. Like a father watching over his children gathered for supper, he asked in a gentle voice,
"A week has passed. Is there anything you wish to tell me?"
It was as though they had been waiting for this moment. Several members of the Tarot Club brightened, their cheeks flushing with excitement. Before the first to greet him, Justice, could part her lips to speak of her accomplishments, Sun eagerly interjected.
Springing to his feet, he declared with delight,
"Mr. Fool! Mr. Hanged Man and I discovered an orphanage where the children were being mistreated. We brought them to Your church, and now they, too, have placed their faith in You." Clasping his hands devoutly before his face, he all but prayed aloud. "Isn't it wonderful? Now they shall be saved, just as I was."
"Very well done," the Fool said simply. "See to it that the children are cared for. I imagine they are quite confused at present."
"You are as perceptive as ever!" Sun exclaimed before hastily sitting back down, having caught Hanged Man’s pointed glance.
Hanged Man gave a nod of confirmation. "One of the remote churches of the Lord of Storms operated the orphanage in the Loenian colony. They took in children under the guise of care but forced them into menial labor. When they misbehaved, they were beaten with rods, doused in ice-cold water and left in the streets, or locked away in the cellar without food."
Remembering that Justice, a representative of the aristocracy, was present, Alger quickly moved on.
"We have relocated them to the main church. Though they are wary, they seem content. Once a separate building has been constructed, we shall move them there and educate them, ensuring they have a place in society."
Fool listened intently before asking, "And does it not trouble you that it was a church of the Lord of Storms?"
Hanged Man placed a hand over his heart in the gesture of Fool’s faith, closing his eyes. "I believe only in You, not in the Lord of Storms."
"I am glad your thoughts are unclouded by doubt."
The room fell into a contemplative silence as the members absorbed Alger's account, each lost in their own thoughts. Audrey, feeling a surge of humility, discreetly tapped her hand against her lap beneath the table. She had been too proud of her minor achievements in spreading the Fool’s influence among the aristocracy and had momentarily forgotten that her project to improve the lives of the working class, so dear to their benevolent god, had made little progress.
Fool, noticing her downcast expression, spoke gently,
"A week is but a fleeting moment. It is enough to labor six days and reserve only one for one's own endeavors. Yet if, in that single day, one sows a seed, in time, it will surely grow."
"Yes, Mr. Fool!" she declared, reinvigorated.
"Is there anything else?" he inquired, his gaze shifting toward the far end of the table, where the most unruly members always resided.
"Mr. Fool," the Star began hesitantly, his eyes glimmering. "I..."
"Mr. Fool, Mr. Fool!" The Chariot interrupted gleefully, lounging lazily in her chair. "I was right, having sex with a demigod helped me digest my potion!" She grinned and waved a hand. "Oh, it was that general... uh, what was his name again? No matter. A rather creepy fellow! But when I leapt into his arms, he turned out to be quite tender. And his fingers, so broad for..."
"How dare you!" The Star, who sat nearest to her, seized her by the collar and forced her into a bow. "Apologize to Mr. Fool at once!"
"Ow, ow! But aren't we all boasting right now? Oh, or is it that you're jealous? His was even bigger than yours!"
A heavy silence descended upon the ancient palace. The members of the Tarot Club averted their eyes in embarrassment; they had yet to grow accustomed to the uninhibited nature of their youngest member. Leonard, frozen in place, paled and flushed by turns, his lower lip twitching. He threw the Chariot back onto her seat and folded his arms across his chest, his mind oscillating between wounded pride and the need to justify himself before his god.
Silently, he cast a pleading glance at Fool, hoping to convey that he had nothing to do with this shameless woman.
Lumian, watching Star out of the corner of his eye, smirked mischievously.
"Oh, don’t worry, your size is plenty sufficient to satisfy Mr. St..."
"Miss Chariot, I have already asked you to observe decorum," the Justice interrupted with an icy glare before she could finish. "Mind your manners and refrain from discussing your exploits during our meetings."
"Fine, fine..."
Slumping back against her chair, Lumian fell silent for the remainder of the exchange, having already accomplished her goal, entertainment.
The lingering echoes of her words drifted through the air, and no one else seemed eager to speak. Fool gave a nod toward the Chariot.
"Congratulations on digesting your potion," he said, omitting any comment on the other details. "Since we are finished, shall we proceed to our game?"
The more animated members of the club immediately responded with a resounding "Yes!" while the others nodded in agreement. How could they not eagerly anticipate it, given that Mister Fool himself had introduced the game at the previous gathering? Was it a test? Perhaps there was a reward for victory?
Miss Magican retrieved her notebook, jotting down the idea of a secret society that spent its leisure time playing cards and other games.
With a snap of his fingers, Fool transformed the somber hall into a cozy room illuminated by the warm glow of lamps in the corners. At the center stood three sofas and two armchairs arranged around a table.
On one sofa sat the Justice, the Magician, and the Judgment. The first two smoothed out their long skirts, while the latter crossed her legs, mentally preparing for an arduous battle. Beside them, in an armchair, sat the Moon, his long arms folded across his chest. He had been the only one reluctant to partake in such a... vulgar pastime but had ultimately relented to the will of the majority.
On the second sofa sat the Hermit, adjusting her glasses, alongside the Sun and the Hanged Man. In a nearby chair, World observed the table with detached interest. And on the final sofa settled the Chariot, the Star, and...
"M-Mr. Fool?" Audrey was the first to exclaim in surprise, sitting a short distance away from him. "Don’t You need… a separate couch?"
She pressed her lips together, embarrassed that she had dared to instruct Him. But the Fool wasn’t offended. He crossed one leg over the other, leaning on the armrest, and explained in a measured voice,
"It’s just a game. I would like to join as a participant, but I’m afraid it would make you uncomfortable. May I simply sit nearby and watch?"
"Yes!" This time, Lumian answered and reached out to the Fool across Leonard. "Mr. Fool, sit closer to me! I’ll let you see my cards~"
"Don’t pester Mr. Fool," the hands in red gloves restrained the Chariot, while the gaze of green eyes, filled with embarrassment, turned to the God sitting beside him. "Of course, we don’t mind… Next time, it would be nice to play together."
"I see, then we can consider it for the next gathering."
The Chariot sulked but settled onto the couch, calming down within seconds. Meanwhile, an assortment of cookies and steaming, fragrant tea in transparent teapots appeared on the wooden table, along with eleven mugs. A deck of cards was placed beside them. As if it was the most natural thing, the World picked up the cards and quickly shuffled them. Being both the Clown and the Magician was not for nothing.
His sharp gaze swept over the participants, and in a low, hoarse voice, he asked,
"I will be the dealer. Does everyone know the rules?"
A unanimous "yes" sounded. Even Justice, who was playing for the first time, had studied the rules thoroughly over the past week and practiced with Susie. The most important thing was reading faces, and she was a professional at that! Her bright green eyes greedily scanned the faces of all the players, like a dragon selecting its next prey to bring her fortune.
"Alright. The stakes will be… cookies."
The World deftly dealt the cards to each player and, folding back the corners, glanced at the three in front of him. Not bad… That’s exactly what the second-sequence Spectator, the Recognizer, read from his face! Audrey held the secrets and future moves of all the Tarot Club members in the palm of her hand. Even with no prior experience, she was bound to win.
Keeping her expression unreadable, she placed a bet, setting a few cookies before her onto the empty plate that had appeared in the center.
'The most difficult opponent is Miss Justice,' Alger noted mentally and glanced at his cards. He had a weak hand with two suits, spades and hearts. This round was unlikely to be his.
Derrick, sitting next to him, barely understood poker, despite the Hanged Man drilling him all week. He followed the Justice’s lead and hastily placed his bet as well.
'Is she pretending… or does she really have a good hand? I saw how she looked at Mr. World!'
Emlyn masked his nervousness and placed his bet last.
"You’re bluffing, aren’t you?" he said quietly, addressing Audrey.
"Maybe," she replied with a smile that carried a hint of mockery.
The Star was carefully studying his cards when the Chariot leaned toward him, resting against his shoulder as if she were bored. Leonard sighed quietly, shifting slightly away, but Lumian remained in place, grinning.
"You’re distracting me, Miss Chariot."
"But I’m keeping you company," the Chariot waved dismissively.
The Sun couldn’t hold back a snort but quickly lowered his gaze when he caught the Hanged Man’s serious look.
The World flipped the cards. The first round began.
Stretching lazily, Lumian glanced at his cards, barely suppressing a satisfied smirk. The Judging by the combination, he had a solid chance of winning this round. His fingers brushed over the cookies, and without hesitation, he placed four on the plate.
"The stakes are rising," he drawled, casting a brief glance at the Star, as if testing his reaction.
Leonard sighed, looked at his cards, and, shaking his head, cautiously added two cookies.
"You’re rushing too much," he muttered. "I doubt your hand is that strong."
"What if I just like cookies?" Lumian pretended to reach for another cookie nonchalantly, but his gaze remained fixed on the Hanged Man’s expression. Alger kept a stone-faced demeanor, as if his cards were something sacred, but the slight crease between his brows betrayed his inner tension.
"You’re nervous," Lumian observed, lazily grinning as he bit into a cookie. Crumbs fell onto his lap, but he didn’t care.
"No more than usual," Alger replied dryly, adding three more cookies to the plate without breaking his composure. "I’m just trying not to lose to someone who bets for fun."
"Come on, Mr. Hanged Man, admit it, you just want to win so you don’t have to share the cookies with Mister Sun," Emlyn interjected, crossing his arms. The Moon glanced at Derrick, who was absentmindedly nibbling on the edge of a cookie, clearly not grasping the strategy of the game. "Or are you afraid you’ll lose to him?"
Derrick looked up but remained silent, focusing entirely on his cards. In the end, he simply placed a bet, mimicking Audrey’s gesture.
"Looks like Mr. Sun is playing at random today," the Justice calmly noted, observing the others’ moves. Her green eyes gleamed with interest. She knew the Chariot had a decent hand but preferred to wait for the right moment.
"Or maybe he’s just lucky," Lumian remarked, glancing at Derrick with a hint of teasing. "Though I think I’ll be luckier."
Fors chuckled quietly and placed two more cookies on the plate.
"Are you all certain Ms. Chariot isn’t bluffing? All she does is fool around," she mused before looking at her own cards. Her gaze lingered on them a little longer than usual.
Cattleya remained silent, but her calmness betrayed confidence in her choice. She merely raised an eyebrow slightly when Lumian added more cookies to the plate, increasing his bet.
"Stop staring at me," she said, noticing the intent look directed her way. "I'm not that easy to read."
"Oh, but you are," Leonard countered with a smirk, finally laying down his cards. "And I believe you just gave yourself away."
"Oh no, how terrifying," Lumian drawled, making another nonchalant move.
When the moment came to reveal their hands, The Fool observed each player with interest, lingering briefly on the Justice. Her hand was decent, but The Chariot…
Leaning back against the sofa with a satisfied grin, Lumian laid his cards on the table, ten, jack, queen, king, and ace, all of spades.
The royal flush.
His smirk widened.
"Luck is my middle name," he declared, gathering his winnings and reveling in the frustrated looks of the other players.
"Or maybe your first name is Arrogance," Leonard muttered, tossing his cards onto the pile.
"Either way, I won."
The Hanged Man exhaled heavily, shaking his head in reluctant acceptance. Audrey smiled, as if she had foreseen this outcome, while Derrick simply finished his cookie with an air of relief, still not entirely grasping what had happened. Even after a week of training, he couldn’t quite understand how one could play a game where victory relied so much on chance, let alone win.
"Cookies are nice and all," The Chariot suddenly spoke again, biting into a jam-filled biscuit and licking her soft, pink lips, "but what about a real prize?"
Her words were directed at the Fool, who had been quietly observing all this time, his presence nearly forgotten in the excitement of the game. Audrey felt a twinge of embarrassment at such a bold suggestion, lowering her gaze as she finished off the last cookie she hadn't wagered. It was incredibly sweet…
But the question hung in the air. Would the winner receive something from the Fool?
"A prize?" He chuckled, taking a sip of his fragrant tea. "Not for a card game. But for a more serious competition… a reward might indeed be in order."
A competition? A reward from a God?
Even those who had shown little interest before now had a glint of excitement in their eyes. The Hermit seemed deep in thought, her violet gaze sharp with calculation, while The Star looked genuinely shocked. A gift from Mister Fool… there was something he desired. But then again, so did everyone present.
"I see you like the idea," The Fool mused. "But we’ll need an organizer. They will receive a separate reward."
"Leave it to me!" Justice declared proudly, placing a hand over her heart, a thrill of anticipation coursing through her. "I know Backlund like the back of my hand, and I have plenty of connections. It won’t be difficult to find a suitable venue and establish the rules for the competition."
The Fool nodded approvingly and set his cup down on the table.
"Then let’s conclude today’s gathering. Thank you all for such an entertaining game."