82. The ...
When I came to my senses, I was already adrift in a sea of gray fog. At my side stood the silhouette of a woman—without a doubt, Fors.
On the other side loomed another figure, so vast that I felt no more than an ant before Him. With such overwhelming presence, there was no denying the Godhood embodied in that silhouette.
It was fortunate that I had been called here at all—but would He allow me to stay? Ideally, He might accept me without demanding anything in return. In the worst case… I might have to blurt out something absurd, like the Great Wall of China, just to prove myself before Him.
Audrey, Xio, Fors, Emlyn, and even Sherlock Moriarty himself—there was no turning back now. I was already too far entwined with them, especially knowing that a string had been attached to me as well. That damn Quill must have realized I was aware of its existence. Just like the Abyss, my mere knowledge had bound me unconsciously, tethering me to it.
…
"W-who are you?" Fors's voice trembled, echoing through the gray fog. It seemed she had finally realized the presence of The Fool.
"Fool." A deep, resonant voice answered, carrying both power and undeniable charisma.
Fors felt an immediate pang of self-reproach. How could I be so stupid? It was she who had called for His aid—why had she even questioned His identity?
As she muttered apologies and scolded herself for her foolishness…
"Greetings, Lord Fool. Thank you for your help."
Fors finally became aware of another presence beside her and The Fool. She turned and saw only the silhouette of a young man, bowing with perfect, courteous respect toward The Fool. She couldn't make out his features clearly—but something about him felt strangely familiar.
And that small, familiar detail was enough for her to guess his identity. Unless it was a coincidence—or some arrangement by The Fool—there was only one other person who had prayed alongside her.
Fors kept her gaze fixed on the young man, seeking confirmation, hoping to validate her suspicion. But there was no time to linger. She followed his lead, bowing in respect to The Fool just as he did. Lacking proper training, she could do little more than imitate his posture, her movements clumsy but sincere.
"Just call me Mr. Fool," He said, his tone unexpectedly humble—though Fors could never truly believe such modesty. With a simple gesture, both she and the other silhouette took their seats opposite Him, to His left and right.
Then His next words made Fors nearly leap from her seat.
"Do you hear the ravings?"
"Yes," she replied, steadying herself against the surge of emotion. "D… do you know the origin of these ravings? Do you know how to stop them?" she asked cautiously, a flicker of hope sparkling in her eyes. For the first time, someone might actually have a clue about the source of the torment that had plagued her.
And the answer she received… was simple, yet shattering: someone was asking for help.
It blew her mind. The ravings—the agony she endured every Blood Moon—were all because someone, somewhere, was desperately calling out. She repeated the thought in her mind, trying to process it.
She had suffered because of her own lack of power. And now, just as she had struggled to survive the ravings, she realized the source of the torment was equally desperate, pleading for aid every chance it got during the Blood Moon.
It meant the cycle wouldn't end. She would have to endure that brink-of-death suffering every single Blood Moon—over and over—until she grew strong enough to confront the ravings, to answer the desperate call.
Just today… she had almost—no, she was already unable to withstand the ravings. Do I even have time to grow stronger? A grimace twisted her face as the thought struck her.
Then, a glimmer of hope illuminated her path.
"How long does each full moon last?" Mr. Fool asked, taking the initiative.
"Three to five… sometimes even seven minutes," Fors answered honestly. Just like today… she thought, recalling her ordeal.
"Every full moon… may I recite your name?" she asked, fully aware of how convenient this request was. I will be your devout follower, she realized was the only thing she could offer to the God standing before her.
"I will be your devout follower too," the other silhouette finally spoke, inserting himself into the equation.
…Why go that far? Fors wondered. On one hand, perhaps he genuinely wished to follow Mr. Fool out of admiration. On the other, it seemed almost strategic—as if he were signaling that if Mr. Fool chose to help her, he would gain not one, but two devoted followers.
"There's no need," Mr. Fool replied, declining their devotion. But before Fors could fully register the rejection, he added, "I'll help you along the way."
Mr. Fool is magnanimous, Fors thought, her heart swelling with sincere gratitude. She felt a wave of relief, finally able to lift herself partially from the depths of her misery.
As she relaxed, her eyes took in the space around her—the palace was vast, with many empty seats. Curiosity stirred within her. She had to seize this opportunity. "Can I join this gathering?" she asked, unwilling to let the chance slip by.
"Monday, three in the afternoon. They all use tarot names as code names—choose one that hasn't already been taken," Mr. Fool instructed, listing the names that were unavailable.
Fors took the remaining options, shuffled them, and selected one at random—or, as she preferred to think, by fate.
"The Magician," she announced, accepting her new code name.
I watched from the sidelines as the event unfolded. Everything proceeded according to canon—no surprises here. Fors successfully joined the Tarot Club as The Magician.
"Can I also join this gathering?" I asked Klein, peering at him through his veil of fog. As a mere bystander this time, I wondered what he thought of me.
"Sure, pick one," he replied nonchalantly. Tarot cards materialized before me.
I selected one at random… The Tower.
But… why?? I couldn't fathom how I had gained entry into the club so effortlessly.