"If the world is a stage, then make the king your spectator. And let him never look away."
The Plateau trembled.
Not like an earthquake.
But like a breath... held too long.
Caelen had raised his hand.
And in a breath, everything changed.
Mental Zone: Fool's Theater.
The world shifted.
The tiles of the Plateau cracked. The squares tore like fabric. The sky above the arena exploded into red curtains.
And slowly, slowly, the ground gave way beneath the spectators' feet.
The Sovereign Plateau was absorbed, swallowed, reshaped...
Into a vast theater, suspended in endless void.
Puppet strings hung from the ceiling. Curtains of flesh, battered by an invisible wind, opened and closed without rhythm.
Spotlights floated, but instead of light, they projected screams.
The floor was a circular stage, surrounded by stands made of sculpted bones, all facing a single silhouette.
A throne of rusted iron, at the center.
And there, chained, dressed in a black and white costume, a broken mask on his face...
The Fool.
He screamed.
Not in pain.
Not in fear.
But in pure, twisted madness, never-ending.
He laughed, cried, screamed, danced on the spot, the chains tearing at his wrists.
He spun around, murmuring incomprehensible words:
— "You wanted a show? Laugh! Keep laughing! I still have teeth to bite your eyes out!"
The Academy spectators screamed.
Some fainted.
Others tried to flee, but the Plateau held them prisoner.
Because they were in Caelen's soul now.
And it did not forgive.
Elwin, however, remained standing.
Eyes wide, mouth slightly open.
— This is...
— My world, said Caelen.
His voice had changed.
Deeper. Colder.
— This is where I lived. Every night. Every day. Chained to this stage. Forced to dance, scream, bleed... for a king who wanted to laugh.
The Fool screamed again:
— "Majesty! Look at your masterpiece! Look at what you made of me!"
On his real throne, in the physical world, King Maelrath had stood up.
For the first time... he turned pale.
Not because he recognized.
But because his unconscious did.
Somewhere, deep down, he had seen this stage.
But he had chosen to forget.
To survive it.
And now, that memory confronted him, brutally, without disguise, without mercy.
— Do you recognize me, Majesty? shouted Caelen, without looking away.
But the king didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His hands trembled. His lower lip quivered.
Around him, the guards stiffened.
But no one dared move.
Elwin placed a hand on the chessboard, now a red stage carpet.
His pieces were frozen, paralyzed by the Fool's screams.
— You made your mind a prison...
— No, replied Caelen.
— You made your pain a performance.
— Yes.
A long silence.
Then Caelen added:
— And this is only the first act.
The Fool danced again, chains clinking, tears streaming from his empty sockets.
— "I am the forgotten pawn, I am the toppled rook, I am the legless knight!"
The setting changed.
Faces floated around the theater: those of the court nobles, distorted, laughing loudly.
Spectral hands applauded them.
Then came the memories:
— the suspended cage,
— the mocked screams,
— the blood feasts,
— the king's orders, always whispered in a bored tone, as if it were just another form of entertainment.
Caelen stepped onto the stage.
And said in an icy voice:
— It's not Elwin I challenge today.
It's you, Maelrath.
The king flinched.
He opened his mouth.
But no words came out.
The Fool knelt at the center of the stage.
His chains fell.
And in total silence...
he reached out to Caelen.
Caelen took his hand.
And the Fool's mask shattered slowly, revealing beneath a face one might call human... if pain had not turned it into a monstrous work of art.
A mirror.
A reflection.
His own face.
— You can't erase me, said the Fool.
— I don't want to anymore.
— You want to free me?
— No.
He looked up at the king.
— I want the world to know what you did.
Around the theater, the illusions of the zone engraved themselves in the minds of the spectators. Each saw the scene in their own way: some saw a boy. Others, a monster. But all understood.
The truth.
Elwin bowed.
— I withdraw my pieces, he whispered.
Caelen turned to him.
— Why?
— Because in this world... no one wins.
Caelen hesitated.
Then nodded.
And the zone slowly collapsed.
Red curtain.
Black curtain.
Silence.
The Plateau reappeared.
The king was standing.
His face was pale.
His breath short.
And in his eyes... fear.
The first human emotion he had ever shown.
Caelen, standing at the center, simply declared:
— Match suspended.
The referee, trembling, nodded.
— The royal judgment will take place tomorrow morning. Under oath.
The king finally opened his mouth:
— I... don't know this boy.
But his voice was empty.
And Caelen replied, eyes black:
— That's what I thought.