In the darkness of night, the market was alive with noise and color.
Lanterns swung from ropes strung between rooftops, their flickering light dancing across stalls crowded with fruit, spices, and steel.
Merchants called out their prices in loud, weathered voices — each trying to outshout the other.
The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, burning oil, and rain-soaked earth.
Among the press of bodies, two figures slipped through the crowd, their faces hidden beneath rough cloth masks.
They moved with purpose, silent and swift, weaving between shouting traders and passing guards.
No one paid them much attention — not in a city where secrets were as common as the coins changing hands.
They stopped at a small wooden food stall, its roof patched with cloth and its benches worn smooth from years of use.
The cook behind the counter looked up briefly, then nodded as one of them gestured for two bowls of stew.
The figures sat, their cloaks damp with mist, the murmur of the market fading just enough for their quiet conversation to begin.
They sat in silence, neither speaking nor lifting their gaze.
The market's noise carried faintly through the night — the clatter of hooves, the laughter of merchants, the crackle of torches.
Soon, the cook returned, placing two steaming bowls before them.
The aroma of herbs and meat drifted through the air as they began to eat quietly, their movements calm, measured.
Behind them, a Jester entertained a small group of children, juggling colored stones and making them burst into giggles with every failed catch.
Across the street, a smoker leaned against a post, his pipe glowing faintly in the dark.
Around them, the town breathed with life — merchants counting coins, drunkards arguing, guards on slow patrol, and travelers trading stories under flickering lamps.
It was a place full of noise, warmth, and secrets — a town that never truly slept.
As they finished their meal, laughter echoed nearby.
The jester, still entertaining a group of children with tricks and wooden balls, stumbled mid-spin and fell right beside the food stall where the two masked figures were seated.
The children burst into laughter, crowding around him as he sat up, brushing dust from his patched clothes.
He let out a playful sigh.
"Ah, I think you've all defeated me tonight," he said, smiling beneath the dim glow of the street lamps.
"Go on now — it's getting late. I'll return tomorrow with better tricks."
The children giggled, nodding before scattering through the busy street, their laughter fading into the night.
The jester watched them go, then slowly rose to his feet, glancing once at the two masked figures before turning toward a narrow alleyway, his bells jingling softly as he disappeared into the shadows.
The two masked figures rose from their seats, placing a few silver coins on the counter.
"Keep the change," one of them said quietly.
The cook nodded, still watching the jester vanish into the alleyway.
The street around them buzzed with noise — merchants packing their stalls, lanterns flickering as the night deepened.
Without a word, the two figures stepped away from the stall, their cloaks brushing the cobblestones.
They moved through the crowd with purpose, following the faint sound of jingling bells — the jester's trail — as it led into the narrow, shadowed path between the buildings.
As the two masked figures moved deeper into the alley, the noise of the market faded behind them — replaced by the quiet drip of water and the shuffle of their boots on stone.
Then, from the shadows above, a figure dropped down — landing between them with a soft thud.
It was the jester. His painted smile glimmered under the torchlight, the bells on his hat chiming faintly.
Before either could react, he swung first.
A sharp punch caught one of them in the jaw, then a quick spin-kick knocked the other a step back. The jester laughed, dancing lightly on his feet, moving like smoke.
One of the masked men charged, throwing a punch — the jester ducked under it, drove his elbow into the man's side, and followed with a jab to the ribs.
The other came from behind, grabbing him by the collar, but the jester twisted free, driving a knee into his stomach.
"Too slow," he taunted, grin wide.
But the two moved again, this time in rhythm. One blocked a swing, the other struck from the side.
A solid hit connected with the jester's shoulder — then another to his chest.
He staggered, still smiling, but his breath came harder now.
He threw one last desperate punch, caught mid-air.
The other figure slammed a knee into his midsection, driving him against the wall.
The jester coughed once, then raised his hands in surrender, his laughter echoing down the narrow path.
"Alright, alright," he said between breaths.
"Seems I can't beat two idiots at once."
The jester led them into the narrow alleyway, ducking through a hidden door. Inside, the hideout was quiet, empty.
"You're safe now," the jester said.
"You can remove your masks."
They both lifted their masks — it was the Captain and Titus.
"It's been a while," the jester said with a laugh.
"I've met you two idiots too long ago."
Titus let a small smile tug at his lips. "We all know who the real idiot is."
The Captain remained silent, his gaze steady and unreadable.
The jester waved a hand dismissively, grinning.
"I've been surviving as a spy in another empire for far too long… don't I deserve a little credit?"
Titus chuckled lightly.
"Fine, you've earned that much credit."
The Captain's voice was steady.
"What is the plan? And why did you need two captains?"
The jester grinned, stepping closer.
"Why don't you chill a little, Captain? Can't I call you? I missed you a lot."
Titus rolled his eyes.
"Okay, stop teasing and let us know. You know the empire's condition isn't good."
The Captain remained silent, arms crossed.
The jester leaned back slightly, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Alright, alright," he said, hands raised.
"I'll tell you why I asked for two captains.
"First… there's news that Wustania might be stirring for war. For that, I really only need Titus. But…" He paused, letting the words hang in the air.
"…the bigger concern is the organization that attacked the capital. They're making some moves here too. Nothing confirmed yet, but…"
The Captain's eyes narrowed.
"That organization… what could be their motive?"
The jester shrugged, his smile softening.
"And to find out about that… I need your help, Captain."
The Captain's gaze darkened slightly. "Okay… so it's really getting dangerous."
The jester leaned forward, voice low but firm.
"I don't think their motive is tied to just one empire. They might be thinking bigger… something that could affect the whole world."
Titus nodded, his expression serious.
"I'll complete my mission as fast as I can. Once it's done, I'll help you handle this too."
The Captain's jaw tightened.
"I hope no war breaks out before we uncover this organization's motive. Otherwise… they could use the conflict to achieve whatever dark plan they're plotting."
As they spoke, a sudden clamor rose from outside the hideout — metal clashing, boots pounding against stone, shouts echoing through the narrow alley.
Titus's eyes narrowed.
"What is this now?" he muttered, tense.
Before anyone could respond, the door burst open.
A young man, breathless and wide-eyed, stumbled in.
"Jester… I think someone's tipped off the guards about this place!" he gasped.
"Soldiers have already raided multiple illegal hideouts… and they're moving this way—toward us!"
The three exchanged sharp, instantaneous glances.
The distant sounds of pursuit grew louder, filling the cramped space with an approaching storm.
Silence fell for a heartbeat, heavy and suffocating.