He laughed beneath the moonlight, head tilted back, the porcelain mask gleaming like bone. His white hair, slicked back in clean, sharp lines, caught the silver glow of the stars. The ruins of the Tsukihana estate still smoldered behind him, its proud banners now soaked in blood and ash.
With a single step, he vanished into the dark.
Kagetsu no Jōka—the Joker of the Shadow Moon—was free once more.
And the world… began to whisper again.
The tale of Amane Tsukihana's fall spread like wildfire, yet no two stories matched.
Some claimed she'd made a pact with a demon. Others whispered she'd gone mad from grief. There were even those who believed she had been a vessel for an ancient god, awakened by her pain.
But one truth echoed through them all.
It wasn't her.
It was him.
The one in the mask.
The Jester.
And far above the mortal realm, the heavens stirred uneasily.
The gods—beings of celestial law, architects of order, and weavers of fate—felt it before they even opened their eyes.
A ripple in the skein of reality.
A foul chord in the harmony of the world.
His presence.
They had once stood against him together, united in golden light. Even then, they had failed to kill him. All they could do was seal him beyond the reach of time itself.
And now...
Now, they gazed down and saw his shadow walking freely once more.
The masked figure of smiling chaos.
The puppetmaster of despair.
And for the first time in countless eras, the gods felt something they had long forgotten:
Fear.
Not fear of defeat.
But fear of truth.
Because now, they were not what they once were. Their temples lay abandoned, their names faded from mortal tongues, their champions gone or corrupted. Faith was dying. Power was slipping.
And he had returned in a world that no longer remembered how to pray.
There would be no sealing him this time.
No divine reckoning.
They could only watch.
And hope he would grow bored.
He did not grow bored.
He found his next act quickly.
Her name was Yuki.
A demihuman girl with pale blue skin, furred ears, and eyes like cracked ice. She lived in a border village that barely showed up on maps—tucked between forgotten mountains, surviving on trade and snowmelt.
She was weak.
Born without magic. Fragile in body. A burden in the eyes of her kin.
Only one person ever truly saw her: her older brother, Kael.
He was everything she wasn't. Strong. Brave. Respected.
And kind.
He protected her from the mockery, taught her how to fight, how to stand tall. He gave her dreams when the world gave her silence.
He was her entire sky.
And so, naturally, Kagetsu found her.
He appeared before her on a night painted in frost and moonlight.
One step from the shadows, and he was there—uninvited, unannounced, unreal. His cloak dragged across the snow without leaving a trace. His silver-white hair did not move in the wind. And the porcelain mask stared down at her, smiling with its hollow eyes.
Yuki froze.
"What… are you?" she whispered.
"Opportunity," he answered, his voice like honey poured over knives.
She trembled.
"Do you want power?" he asked, tilting his head. "Do you want to matter? To make them stop laughing when you pass?"
Yuki said nothing.
But her eyes said everything.
He smiled beneath the mask.
"I'm not here to take anything from you," he lied, with gentle calm. "I'm here to give."
He placed his hand over her heart.
And the world screamed.
It began subtly.
Yuki woke the next morning stronger. Faster. Her senses sharper. Her footsteps lighter than wind. At first, she thought it a dream. A miracle.
Then came the voices.
And the heat beneath her skin.
Magic crackled in her veins like oil set aflame.
Kael noticed immediately. She moved like she was born in another body. And when he touched her arm, her magic surged reflexively—burning his hand black.
She cried for hours, apologizing, begging for it to stop.
But it didn't stop.
It grew.
The villagers began to fear her. Kael tried to defend her. Begged her to leave with him, to run far away. He promised he'd find a healer. An answer. Anything.
But by then, she was already falling apart.
Because he was inside her now.
Watching.
Whispering.
Smiling.
And on the fifth night, as snow fell heavy and silent, it happened.
She woke from a nightmare, drenched in sweat, her heart pounding like a war drum. And standing before her—motionless, calm—was Kael.
He had sensed it.
He knew.
And he had come to do what needed to be done.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Tears clung to his lashes.
He raised his blade.
And then—
She moved faster than she ever had in her life.
Blood painted the walls.
Her hands shook.
She hadn't meant to.
She hadn't tried to.
She was screaming before she even saw his body collapse.
"No—no, no, no—please!"
Kael didn't answer.
She dropped to her knees, grabbing his face, wiping the blood from his lips, pressing her forehead against his.
"I didn't mean to—I didn't—"
Behind her, Kagetsu stood in the corner of the room.
Clapping slowly.
Softly.
Mockingly.
"Well done," he said, voice smooth as silk. "A tragedy worthy of the gods."
Yuki turned to face him, face soaked in tears, voice hoarse.
"Why… why would you… why would you do this to me?!"
His head tilted.
"That's the wrong question."
"What?!"
"You should be asking…" He stepped closer. "...why you let me."
She stared at him.
Shaking.
Falling apart.
He crouched beside her, his masked face only inches from hers.
"People like you," he said gently, "always blame the devil. Never the mirror."
And then he vanished.
The next day, they found her body in the river.
Cold.
Silent.
Still.
Another forgotten name, another forgotten tale—swallowed by the snow.
But far away, upon a cliff that overlooked the frozen valley, Kagetsu no Jōka stood beneath the setting sun.
He twirled a single strand of blue-white hair between his fingers.
And smiled.
The world had changed.
But people?
People never did.
They were still full of cracks. Still eager to bargain their souls for a taste of meaning. Still waiting to be used.
And he would oblige them all.
One broken dream at a time.