Deadly Knight Shade episode 3: Midnight Masqurade

The autumn trees glow like embers. Vivian walks a path of fallen leaves. Each step echoes alone.

Hey, Viv. You finally made it.

She whips around. Drake leans against a tree, smiling.

Solaris kept you late again, huh?

(startled)

You’re here? But, I thought you were...

Drake tilts his head, amused and a little hurt.

I said I’d always be by your side, didn’t I?

Vivian runs in to hug him, hiding her face in his chest.

(muffled)

Don’t ever leave me again.

He hesitates, then returns the embrace.

I’m not going anywhere. Knights of Bergeron Kingdom always keep their promises.

The forest darkens. Drake’s smile fades. His body hardens into stone.

His hand cracks. Gravel spills between Vivian’s fingers.

She steps back in shock, and he collapses into a pile of ash.

With a gust of wind, Vivian shields her eyes. She opens them, and Drake is gone.

In his place stands Lydia, wearing a red-and-black mask and a tattered red dress. Flames smolder at her fingertips... and in her eyes. She saunters forward, gaze sharper than any blade.

Vivian trips over a root and falls backward, trying her best to get away.

The air ripples with heat as Lydia’s hand clamps around Vivian’s neck and pins her against the tree.

Vivian claws at Lydia’s wrist, choking. White light flares from her eyes, but dims as the red heat burns her skin.

Suddenly, Lydia’s grip softens. Her thumb traces Vivian’s jaw to the corner of her lips, then tilts her chin up toward her own.

(breathless)

What are you-

A wicked gleam flashes in Lydia’s eyes, and she leans in closer. Vivian’s breath catches, but she remains frozen in place.

(strangled)

No, wait—

She shoves Lydia away. The mask slips off in her hands.

Lydia shields her face, then runs away.

The forest stills as Lydia disappears into the shadows. Ash drifts in the air, weightless.

(hollow)

Vivian... What’s taking you so long?

Vivian turns around, Lydia’s mask in hand.

The forest is an inferno. Ash and fire twist together like a blizzard around her, forming the outline of a mask.

Smash cut to:

Vivian wakes with a gasp, clutching her throat.

Solaris hums softly. Picknick pulls the cart, harmonica resting against his chest. Bean yawns and rubs his eyes.

Vivian shrugs out of her heavy coat. It lands on Bean.

(squeaks indignantly)

Everything alright back there?

Solaris glances back.

Vivian sits up straighter.

Got too warm. That’s all.

Solaris raises an eyebrow. Her gaze lingers on Vivian.

Vivian pulls the coat off Bean. He grooms himself, ears twitching. Hoofbeats steady the moment.

If you have another vision, even fragments — tell me. We need every scrap of information we can get.

Vivian fiddles with her sleeve, avoiding eye contact.

(too bright)

Just a dream. I barely remember it.

Solaris narrows her eyes, then shrugs it off.

If you say so.

Picknick, oblivious to the tension, perks up.

I dunno about you guys, but I’m starving. Can we raid the snack stash?

We’ll eat soon. Zore will have food stalls... and mask vendors.

Ooh, are we actually entering the costume contest? I bet we’d win.

Ha, no. Most masks are just for show, but others... develop character over time.

You’re talking about Nessa the Mask Maker, right? I remember from one of my old storybooks that she wove magic into her masks.

If only you’d remember your history lessons as well as you do bedtime stories.

(chuckling)

Don’t expect anything that fancy here. But we’ll need masks if we want to blend in.

(looking back)

You’re not exactly known for your subtlety, either.

I hope we find one that lets you fly.

Music swells as they crest a hill.

To their left, the clink of metal and chatter announce a colorful caravan crossing their path. Flags ripple. Masked figures wave from the wagons.

Picknick perks up. Vivian leans forward.

Looks like we’re not the only ones heading to Zore.

Solaris watches the wagons pass warily.

I’ve never seen a troupe this large. They’re surprisingly... organized.

One wagon in the middle slows. Curtains ripple, and a flash of red stares back - eyes burning like coals behind a mask.

faDE OUT.

The wagon is cramped and loud, bodies swaying with the road. Lydia sits in silence. A red-and-black mask dangling from her horn.

A HUMAN WOMAN beside her taps her shoulder.

(anxious)

Could you check where we are? We should’ve reached Zore by now.

Lydia hides her irritation with a thin smile.

Don’t worry, we’ll get there.

She parts the curtain.

LYDIA’S POV:

There stands Vivian, Bean, Solaris, and Picknick at the crossroads, clear as day. Vivian laughs at something Picknick says - and still absently rests her hand at her throat.

BACK TO SCENE:

Lydia drops the curtain. Her hands tremble as she slips her mask on.

What’s wrong? Did you see something?

Lydia closes her eyes. Her shoulders lower into a straighter posture.

Get it together, Sasha. We’ve already faced far worse than the monsters in your head.

The woman freezes, eyes wide for a moment, then chuckles.

Wow, your princess voice is getting scary good.

Lydia tightens her mask straps, breath shallow.

Thanks.

(to herself)

The Ruby Princess fears nothing.

Sunlight spills through tall windows draped in green velvet. A fire crackles in the hearth, but the air feels cold.

Victoria and Valerie nap on the carpet — one clutching a stick, the other a ribbon wand. Their soft breathing fills the silence.

Alma lounges on a chaise in a red silk dress, sipping wine.

Castien enters, absently removing his gloves. He pauses to watch the twins, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Good. They’ve finally settled down.

You’re welcome. They kept playing some game—

That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.

He hands her *Sasha Sidewinder and the Rouge Rogue*.

Alma flips through it, stopping at the illustration of Sasha catching the Ruby Princess mid-fall.

Her brow twitches. She sits up straighter, smile fixed.

(stern)

Wh-where did you get this?

Nanny said this arrived for Solaris yesterday. There’s no other copy in the library.

A micro-sigh of relief escapes Alma as she leans back. Her grip on the book loosens.

Oh, that. She probably ordered it for Vivian - a gift.

There’s a festival in Zore tonight for its release. If this copy’s already here, and Vivian doesn’t have it...

Alma shuts the book with a snap.

Solaris wouldn’t let her near, unless she-

Valerie stirs with a sudden cry.

(sobbing)

Where’s Vivi?

Victoria yawns, rubbing her eyes.

Vivi said ‘venture, ’member?

Victoria hugs Valerie until the sobs subside.

Alma’s eyes flick up to Castien.

He’s already looking at her. Her gaze falters.

She must’ve told them where she was going.

How are we going to get it out of them? They love their secrets...

The book. Nanny said she’s been reading it to them. Use it.

(sighing)

Fine, then you handle Zore. A Pendragon event will need security anyway.

Castien nods and exits.

Alma remains seated, the book heavy in her lap. Her gaze drifts across the walls — hunting trophies, polished swords, and paintings - until it stops at a gilded whip mounted on a velvet banner, embroidered with a ruby crest.

Her lips purse before she smooths her face again. She inhales through her nose, straightens her back, and exhales sharply before putting on a pleasant smile.

(smiling faintly)

Come here, girls. Mother has a story for you.

The twins rush to her side like chicks with a mother hen, nearly sitting on her feet.

Alma softens her shoulders and opens the book.

On the first page is Sasha kneeling before a royal court — a serious king, an elegant queen, a handsome prince... and a stuffy princess.

(under her breath)

Still playing with fire, aren’t you... Sasha?

She looks down at the twins with a sad smile and sighs.

(quietly)

Once upon a time...

Performers hustle around the clearing, setting up lanterns for the coming night. Music and laughter fill the air.

Anyone seen the Ringmaster yet?

Briefly. He looked really pale.

Maybe he’s trying a new face powder?

The other performer shrugs.

ANGLE ON: THE RINGMASTER’S WAGON

A painted red-and-gold wagon sits slightly apart from the others. Its door creaks open.

The RINGMASTER steps out — short, stocky, waxed curls, a smile held too long. His movements are slow, marionette-like. Each step lands like a drumbeat, too heavy for his frame. He adjusts the fit of his gloves.

CLOSE ON: HIS HAND

Beneath, purple-black veins spider beneath his skin.

He lifts his cane, taps it twice against the wooden step. Performers turn, immediately alert.

(loud, cheery tenor)

The final wagon has arrived,* my dears*! Time to pack it up and head into town. I expect great things from you all tonight.

They cheer. He smiles wider.

A dim, cluttered dressing area between racks and crates. Lydia crouches beside a wardrobe, picking at her nails. The Ruby Princess mask lies untouched on the ground nearby.

The Ringmaster looms in the entrance, his shadow stretches to an unnatural length.

(casually)

He calls them “darlings,” by the way, not “dears.”

(voice darkens)

And your precision is why Dorian still breathes.

Lydia keeps her eyes down.

(steps closer)

Would you like to test how long that remains true?

She stiffens.

(quietly)

When you said you’d pull some strings, I didn’t think you meant—

Regret isn’t a shield, dear girl.

(turning, voice silken)

Tonight, I only need the Ruby Princess.

He exits. His cane taps out a heavier rhythm than before.

I can’t crack, or she’ll-

You already have, remember? Back in the woods. That was the real you.

No, that- Wait, what are you doing?! He’ll hear you.

(weaker)

He can’t. Not now, at least. His magic’s stretched thin with the Ringmaster. It’s like—

(grim chuckle)

That scarecrow you broke.

(scoffing)

You’re still mad about that?

No, it’s just... even after we fixed it, it never stood right again.

(quiet)

No. It didn’t.

(sighs)

Just be careful tonight. He’s... eating.

She curls her lip. Somewhere outside, the carnival drums quicken like a heartbeat.

And if all else fails, you get to be someone else: the hero.

Her hand trembles as she reaches for the mask - then steadies.

I’m no hero. Definitely not a princess either...

(softer)

But I can still save you, little brother. Don’t worry.

The tin mirror’s warped reflection smooths as the mask covers her face. The Ruby Princess stares back.

Cut tO:

The caravan approaches with wagons rattling, tired horses, and performers fixing makeup.

The gates loom ahead, flanked by BERGERON GUARDS in polished armor.

One entrance today. Step out for inspection. All wagons, all passengers.

The caravan halts. Complaints ripple down the line.

Vivian hides under a blanket. Bean burrows in with her.

They caught up already?!

I was afraid of this...

(whispering)

What’s the plan?

Solaris scans the crowd, expression flat.

We need a distraction - fire, smoke, anything.

Lydia adjusts her mask. She glances between the guards... and the faint silhouette of Picknick’s cart.

The Ringmaster nods. She hesitates, then flicks her wrist.

A magenta flash erupts into smoke and violet sparks, hissing like a storm trapped in glass.

A loud BOOM echoes from the gates.

A wagon’s axle splits, and it topples over, trapping the guards against the wall. PERFORMERS shout.

Vivian whips the blanket off her shoulders, already rising.

There’s our perfect distraction!

Guards nearby glance toward her voice, and almost toward their cart.

Solaris waves her down.

And you’ll give us away before we can use it.

Vivian grumbles, hiding again.

Lydia kicks the door open and climbs out first, dragging Sasha with her.

There’re kids in here! Help us out!

Guards rush over.

Will that work?

(low, to herself)

Too convenient, but...

Her eyes track the rising smoke, Lydia, then nods.

Full speed ahead.

You got it!

Picknick bolts, weaving the cart through the line and past the chaos.

Vivian peeks out from under the blanket.

VIVIAN’S POV:

Lydia, sunlight spilling over her, pulls another performer to safety. She glances back with a smirk and a coquettish wave.

BACK TO SCENE:

Vivian’s eyes widen, and color rises to her cheeks. She ducks back into hiding quickly.

(whispering to Bean)

No, no, no. It was supposed to stay a dream...

(worried squeak)

They clear the checkpoint.

Behind them, Lydia turns back toward the guards — mask in hand, jaw tight, eyes hollow.

FADE to:

Canvas tents line the walls outside the city. Flags bearing Bergeron sigil snap in the wind. Horses stamp nearby, uneasy.

Castien leans over a table strewn with a worn map and a few scrolls. Sir Gabriel enters quickly, armor scuffed.

There was an explosion at the gate, sir. One wagon down.

And?

At least three carts made it past the gates unchecked.

Of course. Chaos makes the perfect cover...

Shall we pursue?

No, let the city hold them for now. Continue with the security detail.

Understood, Your Majesty.

He bows and exits.

Castien pulls a folded paper from his chest pocket and carefully unfolds it.

It’s a crude child’s stick-figure drawing of a boy with a sword holding hands with a long-haired girl - the palace drawn far in the background.

(quietly, to the drawing)

I’ve failed you... and her.

His thumb smudges the charcoal lines of the girl’s face.

But I still intend to keep my promise.

A quaint, slightly crooked lobby with low beams and warm light. A cracked sign over the counter reads:

“THE SCREAMING SPOON

INSIDE VOICES, PLEASE!”

A tired HILLFOLK INNKEEPER (late 40s) sits on a stool, barely clearing the counter. He blinks at Solaris and Vivian as they approach.

Bean sits primly on Vivian’s shoulder, sniffing the air.

He blinks atthem, gaze lingering on Bean.

(squinting at Bean)

Sorry, we don’t allow—

The front door CREAKS OPEN. Picknick clomps inside, hooves clattering on the wooden floor.

Got the cart parked. Where do you want—?

The Innkeeper SCREAMS and leaps down.

(startled, panicked)

Out! Out! You’ll gouge the floors! I have to do enough cleaning around here as it is!

He rushes over, pushing Picknick back toward the door. Picknick steps back, looking offended.

(to Vivian, pointing at Bean)

And you! No pets!

(squeaks indignantly)

(apologetic)

Got it. Bean, stick with Picknick until we’re back, ok?

She walks over and transfers Bean to Picknick’s saddle.

Stay out of sight and-

Solaris mimes zipping her mouth shut.

Picknick scowls and adjusts his harmonica rig up to his mouth before leaving.

INTERCUT — STABLES / ROOM FOUR – LATE AFTERNOON

The inn door slams shut.

Picknick sulks beside the cart. Bean curls up on his saddle. From around the corner, there’s a faint sniffle. Picknick perks up an ear and follows the sound.

A LITTLE GIRL (5) sits alone by a stall, lilac-skinned, knees hugged to her chest. Two soft bumps rest high on her brow. A handmade cloth horse dangles from her hand.

At the sight of Picknick, her eyes light up.

Solaris waits until the door clicks shut, then turns to Vivian with a serious expression.

Back at the gate... I don’t think that was an accident.

Picknick steps forward and opens his mouth to speak, but his harmonica lets out a soft note.

The girl looks up, wiping her tears away. Picknick plays a gentle lullaby.

(too quickly)

It looked old. Bound to fall apart eventually.

Solaris watches her.

Vivian fidgets with the buckle on her satchel, fingers tight. She doesn’t meet Solaris’s eyes.

And there’s something about that griefling girl. The way she moved reminds me of... an old friend.

The little girl stares in awe. Her grip on the toy relaxes.

Bean peeks over Picknick’s shoulder, swaying to the rhythm.

From behind, a RAM-HORNED WOMAN rushes into view, breathless.

Felicity!

She scoops up the girl.

Mommy, horsey can play music!

The mother blinks, confused, then grateful.

I never would’ve thought to check back here... thank you.

Picknick bows his head modestly. The mother walks away, Felicity waving over her shoulder.

(shrugs)

How would I know? I’ve never seen a griefling in person.

She avoids Solaris’s gaze.

The old stories say they’re cursed... Born from souls too twisted to pass on.

Picknick watches the mother and child disappear into the crowd. He glances at Bean.

(murmuring)

Hah, first private gig.

Bean purrs. Picknick plays the lullaby under his breath.

I’ve crossed paths with grieflings before. They don’t build. They burn.

That’s... intense.

So are most folktales. They say elves earned their ears by listening to the gods.

Vivian touches the side of her ear thoughtfully.

Maybe that’s where my visions come from.

Maybe, or maybe it’s just the heat frying your brain.

She drops her heavy pack by the bed.

Let’s get going. We’re not here to sightsee... Bring Thorn with you.

She exits. Vivian retrieves her weapon, tying the scabbard around her waist as she walks to the warped window.

Rooftops glow as the sun sets. Her reflection stares back — dirt-smudged, tired, but still calm.

Yeah, just the heat.

Vivian groans, leaning her forehead against the cool glass.

(softer)

Who knew life outside the palace would be this... warm?

Outside the window, lanterns begin to flicker to life, one by one, like stars waking up.

She closes her eyes and her breath fogs the glass.

The glow of paper lanterns softens the edges of the narrow alley. Music and laughter echo from the wider streets.

Lydia walks with purpose. Her Ruby Princess costume peeks beneath her cloak. Her mask dangles lazily from one horn.

She stalks past a crooked little stall, its shelves lined with masks.

Framed in shadow and flickering light: A PEACOCK MASK, feathers flaring like a crown — impossibly artificial.

Lydia reaches out, fingertips just shy of the surface.

(soft, amused)

There’s little use in wearing a mask of your own face.

Lydia draws her hand back.

(defensive)

What’s your deal? I was just looking.

The MASK VENDOR stands behind the stall now. His face isn’t quite visible. Masks sway just enough to eclipse his eyes.

The vendor smiles and reaches beneath the stall.

This one calls for you.

He produces a HOUND’S MASK — long-snouted, carved from dark wood with exposed bark. Its sharp, pointed ears and slitted nostrils twitch with anticipation.

I don’t have any-

I only require stories as payment...

(gently)

And your heart, Lydia, holds many.

She flinches and steps back. Eyes flick from the mask to the vendor’s smile, then over her shoulder.

Then, she takes it, turns away, and analyzes it closely.

INSERT – INSIDE THE MASK

Etched just below the brow ridge is a maker’s mark: an eye with an oversized pupil.

Lydia frowns and traces it with her thumb.

How do you know my name?

The mask vendor bows. The edges of his mask flare forward like flower petals.

Time is funny, isn’t it?

(a smile in his voice)

Just follow your nose... The mask remembers what the actor forgets.

Lydia blinks. The vendor stops moving. She walks up and pokes his arm. A wooden figure has taken his place.

The Vendor’s mask hangs from its neck like a price tag.

She turns away, still holding the hound mask. Her fingers linger on its snout.

(muttering)

He’ll know what it means.

She slips into the crowd. Behind her, a gust of wind extinguishes a lantern.

Trunks of costumes line the walls. Masks hang above the writing desk. Lydia stands before the Ringmaster, clutching the HOUND MASK by its snout. She places it on the desk between them.

Some creep gave me this, then vanished. Knew my name...

The Ringmaster runs his fingers along the hemp stitching, then rubs the maker’s mark with his thumb.

(softly)

Yes, this is Nessa’s work.

Lydia steps back, crossing her arms.

Maybe we should return it.

Return it? It was a gift.

He steps toward her, mask still in hand.

I’m not wearing it. It’s too big for me, anyway.

The lantern flame sways. The Ringmaster sneers.

Ah, but you already are.

In a flash, he presses the mask to her face. It seals with a dark pulse, tightening around her skull.

She staggers back, clawing at the edges.

(offhand)

You can’t remove it until you find her. Or she finds you.

She slams her fists against the desk repeatedly, then grabs a chair. She raises it over her head, ready to smash it on the Ringmaster’s head.

Lydia! Please, it’s not worth it.

Lydia tosses the chair aside. Her fingers twitch in rage.

(cheery)

Oh, and don’t forget - never underestimate the power of a well-timed smile.

The Ringmaster’s body falls limp in his chair like an empty rubber suit.

Lydia backs out of the wagon. Her breath rattles through the mask’s nostrils, shallow and frantic.

Lydia’s pov:

The world dulls into shades of gray behind mesh-slit eyes.

A faint wisp of violet smoke curls toward the mask’s snout, snaking from the door.

Why couldn’t I say anything?

You’ve been muzzled. What else did that vendor say?

Told me to follow my nose... I can see a trail.

Follow that, too.

She sighs, then follows the violet trail winding ahead like a pulled thread.

The alley winds like a crooked spine behind rows of glowing paper lanterns. Lydia moves low and fast, hound mask tight on her face.

LYDIA'S POV:

The world is engulfed in shades of gray. Colorful scent trails remain — smudges of motion and magic. One violet trail swirls ahead as the others fade.

She rounds a corner—

Far ahead, tucked in shadow, a secret entrance opens behind an old building. The sign above the front says PENDRAGON'S HORDE STAFF ENTRANCE.

Solaris checks both directions.

Lydia ducks behind a shipment of crates.

Solaris beckons the others forward.

Vivian, hooded and cloaked, approaches with her pet and the harmonica-playing horse.

She glares at the entrance, then at Vivian, and finally at Solaris.

BaCK TO SCENE:

Lydia scratches at the mask, breathing quickly.

This thing still won’t come off.

Maybe don’t claw at it like it owes you money? You’re the Ruby Princess, not her latest victim.

If you’re not going to help me, then SHUT UP!

Red heat erupts from her skin. BOOM! The nearby storage crates detonate in a burst of whistling fireworks. Flames crawl around her.

Lydia darts away, vanishing into the shadows.

Cut to Vivian:

Vivian jumps, hand on her rapier. Bean squeals in surprise.

What was that?!

(grabbing her)

Not our problem.

She pulls Vivian inside.

Solaris slams the door shut after Picknick clears the doorway. They move deeper into the maze of plush curtains, shelves of gleaming artifacts, and hanging masks.

Bean hops beside Vivian, sniffing at every drape with suspicion.

Vivian turns back toward the entrance, breath shallow.

With all of you in here, it feels like I’m halfway to a punchline.

PENDRAGON (35), a short, red-scaled dragonian man, struts into view, tail swaying like a proud cat’s.

His spiraled horns gleam; his velvet plum coat glitters with embroidered constellations. An emerald brooch clasps his ruffled cravat, and his tail sways like a proud cat’s.

Glad to see ya, Sunny. You usually skip these.

(grimacing)

If I could be anywhere else-

Vivian rushes over to a nearby crate and removes the lid. Bean stands on his hind legs to peek inside.

They’re here!

Dozens of pristine copies of *Sasha Sidewinder and the Rouge Rogue* line the inside. Her eyes sparkle with awe.

Not now, V—

(clenches teeth)

Don’t touch anything.

(quietly to Solaris)

Looks like your secrets are spilling. How much does she know?

(through her teeth)

As much as I say she does.

Pendragon smooths his cravat and waves them further in like a tour guide.

Nice digs. Could do without the incense, though. Smells like a love letter threw up and died.

Bean sneezes.

Ha, straight from the horse’s mouth!

He leans in, inspecting Picknick closely.

Now tell me, have you always been a horse?

Picknick tilts his head in concern.

...Yes?

(not amused)

*Pen*, this isn’t a social visit.

(sighs)

It never is with you, Sunny.

He glides behind a glass case filled with intricate brooches and strange stones.

I need information about the Shade attack from a few days ago.

Before I do, how about you tell me about the one that got into Bergeron Palace?

The news already made it this far?

More of an educated guess after hearing whispers, but your face confirms it.

Solaris sighs, pinching her brow in frustration.

(quietly)

Whispers?

Some locals were notified that their sons were injured in a training accident. Care to fill in the gaps, *Princess*?

Vivian’s shoulders droop with a defeated grumble. She avoids Pendragon’s gaze.

Lydia crouches by a window among festival banners and smoke. She leans against the window, trying to listen in.

There’s a faint creak above. The top window POPS open.

Lydia crashes down in a plume of glitter and cloth, landing in a dramatic sprawl on one of Pendragon’s chaise lounges.

Vivian yelps, and Bean jumps into her arms. Solaris half-draws her dagger.

(without missing a beat)

Nice of you to drop in.

Lydia scrambles away, breath quickening. Then, the air pressure shifts. Purple smoke leaks from the nostrils before to releases her face and drops to the floor.

Vivian steps forward while the others step back.

(hand on dagger)

Who are you?

Bean growls low in Vivian’s arms, then quiets when she tightens her hold.

Lydia rubs her hands over her face, wincing as she touches the scratches framing where the mask was.

I’m-

(coughs)

Ow, everything’s spinning.

Pendragon strides forward and picks up the hound mask to examine it.

(adjusting glasses)

Interesting...

(to Solaris)

This is one of Nessa’s.

Wait, THE Nessa?

How can you tell?

Let me take a look.

Solaris snatches the mask from Pendragon. She angles it in the light, holding it close to her face, then holds it out, squinting at it.

(chuckles to Vivian)

Even legends were young once.

(to Solaris)

Did the old lady forget her glasses?

Grumbling, Solaris hands the mask back.

Do you have any for sale?

(smiling)

Always.

(To Lydia)

Now, I know what brought you here.

Lydia freezes. Her eyes go wide.

Wha-

The Hound finds what’s lost. I’m not surprised it sought its... siblings.

He removes the lid of a nearby crate, revealing masks shaped like a FOX, a FAWN, and a BOAR. He flips one over and shows Nessa’s mark.

It finds Nessa’s other masks?

Lydia shrugs, avoiding Vivian’s gaze.

Last thing I remember was some old man shoving it on my face...

(hesitating)

And now I’m here.

Pendragon places the hound mask on a velvet-lined pedestal near the others.

Lydia stares at it. Her shoulders are rigid, her posture ready to run.

(squinting at Lydia)

What’s wrong?

Lydia doesn’t respond — just steps closer, eyeing the mask like it might bite her.

(subtly)

You don’t have to take it if you don’t want to.

It would sell for a fortune. I can give you the gold for it right now, if you’re willing to negotiate.

Lydia’s hand hovers over the snout.

(quiet)

No, the Ringmaster will want it.

What a shame. Well, if you ever change your mind, feel free to drop by! Just make sure to use the front door next time.

(still watching Lydia)

You don’t remember anything after the mask was put on?

Lydia flinches, almost drawing back her hand.

J-just flashes. Weird scents.

She snatches it off the pedestal and tucks it under one arm.

Those scratches look bad. Will you be okay?

Lydia turns to leave, adjusting her cloak to hide her face.

(gruffly)

Well, you know what they say... The show must go on.

Solaris watches her go, her eyes narrowed.

Lydia limps out the back door with the hound mask held tight against her chest. Solaris tracks her like a hawk.

Who did she say she was?

She didn’t...

Solaris doesn’t answer, gaze still lingering on the doorway.

Bean wiggles out of Vivian’s grasp. He leaps to the couch that the mysterious girl landed on and sniffs at some nearby throw pillows.

Based on that costume, she must be playing our femme fatale tonight. Sasha Sidewinder and the Ruby Princess finally get their stage debut.

Solaris cuts herself off. Vivian’s excitement takes over.

I’ve worked with her ringmaster on a previous project.

Pendragon spins on his heel to pick up a ruffled stack of papers on his desk.

Within the week, he sent me this manuscript-

Solaris steps in, clearing her throat.

*Pen*, enough stalling.

(beat)

At Bergeron Palace... I assumed Sir Leon was safe, but I was wrong. The Shade used his armor as a vessel.

Pendragon’s velvet charm drops with a sigh.

That explains the obituary, then...

Vivian sinks into the couch beside Bean.

Four days ago, a Shade tore through the west gate market. Nothing, no one, was spared... Not even my favorite dumpling place.

(dark smile)

That’s why the south gate’s so popular today.

Pendragon crosses the room, removing a key from his breast pocket, to unlock a drawer. He produces a cloth-wrapped bundle held out by his claws and passes it to Solaris.

Solaris SNAPS her fingers and a spectral hand unwraps it carefully. Inside is a rotten, half-eaten black fruit.

This was found at the scene, already taking root.

(squeak of disgust)

Bean covers his nose with his front paws.

Ugh, it stinks. Never mind, you can keep the incense.

(squinting)

Bite marks...

If it weren’t for that, I’d have destroyed on-site.

Vivian edges forward to get a closer look.

Pendragon steps behind a shelf lined with glittering stones and gently lifts a smoky quartz with a hollow center.

(disgusted)

Why would someone eat it?

Pendragon places the quartz back and snaps his fingers. A flickering illusion rises — a figure with an elongated face, limbs like melted wax, stumbling through firelight.

I didn’t know what to think, until...

He eyes Vivian, expression flattening.

There were no casualties at the Bergeron Palace, were there? The real Sir Leon never left his home.

Vivian hesitates. Bean crawls to her side.

Just Captain Drake’s abduction, but-

(jumping to her feet)

He was taken alive, and still is.

Pendragon gives her a sad, all-knowing look.

Then whoever’s doing this is gaining more control. Lethality is easy, but extraction requires premeditation.

(defensive)

I already knew that.

Vivian steps back, shoulders drooping. Her hand brushes the rapier at her side.

(tense)

It really is all my fault, then.

Pendragon nods, then slips the fruit away.

You could say that... but only one existential spiral is allowed at a time, and it’s still my turn.

Vivian gives a soft exhalation. Her shoulders relax.

Because look, these masks would fit the three of you perfectly! To ignore such a thing would haunt me to the grave.

You think so?

Vivian picks up Bean and walks over to the masks.

They’re too dangerous.

Vivian picks up the fox mask and flips it over. She rubs her thumb over Nessa’s mark.

...Which means you’ll probably touch them anyway.

(pacing theatrically)

We’ve got the cunning fox, the lonely fawn, and the spiteful boar.

(to Vivian)

Their personalities will warp your own if you’re not careful.

(quietly to the mask)

So... what are you running from?

Bean sniffs at it curiously. The fox’s nose twitches, then smooths again.

(taking the fawn mask)

I have a bad feeling about this...

Oh, and before I forget-

Pendragon lifts a velvet pouch from a display case. He opens it with a flourish, revealing two crimson ribbons, bound together with a silver bead etched in swirling runes.

Here. Something for the little one, and one for the princess.

Vivian tilts her head in confusion, then her eyes light up.

Oh, location ribbons!

Two of a kind. Use one as a collar. The other stays with you. If you’re ever separated, they’ll find one another.

Solaris watches quietly, arms folded.

What do you want for them?

(pompously)

Consider it a belated birthday present.

Vivian kneels and ties a ribbon around Bean’s neck like a bowtie. He leans into her touch, tail swishing.

She ties the other one snug around her wrist.

I thought these were just from the first Sidewinder novel...

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve noticed every story has truth to it. Some more hidden than others.

Pendragon winks at Solaris. She rolls her eyes.

I don’t know about lonely, but... these’ll help us blend in, at least.

Picknick hums, inspecting the horse-sized boar mask.

I guess this one’s mine, then.

Vivian slips on her fox mask for the first time.

Please, don’t get caught.

Festival lights flicker through the seams of the tent. Castien stands alone, gazing down at a detailed map of Zore.

Sir Gabriel enters. Three operatives trail in behind him:

The soldiers you requested have arrived, Your Majesty.

– CRAG (17), half-elf, half-orc, bulked with restrained power and silent defiance.

– ZAIDEN (18), human, smug as a wine merchant in a drought.

– JULIA (20), a lean, perceptive, high-strung half-elf, half-human woman whose elemental crossbow rests over her shoulder like a second spine. She doesn’t blink much.

Our princess is here, unguarded. Our enemies will not waste such an opportunity. Neither will we. For assignments... Crag.

Sir?

Your father once praised your tracking skills. Prove to the kingdom you are more than his failures.

(to Crag and Zaiden)

You and Zaiden will work the ground level.

Crag’s jaw twitches. Zaiden smirks.

Of course.

We cannot afford to confront Solaris face-to-face.

(grimly)

Julia, take higher ground. End it quickly.

An eyebrow twitch breaks through Julia’s poker face. Castien notices, narrowing his eyes.

Do not mistake mercy for strength. She will not show you the same.

Julia nods stiffly.

Bring my daughter back. You have until the last lantern burns out. After that... we risk losing her forever.

The echo of distant drums seeps through the canvas — the festival’s roar rising.

The three operatives step out into a city lit by magic and paper lanterns. Celebration crackles through the streets.

(scoffing)

So we’re saving a damsel in distress? Typical.

Your skull is typical. Hollow and echoing.

Ah, you mutts get it easy. Born with silk sigils and family names...

(smirks)

Let’s hope those silver spoons don’t snap under pressure.

He strides ahead, melting into the crowd.

Crag lingers. Julia glances his way.

(measured)

House Bertoldo’s full of ghosts. Don’t add yourself to that list.

Crag meets her sharp gaze.

We’ve already been buried. Making that list wouldn’t change anything.

Julia averts her eyes, then shrugs with a sigh. They split off and vanish into the tide of revelers.

A cramped, crooked interior. Strings of lights sway from the rafters. A battered upright piano rots against the far wall.

Half-eaten, Misery Fruit rests atop a worn table. The hound mask lies nearby, whining softly.

The Conductor hums to himself, juice from a Misery Fruit staining his gloves like spilled ink. He lounges in a high-backed chair, one bite still clinging between his teeth.

In the corner, a LARGE FIGURE stands beneath a velvet cloth. Beside it, the Ringmaster’s empty skin sags against the wall.

Across from them, Dorian sits slouched in a mismatched armchair. His eyes are shut tight, brow furrowed.

(weak, distant)

She’s... pulling away. I don’t think she can hear me.

The Conductor doesn’t respond. He taps a sharp rhythm on the arm of the chair.

Dorian eyes the hound mask hungrily.

If I could see her-

The Conductor throws the fruit across the wagon. It SPLATTERS against the wall above Dorian’s head, leaking black syrup.

(steely)

Then shout louder, little echo.

It’s not me— she’s... scared. The mask didn’t fit her, but-

The Conductor rises. Dorian flinches.

Slowly, the Conductor walks to the shrouded form.

Her fear exists only to waste your breath, dear boy.

He rips the cloth away to reveal Drake, frozen in stone. His expression forever locked in anger. One hand half-raised.

Dorian looks away, jaw clenched.

And your bravery only supports her delusions.

(at Drake)

You’ll see the results of our hard work soon enough.

He turns to the tray, voice bored again, and selects a new, pulsing Misery Fruit. He breaks off a piece, then tucks it away in his cloak.

(barely audible)

But, I didn’t-

The Conductor sets the other half back, then rips open a drawer beneath the tray.

Inside rests his baton. He lifts it and points it at Dorian.

Dorian shrinks into his seat.

(slamming drawer shut)

Tell me, what matters more? Your life, or her peace of mind?

The Conductor melts into SHADOW. He slithers away, slipping under the door.

Dorian lunges after him.

The door solidifies into smooth wood. He slams into it, shoved back by an unseen force.

He lands flat on his back, winded and coughing.

Lydia’s muffled singing voice and a strumming acoustic guitar echo across the fraying thread. Dorian’s eyes widen, and his head turns to the piano.

He struggles to stand and drags himself to the bench.

His hands tremble over yellowed keys, then muscle memory takes over. A dissonant chord, then another. He leans into it, voice pleading with the melody:

(singing, raw)

I’m here... Even when I disappear, Even when the world forgets my face...

His voice cracks. A sob escapes. He forces out one last verse:

(singing, desperate)

Say my name — fight, scream, and shout. But please don’t shut me out. You can’t erase me now—

He wheezes, unable to continue. Blood spatters against the piano keys... But there is no response.

Dorian turns, hollow-eyed, to the hound mask.

It fades away, then dissolves into mist.

He gives an apprehensive glance at Drake’s frozen form.

(flat)

Of course... just me and the ticking time bomb.

His nails dig into his arm, breath evening into calm.

Stupid dog.

Light dust crumbles from Drake’s outstretched hand.

FADE to:

A riot of lanternlight, streamers, and music. Revelers whirl past in technicolor masks.

Vivian walks with Picknick and Solaris. Her fox mask clings close to her face, her eyes peek through the slits.

Solaris wears the fawn mask, squinting at rooftops.

I can’t wear my new glasses with this on.

Picknick’s massive boar mask is skewed slightly. Bean rides shotgun on his shoulder.

I can’t see out of this thing either. These tusks are too big.

(squeaks)

Vivian adjusts the mask for Picknick.

I’ll lead you through. Walk straight ahead unless I say so.

She rests a hand on his shoulder.

Food stalls are this way. Stay close to me.

They press forward through the crowd.

A PARADE crashes through — DANCERS, STILT WALKERS, DRUMMERS, a LONG DRAGON PUPPET — all weaving chaos through the square.

The crowd sweeps Vivian away.

Wait, no!

Vivian?

She tries to follow, but is pushed in the opposite direction.

A confetti popper goes off beside Picknick. He rears back. Bean clings to his mane.

PICKNICK’S POV:

The tusks of the boar mask block his peripheral vision. He swings his head, disoriented.

Hey, where’d you guys go? Viv? Sunny?!

BACK TO SCENE:

Picknick stumbles backward, nearly stepping on a costumed child. Bean squeaks in alarm.

An adult yanks the child away just in time.

Bean looks around. Vivian and Solaris are nowhere in sight.

TWO GUARDS — Zaiden and Crag — approach them.

(urgent squeaks)

Bean hides in Picknick’s mane.

Another unattended horse.

(muttering)

Uh oh...

I thought an assignment from the king would be more than stupid grunt work.

Zaiden grabs the sides of Picknick’s mask to pull him forward. Crag hangs back, arms crossed.

It’s gonna bite you if you do it like that, city boy.

Whatever, put it in the pen with the others.

Picknick freezes, muscles tensing. Zaiden struggles to pull him forward.

C’mon, you—

I won’t bite, but I will do THIS!

He jerks his head away and SLAMS his shoulder into Zaiden, launching him to the closest building wall. A vendor yelps as crates of apples explode into the air.

Picknick bolts away. His hooves spark against cobblestone. Bean holds onto his ears for dear life.

The crowd parts as he charges toward a children’s puppet show. Bean’s eyes open wide with panic.

(panicked squeak)

Got it!

Picknick LEAPS over the crowd. The audience GASPS, delighted.

He lands, skidding into an Akira bike slide, nostrils flared.

Let’s go find the others.

(assertive squeak)

He tugs Picknick’s ears, and Picknick gallops away.

Solaris jogs down a side street, head on a swivel. She pauses, chest heaving, and adjusts her mask.

Three guards turn onto the street below, torches in hand. She ducks into a doorway and presses flat against the side wall. With a sharp inhale, she FADES into transparency.

Guards pass, distracted by conversation.

You think she’ll do it?

I heard she shot a unicorn on a royal hunt once. Girl’s cold-blooded.

No wonder they got along.

They laugh as they turn the nearest corner.

Solaris exhales, reappearing with a gasp.

THWIP! An ICE BOLT slams into the door inches from her head.

Solaris flinches, squinting at the rooftops.

Solaris’s POV:

With her blurry vision, a bright white light shines above in the darkness. It shifts, pointing straight at her.

(under her breath)

There you are...

She inhales sharply and fades, darting down the alleyway. Another bolt zips past, grazing her shoulder. Her image falters — caught between seen and unseen.

Julia steadies her aim for the third shot.

A ten-year-old Julia struggles with a prototype crossbow, bolts scattered uselessly around a target. Her arms shake as she bites back her frustration.

Solaris approaches, scales a little brighter, arms crossed. She snaps her fingers, and spectral, floating hands appear around Julia. They lower the crossbow from her grip.

If this was enchanted, it would have backfired already.

Julia bows her head, ashamed.

Sorry. My mother wants me to learn, but... I stink.

Solaris softens, kneeling to eye level.

Even the best have off days, but the trick is to never shoot angry. Only the target should lose control.

Julia furrows her brow, then nods. She raises her weapon, trying again.

BACK TO SCENE:

Julia exhales, finger trembling at the trigger. Then, lowers her aim.

Across the way, Solaris slips fully back into shadow.

Julia retreats in the opposite direction.

Vivian slips into a quiet courtyard tucked behind the chaos. Lanterns sway in the wind.

(singing, alto)

*I carved my name in the smoke and the shame,* *Wore my smile like a burn.*

A guitar’s melancholic strum draws Vivian forward.

She peeks around a hedge and pauses - captivated.

Between vines and flame, Lydia sits on a cracked stone bench, guitar across her thigh. Her horns gleam faintly, shadow shifting along the wall.

(singing)

*Told ‘**em** “love me,” then ran from the flame -* *‘Cause I never learn.*

The hound mask lies beside her. The curve of her horns casts strange shadows in the fiery lanternlight.

VIVIAN’S POV:

Resentment simmers like smoke around Lydia’s shoulders. Guilt clings to her hands. Longing hums beneath every note.

(singing)

*Don’t follow me home, I don’t live there no more.* *My heart’s got a lock, and a wolf at the door.*

Vivian lifts her mask, and the haze clears.

(singing)

*I’ll kiss you sweet, then leave you to bleed,* *Darlin’, I bite with-*

Lydia looks up, and their eyes meet. The song dies in her throat, and her expression eases into a guarded smile.

(stiff)

Hey... you.

(smooth)

You stalking me or something?

Vivian freezes.

No, I— I was just—

Relax, you’re not the first girl to sneak up while I’m playing.

I wasn’t sneaking! ...Or stalking.

(flustered)

But we’ve met before, haven’t we?

(beat)

Not just today. I... I remember your voice.

Lydia sets down her guitar, leaning it against her knee.

(laughing lightly)

You sure? I think I’d remember meeting a fox.

Vivian’s mask pulses in her hand. A voice hisses in her ear:

Run.

Vivian flinches. Her expression drops with disappointment.

Oh... I must be mixing you up with someone else, then. Sorry.

She turns to leave.

Lydia’s eyes widen. She reaches out, grabbing Vivian’s wrist.

Wait, don’t-

Vivian looks back in surprise.

You’re right... that was me in the woods.

She releases her grip, embarrassed.

S-sorry, didn’t think you’d take me seriously.

She gestures toward the empty spot beside her.

(deflecting, half-teasing)

You can sit if you want. I won’t bite.

Vivian hovers by the bench, uncertain. Her eyes catch on the hound mask.

You still have that?

Been trying to ditch it. Keeps coming back.

(laughing)

Almost like a real dog, then.

Lydia side-eyes her, lips quirking.

Yeah. Lucky me.

She rests the mask on her lap. Vivian sits beside her.

So... what song were you playing?

Just something stuck in my head.

(leans in)

Why? You wanna make it a duet?

She plucks a soft chord, then mutes it. Vivian adjusts the mask to hide her face.

It doesn’t sound like a duet.

You pick one, then. I’ve heard too many to choose.

VIVIAN’S POV (THROUGH THE MASK):

Lydia’s thumb grazes Nessa’s mark on her mask. The mist at her hands and shoulders vanishes as walls shut around her like armor.

Fake.

Back to Scene:

Goosebumps rise on Vivian’s arms. She rubs them away.

I, uh... don’t have my instrument with me, sorry.

(mischievous)

Why’re you apologizing? You’ve got one right here.

She points at Vivian’s throat, then traces a line with a fingernail up to her chin.

Vivian jolts back with a nervous giggle.

Hey—

The clock tower CLANGS. Both girls jump and turn to the sound.

Lydia glances down at the hound mask and sighs.

My twin brother always said that thing was five minutes slow...

(bitter)

Hindsight, I guess.

Hindsight?

A Shade took him... four days ago. He got to the west gate early, like always, but... I was too late.

Her nails dig into her forearm. The walls around her body shiver.

That’s awful. I heard there weren’t any survivors from that attack.

Lydia tenses for a fraction of a second, but speaks in her next breath.

I *know* he’s still alive. He has to be, or...

Her eyes dart to Vivian. She catches Vivian’s concerned gaze for a moment, then looks down at the Hound Mask.

Vivian’s shoulders sink with sympathy, but she says nothing.

With a sigh, Lydia stands. She slings the guitar strap over her shoulder, hound mask in hand.

Y’know, you’re pretty easy to talk to.

She looks tentative, and a little embarrassed, fiddling with her hair.

...You coming to the show later?

Yes! I mean-

(playing it cool)

Yeah, I’m planning on it.

Lydia flashes her a mysterious smile.

Good. I can get you a backstage tour, if you want.

She holds out her hand for Vivian to take. Vivian’s eyes light up, but her mask pulses again.

Liar.

Vivian hides her hands in her lap.

I- I can’t, sorry. I need to get back to my group.

Lydia’s smile falters as she draws back her hand.

Well, if you change your mind, my tent’s the little red one backstage.

She tosses the hound mask into nearby bushes, then pauses, glancing back over her shoulder.

Don’t get too lost out there, Little Fox.

She winks, then saunters away.

Vivian stiffens. The fox mask thrums hot against her cheek.

Oh—bye, uh—

(groan)

I never even got her name...

She stands frozen as Lydia fades into the lanternlight - the song still echoing faintly in her mind.

(hissing)

You don’t need it.

Vivian adjusts her cloak to hide her neck. Distant festival drums thrum faintly in the silence.

Cut TO BLACK.

Solaris crouches near a cluster of festival banners fluttering over the packed square below. She exchanges the fawn mask for her glasses.

She can see the royal balcony clearly now, draped in gold and shadow. Castien’s silhouette sits motionless amid the flicker of torchlight.

Solaris adjusts the focus of a small brass spyglass. The lens warps with static, then locks onto an image of Lydia holding her hand out to Vivian.

(under her breath)

Don’t-

Vivian draws her hand back and shakes her head.

Solaris sighs in relief and lowers the spyglass. She looks down at the busy streets. Her scales catch the reflection of the torches below.

(to herself)

Hold on, Vivian. I’m coming.

She dons her mask and vanishes over the edge. Only her shadow remains, stretching into the lanternlight below.

Torchlight seeps through the curtains, painting the air pink-orange. Shadows ripple across racks of costumes as performers rush past.

In a tucked-away corner, Lydia sits at a flimsy vanity desk, half-dressed as the Ruby Princess: crimson corset, black sash, horns polished, her face still bare.

The RUBY PRINCESS MASK hangs off a horn.

She rummages through a drawer of lipstick tubes, uncaps one — a garish pink. She grimaces and tosses it back.

She SLAMS the drawer shut, then yanks open the one beneath.

The HOUND MASK lies within.

She snarls in frustration and snatches it, storming toward the tent flap. As she winds up a throw, a soft canine whine emits from it.

I’m still here.

Lydia freezes, dropping her arm. The mask dangles from her fingertips.

She turns back, drops the Hound Mask into the drawer, and shuts it away.

The tent flap RUSTLES. She freezes, shoulders growing tense as her eyes drift up to the vanity mirror.

The reflection behind her ripples, forming into the Conductor’s pale shape. His eyes are hidden behind a white blindfold.

Lydia grimaces as he strides forward with confidence, but she doesn’t turn around.

(hollow)

There you are, my dear. I wondered where you’d been hiding.

With a practiced gesture, he gently cups her face and brushes his thumb across her cheek.

Lydia jerks back and SLAPS his hand away.

Back off! I’m not a little kid anymore.

(amused)

Of course. Your garden performance was... precious. Here, a reward.

He retrieves a small paper pouch from his coat and sets it on the vanity.

We wouldn’t want our guest of honor to be disappointed.

Chuckling, he retreats into the shadows and disappears.

Lydia approaches the pouch and opens it, lip curled.

Inside is a small slice of MISERY FRUIT, pulsing like a heartbeat trapped under skin.

Lydia’s gags. Her fingers twitch toward her face.

Flashback to:

Child’s pov:

A child sobs and hiccups — the image blurs, distorted with tears. Small hands rise into frame, rubbing at the screen.

Cramped shadows, boxes stacked high, and bolts of fabric slouched against the wall loom around them.

The strip of light under the door widens as it CREAKS open. A tall silhouette fills the gap. Robes trail, but the face never comes into view.

(soft, warped)

There you are, my dear. I wondered where you’d been hiding.

An ungloved hand reaches in, cupping the “camera,” thumb brushing away tears.

Back to scene:

Back in the tent, Lydia grips the vanity edge, knuckles pale.

Her reflection trembles in the mirror: regal, exhausted... and terrified. It blinks a half-second slower than she does.

Hey, um...

Lydia jumps and hides the pouch with the hound mask, SLAMS the drawer shut, and turns to the source of noise.

(forced casual)

Heeeey... They calling for places already?

Sasha edges into the tent, nervously tugging at her braid.

No, but... Do you wanna grab a drink or something after the show?

(rambling)

Not as, like, castmates but—

She winces at herself, cheeks flushed. Lydia freezes and stares at her a moment, then cracks a grin.

(amused)

Took ya long enough.

Sasha blinks, then laughs nervously.

Is that a yes or a no?

Why not? Sounds like fun.

A STAGEHAND calls from down the hall.

Sasha, Ruby! Places!

(relieved smile)

Great. Let’s meet at The Screaming Spoon later. They have the best desserts.

Sasha hurries off, braid swinging.

Lydia lingers, staring at the vanity mirror. Her reflection smiles back.

(to herself)

Fun, sure, but she’d hate the real me.

She exhales, and her grin fades.

Her reflection smiles wider.

She lifts the mask from her horn, then slips the mask over her face.

Lydia? Where did you go?

His voice breaks like a snapped piano string. Lydia’s spine straightens like armor locking into place.

(sharp)

Silence, peasant.

Her eyes lose focus.

Your Lydia is gone.

The Ringmaster’s voice echoes in the dark:

Lydia, we’re all waiting on you.

Lydia grits her teeth, then steps out of the tent. The noise of the crowd swells like a rising tide.

Music from the main square muffles as Vivian threads through the narrow alleys. At a crossroads, she looks both ways.

The paths look identical. She sighs, adjusting her mask.

(urgent)

Not alone.

The red ribbon around her wrist glows. Her eyes light up in recognition.

Finally, it’s working!

She adjusts the decorative bead, and a thin line trails in the direction she came from. She turns to follow it.

A voice drifts from the shadows ahead of her.

You shouldn’t wander alone, Princess.

Vivian draws her rapier and points it toward the voice.

(startled)

I have a name, you know.

Crag steps into the lamplight, hands up in submission. His armor is dulled and a battered mask hangs from his belt.

The real question is: do you remember mine?

She lifts her mask, eyes narrowed to get a better look.

You’re... Crag, right? Half-elf?

You could say that.

(lowers arms)

I... look more like my mom.

Well, if you try anything - I’ll send you back to her in a box.

Vivian points her rapier at him with more intensity.

(smirking)

You don’t... sound like you’ve been kidnapped. Why leave?

Vivian straightens, forcing a smile.

I thought that was obvious. For Drake, of course. To find out where that Shade came from and bring him home.

Crag nods. He checks over his shoulder, then steps closer.

Saltspire’s drowning in Shades. They crawl from the canals every night, bit no one dares to go down.

He looks away, jaw tight.

If he’s still alive, I think he’d be down there.

Vivian softens, and she sheathes her weapon.

Then I’ll find him... and whatever else is down there. That’s a promise.

I’ll hold you to that. We’ll see how much a Bergeron promise is really worth.

Vivian’s shoulders sink at the weight of his words.

Is... the king here?

Should be in his seat by now. Julia’s... somewhere. But Zaiden...

(sighs)

If Zaiden finds you, we bring you back. No exceptions.

Vivian nods.

Then I guess I’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t find me.

Crag exhales, almost smiling.

You sound like Solaris.

(turning to leave)

Keep your mask on, Fox. The night’s barely begun.

He disappears into the alley fog. Vivian watches him go, thumb brushing Pendragon’s ribbon.

(sinister whisper)

Trust is just another cheap costume.

Vivian flinches.

(to herself)

Not when it’s the only thing left to wear.

She slips her fox mask back on and follows the thread to the main square.

The crowd’s applause swells somewhere nearby — the start of the performance.

The crowd roars as the stage curtains rise. The spotlights flicker once, twice... then flare to life.

Lydia steps into the light, her jeweled mask and red dress gleam like glass over fire.

Sasha stands opposite her in battle-worn leather armor, eyes bright with determination. She lashes her whip against the stage.