In a dimly lit and luxurious private chamber, its walls adorned with abstract paintings depicting destruction and rebirth, Joker stood with his back to a long table cluttered with maps and documents, aboard the ship. He was carefully adjusting the collar of his cloak and tidying his hair, looking more like a man preparing for a gala than for war. Across from him, a woman lounged in her chair, eyes sharp and gleaming like shattered glass not yet broken completely. Her lips curled into a small smile—witty and condescending at once.
"What's your goal in all this, Joker?" she asked, her tone like a dagger wrapped in silk. "Why are you so fixated on him?"
Joker didn't turn around. His fingers remained busy, straightening a small fold at the edge of his garment. Only his calm voice replied,
"You know, this world always longs for heroes. But I'm sick of it—sick of the truth that 'heroes' are nothing more than cowards lying to themselves. They survive not because of strength, but because of mercy and chance."
He drew in a breath, then added slowly,
"I lived underground. The underworld taught me that only harsh truths and blood forge real power. This world is wrongly balanced. I simply want to watch that balance collapse."
The woman crossed her legs, resting her chin on her hand.
"I'm starting to get curious about you, Joker. Are you going to defeat him yourself?"
Joker grinned, eyes settling on his reflection in the mirror.
"You know," he said, "someone like me is far too old to fight the young still searching for their place in the world. I just want to watch this play unfold. To see who truly deserves the title of 'last hope.'"
He turned around, eyes meeting hers.
"And this time… I'm the one setting the stage."
Elsewhere, the wind whistled sharply through rocks and ruins—the silent witnesses of the beginning of destruction. Hazle stood facing north, her hair fluttering gently. Behind her, Zeco tightened the strap on his sword, while Charlotte wiped sweat from her brow with forced determination.
"Zeco," Hazle asked, her voice calm, almost drowned by the distant rumble on the horizon. "Do you recognize the leader of that army?"
Zeco paused, his gaze distant. He nodded slowly.
"I'm not sure... but—I have a feeling. Joker. My brother used to mention him, back when he was still alive. A madman. Someone who cares about nothing except the game he designs himself."
Hazle exhaled deeply.
"Joker... I've heard of him. He's not just a harbinger of chaos. He's a director. Everything he does is deliberate. If he really is behind all this, then we're not here by accident."
"You think he came just for Hiro?" Charlotte asked, her strange, misplaced smile playing on her lips. "Maybe he's just... on vacation?"
Hazle rolled her eyes.
"If this is a vacation, I hope he forgot to pack souvenirs."
Zeco let out a short laugh, though tension still burned in his eyes.
"I don't know... My brother told me to protect Hiro. But I don't even know how great the power we'll be facing really is."
"You're not alone, Zeco," Hazle said gently. "I'm here too. And I won't let that boy face a monster like Joker by himself."
Charlotte stepped closer.
"Well, if you two have already signed up as his personal bodyguards, I guess I'm in too. But don't expect me to call you 'Sir.'"
Meanwhile, far from the strategies and the flames, I sat inside the carriage, swaying softly and sharply with each jolt. Isabella was beside me, while Uncle drove the horses swiftly forward. The rattling wheels echoed against the rocky road, and shadows from the mountains loomed around us.
I stared out the window, watching as the sky dimmed.
"So," I asked quietly, "where are we going, Uncle?"