Chapter 1: Vale Enters the Velvet Ring.

Vale stood in a room he didn’t recognize.

The walls were pale ivory, lit by soft candlelight. A vintage bedroom, forgotten by time. Dust floated like gold in the air, and everything looked… still.

The air smelled like old books and lavender.

A music box played gently in the corner — a slow, echoing tune called "Rise of the Moon." Its delicate notes curled through the silence like perfume.

He turned.

There, on the antique bed, lay someone asleep.

A boy.

Mid-length hair as white as snowfall, lashes casting delicate shadows on skin as pale as milkglass. He looked carved from moonlight — too still, too beautiful to be human.

Then the moonlight shifted through the window, landing gently across the boy’s face. His lips parted slightly as he breathed, and for a moment —

he almost looked like he’d wake.

Who are you? Vale wanted to ask.

But before he could move—

Thud.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The alarm screamed like a broken siren, dragging Vale from a dream that was already turning to smoke.

He groaned, tangled in his bedsheet like a moth in silk, eyes barely open.

“Vale!” his mother’s voice cut through the door, sharp and tired. “Go down the street and get something for breakfast. Eggs, bread. And don’t take long!”

The door didn’t open. It never did.

Vale sat up, rubbing sleep from his lashes. His room was small and full of shadows, the window smeared with gray light. His breath fogged the glass as he passed it.

Shoes on. Wallet. Hoodie.

He didn’t speak. Just left.

Outside, the air was thick and tasted like static. The city had that heavy morning buzz—dripping gutters, cars slicing through puddles, pigeons cooing like broken record players.

Squelch.

His foot sank into a water-filled crack in the sidewalk.

He didn’t curse. He was used to things like that.

At the store, fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Vale grabbed a carton of eggs, a loaf of bread, and a drink. Then he saw it.

Something wedged behind the gum rack.

Small. Black. Plastic. Like a video game cartridge—but with no label.

Only curling golden text like vines:

THE MAGICAL CIRCUS.

His fingers moved before his brain did.

He slipped it in his hoodie pocket.

He didn’t know why.

Back home, his mother didn’t even look up when he dropped the bag on the counter.

Vale took the drink and vanished into his room.

Click.

Snap.

Pop.

The cartridge slid into his console. The screen blinked to life.

Black. Then—fizzzt.

“Welcome to the Magical Circus.”

The voice was slow and sweet, like honey dripping over knives.

Vale leaned forward. The air felt wrong. Like the game was… breathing.

“Please enter your name.”

“Vale,” he typed.

“Please enter your age.”

“Seventeen.”

Bzzt. CRACK.

The screen shuddered. A glitch—no, a tear. A sound like silk being ripped from the sky.

Something reached through the screen.

A gloved hand. Pale as chalk. Fingers like spider legs.

“Come now, darling. The tent is waiting.”

THUD.

BOOM.

RUSTLE.

He landed on velvet. Cold stars blinked overhead. Gold light bathed his skin.

He was in a circus ring.

A lion purred beside him, its mane glittering silver. It nudged him gently, like an old friend.

“What… what is this?” Vale whispered.

A voice answered—deep and delighted.

The Ringmaster, tall as a lamppost, emerged from the dark.

His mask was cracked porcelain. His smile was stitched wide.

“Welcome to the Magical Circus. What is your name, sir? And your age?”

Vale opened his mouth… but nothing came.

His name.

His age.

Gone.

He blinked.

“I… I forgot.”

The Ringmaster beamed.

“Then let’s give you a new one.”

To be continued.

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