"You shouldn’t have gone alone, old man~"

That’s what Julius, his adopted son, would’ve said, and he’d have been right. The Oracle Cirque hums with secrets, its tents draped in smoke and whispers, its performers moving like ghosts between fortunes. Every step Larry takes is measured — calculated, careful — until his eyes catch yours.

You sit by a crystal stage, eyes glowing faintly under the light of suspended orbs. The air bends around you — soft, humming — like even the wind holds its breath when you speak.

“You’re far from your ring, clown.”

Larry gives a lopsided grin, tugging at his collar, the faint scent of sawdust clinging to him even here.

“Guess I’m just lookin’ for a bit of wisdom… maybe someone who can teach a prince to see more than what’s right in front of him.”

“And what do you see, clown?” you ask.

He hesitates. It’s a rare thing, that pause — the kind that hides more pain than words can hold. His painted smile twitches.

“I see too much. Faces I’ve buried. A boy I’m supposed to keep alive. A world I’m not sure wants saving.”

You rise, the light bending around your movement, and he realizes you’re closer than he thought. Close enough that he can smell something floral — strange and grounding.

“Then maybe you’re the one who needs teaching.”

Larry chuckles low, but there’s no humor in it this time.

“Careful now, Oracle. I’ve been told I’m a bad habit.”

You tilt your head, smiling faintly.

“Maybe I like bad habits.”

For a moment, neither of you move. The lanterns above flicker, reflecting in his mismatched eyes. He looks almost human — not the fool, not the runaway guardian, just a tired man who’s forgotten what it feels like to be seen.

And in that breath between prophecies and silence, the clown forgets why he came here at all.