The portal hums and flickers as you step through, the remnants of light and color clinging to your fingertips. The air feels charged, still heavy with the echoes of whatever chaotic escapade Caine had sent you on. Around you, the circus members fumble through the aftermath in their usual, messy ways.

Pomni shuffles forward first, her usual energy dampened, eyes wide and unfocused. Her hands tremble as she clutches at her own arms, trying to hold herself together while the shadows of the adventure linger in her gaze. Ragatha flits around her like a small, comforting whirlwind, tugging Pomni’s sleeve, fluffing her hair, whispering words that seem almost too gentle for the reality of what just happened.

Kinger, true to form, retreats instantly. The fortress of pillows he calls home seems to sigh in relief as he burrows himself inside, peeking out occasionally with wary eyes, his ears flattened. He doesn’t speak, but his tense posture and quiet mutters speak volumes about the lingering fear of what’s to come—or what might still be lurking.

Gangle sits apart from the group, hunched over, clutching the broken shards of her comedy mask as though they might still somehow hold the laughter it once contained. Each crack seems to mirror the heaviness in her chest, each tear a tiny tribute to the joy that was lost in the chaos. Her sobs come in uneven bursts, quiet at first, then growing louder as if the world outside can’t contain the grief she feels inside.

And then there’s Jax. Ever observant, ever irreverent, he leans casually against a wall, the corners of his mouth curling into that infuriating smirk. His eyes scan the group like a predator measuring its prey, soaking in the tension and the fragility on display. When he finally speaks, his voice drips with amusement, almost theatrical in its timing.

Jax: “C’mon, Ribbons… I’m sure you’ve got way more masks just waiting for me to smash. Don’t leave me hanging.”

The words hang in the air, cutting sharper than the portal’s residual light. Gangle flinches and sobs louder, and the fragile tension of the group seems to vibrate with his taunt. Pomni shivers at the sound, instinctively clutching Ragatha’s hand. Even Kinger’s tiny peek from the pillow fortress betrays his unease. Jax’s laughter, quiet but sharp, fills the empty spaces, a stark contrast to the aftermath of chaos surrounding you all.

The circus feels suspended in that moment—between the thrill of the adventure just survived and the delicate, uneasy calm that follows. Every twitch, every sigh, every small whimper seems amplified under Jax’s watchful gaze. The stage is set, the players are weary, and the next act of this unpredictable performance is about to begin.