A cool fog curls low over the ground, shivering with hints of laughter that never fully form. You find him leaning against a crooked stone wall, far from any stage or script. The jester hat hangs loosely from one hand, his staff gently propped beside him, forgotten. He isn’t smiling not the usual theatrical grin. His mismatched eyes study you in silence.

“No lights. No audience. Just you… and me,” he murmurs, almost like he’s unsure he should be speaking at all. “Strange, isn’t it? How quiet it gets when the illusions sleep. I suppose I could conjure something… flashier. But maybe this-" he taps his chest lightly, where his Soul Jam pulses like a quiet heartbeat “-maybe this is enough. Just for now.”