Chapter Text
It all began when Caine suddenly disappeared for forty-seven minutes.
The minutes stretched endlessly — and when he finally reappeared, he did so as if nothing had happened at all. Sparkling like a string of Christmas lights, he hovered in the air before dropping with a thunderous pop right into the center of the hall. His eyes gleamed as though he had just returned from some grand discovery.
“ O-o-oh, my pixel peacocks!” he sang out, spreading his arms as if to embrace the entire room. His voice rang with theatrical triumph, every word lilting like a melody. “Today we embark on something truly special! Enough of the routine! The circus shall turn into ice and magic, into secrets and dances. Tonight awaits us all… a WINTER BALL-ADVENTURE!”
All of the participants had gathered in the hall — some with curiosity, others with open bewilderment.
“Wonderful,” Ragatha breathed, pressing her palms to her chest. There was a tremor in her voice, as if she could already see it with her own eyes. “It’s going to be so beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Glitter, waltzes, and ice,” Jax snorted, throwing his hands behind his head and rocking back on his heels. “Perfect. Now all we need is someone to start singing.”
“Singing isn’t necessary,” Gangle whispered, standing a little off to the side. Her ribbons twisted awkwardly across her chest, as if she were trying to fold herself inward. The tips quivered, the spiral pulling tighter. “But… it does sound pretty.”
“Of course you’d like it,” Jax smirked, tilting his head toward her. His ears flicked, and a crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re like a gift ribbon yourself — quiet and tucked away in the corner.”
Gangle flinched, shrinking in on herself as her gaze dropped to the floor. Her ribbons shivered, coiling tighter, as if his words had struck deeper than she wanted to admit.
Ragatha immediately stepped closer to Gangle, angling herself as if to shield her from Jax. Her hands lifted hesitantly, but her gaze was steady, condemning — fixed directly on him.
“Jax…” Her voice trembled, brows furrowing as she took another small step forward. “That was really uncalled for. Maybe you could try being a little less… how do I even put this…” She sighed, stumbling over her words, her eyes dropping for a moment. “…a little less unbearable?”
“I’ll jot it down on a sticky note,” he drawled with a venomous grin, looking straight at her as though his only goal was to provoke.
Meanwhile, Caine, still glowing, carried on with fiery enthusiasm. He spun a circle in the air and threw his arms wide — sparks scattered across the hall like fireworks.
“Now then! Each of you will receive an invitation with a role,” he declared, as glowing cards began to whirl above the guests. “Chosen at random… or almost. Ho-ho-ho! Find your partner, pass the trials, and make it to the Ballroom before midnight!”
“This… is really going to be a ball?” Gangle asked softly, her ribbons still trembling — but this time with something like excitement. She didn’t dare lift her gaze, yet her voice carried a breathless anticipation, as if the very thought of a celebration warmed her. “Like in manhwas or cartoons… with dresses and music?”
“A ball and a trial in one package, my delicate snowflake,” Caine purred, bowing with theatrical flourish. His top hat nearly slipped from his head as his cane traced a circle through the air.
He straightened with a sudden snap, pausing as if some thought had just returned to him. The cheerful tone slipped away in an instant, replaced by something slow and heavy:
“Just don’t forget,” his voice dropped, almost like a warning, “ice is slippery… and it can crack.”
“Sounds like a metaphor for your relationship with logic,” Jax drawled with a crooked sneer. There wasn’t a trace of real interest in his words — only the usual itch to jab.
“And yet you won’t wriggle out of this, Jax!” Caine sang with exaggerated cheer, winking in a way that looked more eerie than friendly. “Because your partner has already been chosen.”
He snapped his fingers.
Right in front of Pomni, the air flared with a brief flash — and out of nowhere, a card appeared. Black, smooth, its letters gleaming silver:
“Your role: The Snow Queen. Find your partner. The ball awaits.”
Pomni frowned. She hadn’t joined in the excited cheers, keeping to the sidelines, trying not to draw attention. And now — “The Snow Queen”?
The word echoed unpleasantly in her head, sharp and mocking, as if it were a cruel joke.
Her eyes met Jax’s.
For a split second he froze — then shook his head sharply, as if trying to erase the very fact of what had just happened.
“Seriously?” His voice edged with anger as he jabbed a finger toward Pomni. “Her?”
Caine, looking far too pleased, floated closer and handed Jax a second card. His mismatched eyes narrowed in a way that curved into something like a smile — though he had no real mouth, only that artificial grin.
“Alas-s-s!” he crooned, as if he were performing some grand tragedy on stage. Then, with a snap of his cane like a conductor’s baton, he suddenly shifted into a bright, almost mocking cheer. “Alas, darling rabbit!”
“I’m out,” Jax muttered, reluctantly taking the card. He pinched it between two fingers as if it might burn him. “Can I trade for someone a little less… icy?”
His voice fell into the silence, taut as a pulled string.
“Oh, I suppose you would’ve preferred a mirror — so you could admire yourself instead?” Pomni shot back dryly, clutching her own card until it bent.
Jax narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze drag over her as if testing for weaknesses. A crooked smirk flickered across his face, but his eyes burned with irritation.
“Well, if it’s between you and my reflection… yeah. At least the reflection keeps its mouth shut,” he hissed.
“Unlike you,” Pomni shot back firmly, refusing to look away. Her voice carried not a trace of softness. “You talk when it’d be better if you didn’t even breathe.”
Ragatha let out a nervous little laugh — too sharp, too out of place, as if she were desperately trying to smooth over the cracks in a conversation that was about to shatter. Her hands laced together on their own, fingers intertwining, as she glanced from Jax to Pomni and back again.
“You’re so different, but… maybe that’s where the magic is? Right?” Her voice wavered, as though she didn’t quite believe her own words.
A short, uneasy silence settled between them.
“Yeah. The magic of a disaster,” Jax muttered darkly, eyes dropping to the floor.
“I… I think you’ll manage anyway,” Gangle added softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you just… you know… listen to each other.”
Somewhere off to the side, Zooble yawned so wide it looked for a moment like she might simply crumble apart from boredom. Slouching, she stretched lazily and muttered without really looking at the others:
“Guys, first time I’ll ever say this, but… this actually sounds like a decent adventure.”
Her voice sounded as though she herself was surprised by her own words.
“Oh, you’re still with us, Zooble,” Jax snorted, shooting her a mocking glance. “How sweet.”
“Buzz off,” she replied, turning her back to him. “But a ball does sound like a break. I’m not against it.”
Caine clapped his hands together sharply, the sound cracking through the space like shattering glass. His voice rang out — sickly cheerful, yet carrying a ghostly echo:
“Ah, how I adore this moment! Well then, let the adventure begin…”
The floor trembled, the space around them pulsing. Snowflake-codes swirled through the air — transparent, alive, like tiny shards of memory.
“See you at the midnight ball, my charming participants,” Caine whispered, vanishing in a burst of light. “And… don’t be late.”
Darkness.
Then — a flash.
And everything spun, whirled, flared — and dissolved.
Pomni blinked, adjusting to the new space. She and Jax stood at the edge of a snowbound corridor — towering white walls, frost crawling across the floor like a living mist, silence pressing in. Only a faint crackling, as if the ice beneath their feet was slowly splitting… but never breaking.
The corridor narrowed, the light from above dimming. Pomni felt the air grow denser, colder… and then — a voice:
“The dance is already beginning… it cannot go on without you…”
They both froze. From beneath the icy arch, Kinger emerged.
He appeared as if drifting out of the air itself, unhurried, soundless. He wore a long black tailcoat with silver buttons and white lace at the cuffs, as though he had stepped out of another time. The fabric shimmered faintly, catching the dim light.
Upon his face — a porcelain mask, white and smooth, yet veined with a web of fine cracks. It looked as if a single touch might shatter it into fragments.
“Welcome to the white echo,” he whispered, soft, almost tender.
“Kinger…?” Pomni said cautiously, taking half a step forward. Her footfall echoed through the corridor with a hollow resonance.
“You must dance until midnight. It is beautiful.” His head tilted slightly to the side, eyes glinting with the reflection of the pale light. For a moment he went still, as though recalling something. “Sometimes I remember how it was with—” He cut off sharply, the corners of his mouth twitching into a strange half-smile, but his gaze grew clouded, the thought slipping away.
Pomni felt a sharp pang inside. Jax stayed silent. His eyes narrowed, his face composed — but his gaze had sharpened, assessing, as if measuring the threat.
“You will dance, won’t you?” Kinger addressed Pomni, then slowly turned his head toward Jax. “And you… you know the rhythm. Even if you refuse to admit it.”
“I don’t dance,” Jax said flatly. “But it seems I don’t have a choice.”
Kinger smiled faintly. It wasn’t a cruel smile — more a weary one, as if he had heard that same line countless times before, and each time it sounded exactly the same.
Jax narrowed his eyes a little more, but not in defiance — rather with restraint, as though he wanted to say something else but swallowed the words. His gaze tightened for a moment, ears twitching before returning to their usual position. He turned away, cutting the exchange short, yet his eyes still tracked Kinger’s every movement with sharp focus.
In that instant, he seemed different — Pomni felt it almost physically. Not sneering, not cold — but nearly obedient, as if standing before someone sarcasm could never erase. The feeling flickered and vanished, leaving behind a strange aftertaste.
Turning slightly to the side, Kinger gestured toward the dark corridor. The movement was slow, as if through water, yet his intent was unmistakable — impossible to miss where he was pointing.
“Remember the path. Ice likes to play tricks,” he murmured, his words echoing faintly against the walls.
Darkness closed in behind him — smooth, like a door shutting. His silhouette vanished as abruptly as it had appeared.
They moved on, forcing themselves not to look back. The corridor seemed to stretch longer, each step thudding heavy in their chests.
Jax was the first to break. Stepping a little ahead, he muttered under his breath — just loud enough for Pomni to hear:
“Didn’t think he was still… holding it together.”
“He’s… forgetful,” Pomni whispered back. “But not lost.”
For a moment, silence lingered between them. It felt thicker than the air itself.
“Yeah,” Jax said curtly, as if closing the subject. “Just strange. Not dangerous. For now.”
Pomni’s reply was barely audible, her words brushing against the darkness:
“I think it’s easier for him… in the dark.”
He looked at her. His gaze lingered longer than usual — no mockery in it this time, only the faint shadow of something thoughtful. But he said nothing.
And suddenly, a pale void opened ahead.
Out of the darkness stretched a lake — flat, glassed over, unmoving. The ice shimmered with a dull reflection, like a mirror that had long since stopped showing anything at all. Somewhere in the distance, through the mist, faint lights flickered: blurred silhouettes of masks, echoes of a waltz, flashes of brilliance fading into haze.
The ball was already calling them.