Back in the Glass Garden, the air shimmered with the fading glow of Regulus' magic. Ash drifted like snow, gently falling beneath a sky stuck in eternal night.
In front of Regulus stood five figures dressed in black ceremonial robes. The robes shimmered like liquid shadow, moving even when the demons did not. Their pale faces looked human, but their empty eyes and the unnatural way they stood revealed the truth: they were demons.
Above them, the jester hung from invisible strings. Its body sagged like a lifeless doll, but its head tilted slowly, and its voice echoed with a cold, dead tone.
"Poor guest," the jester said, the sound scraping through the Garden. "When you dream of the Slumbering King, the Slumbering King dreams back. And once he does... You... belong to him."
The five demons stepped forward, perfectly in sync.
"We are his messengers," one of them said.
"And you," added another, "are the weakest. How unlucky."
