Kaelen let out a heavy sigh—breath cutting the fog—"This next recruit is a gamble—a wolf in sheep''s clothing—with an appetite for chaos instead of sheep"—voice low, measured, a warning wrapped in calm.


    Mavik chuckled—voice rumbling low—"Sounds like they''ll fit right in—chaos is our specialty"—his burn-scarred grin glinting faint under torchlight, gray armor creaking as he leaned back.


    Varra groaned—golden eyes rolling—"No, Mavik—chaos is your specialty—your escape plans are more dangerous than the enemies we''re running from"—her longsword steady at her side, tone dry, cutting through his glee.


    Mavik casually tossed an explosive and caught it midair—gray gleam spinning—"Those are just calculated risks," he said with a wink—voice lilted, unphased, delight threading through.


    "They call her the Laughing Trickster," Kaelen went on—voice steady, refocusing—"She shows up, stirs everything into madness, and vanishes without a trace"—his scar twitching faint, a flicker of respect beneath his calm.


    He led us to a rundown inn on the edge of the gala district—its sagging roof looming in the fog—cheap, slightly dangerous... nothing we couldn''t handle—stone walls cracked, lanterns flickering dim, Veyrith''s underbelly bared. "The Veiled Chain is throwing a masquerade gala tomorrow night for rich nobles—she''s supposed to be there," Kaelen said—flipping a coin to the innkeeper—metal glinting as it spun—"We crash it, find her, and make our offer—meet back here at nightfall."


    The next evening, we regrouped in front of the inn—mist curling thick, torchlight smearing gold across the damp stone. Kaelen handed out robes and masks—fabric rustling, each a shroud of anonymity—"It''s anonymous entry—everyone wears one of these—nobles don''t like being identified in shady places like this"—his voice clipped, practical, handing me a hawk mask—feathers etched sharp, eyes hollow.


    We each pulled on a different animal mask—Kaelen''s was a fox—sly, russet—fitting his cunning—Varra wore a lioness—golden, fierce—Mavik got a lizard—scaled, gray, grinning—I ended up with the hawk—beak curved, gaze piercing—logic noting the fit, not the flair.


    We made our way to the looming manor that hosted the gala—its spires jagged against the fog-choked skyline—windows glinting like eyes in the haze. A pair of Veiled Chain guards blocked the entrance—gold masks gleaming, blades at their hips—"Invitation," one of them barked—voice rough, demanding.


    Kaelen produced a folded parchment—edges worn, ink faint—the guard examined it—eyes narrowing behind slits—nodded, stepped aside—gravel crunching under his boots, gate creaking open.


    The moment we stepped through the grand doors—polished wood parting—the chaos began—air snapping alive with madness.


    Two nobles were arguing off to the side—voices sharp—then were suddenly engulfed in a cloud of multicolored smoke—swirling hues bursting bright—reds, blues, golds—when the haze cleared—one was wearing a corset three sizes too small—laces straining—the other in comically oversized robes—sleeves dragging—both stumbled off—red-faced and muttering—curses trailing in their wake.


    "She''s here," Kaelen whispered—voice low, eyes glinting under his fox mask—scanning the hall.


    We moved toward the banquet table—overflowing with food—decadent, glistening—absurdly tall cakes teetering, dishes lined up like a king''s ransom—meats dripping, fruits gleaming, a feast obscene in its excess.


    Then the table... walked away—legs creaking, wood groaning—bumping into me—apologizing in a quiet voice—a faint, lilting "sorry"—and strolled right out of the hall—platters rattling as it vanished into the fog.


    I froze—"Did... the table just speak to me?"—logic stalling, parsing the anomaly—voice flat despite the absurdity.


    "I knew I wasn''t hallucinating," Mavik said—"Anyone else hear laughter?"—his lizard mask tilting, grin widening, ears sharp under the scales.


    Faint, airy giggles echoed through the room—high, fleeting—like wind chimes spun wild—it felt like the walls were in on the joke—stone trembling faint with mirth.


    I passed a mirror—my reflection wasn''t mine—it was Kaelen''s face winking back at me—fox mask smirking—logic noting the illusion, not the jest—"Hey, Laboritus, you got some moves," Mavik laughed—voice booming—pointing at another mirror—his reflection dancing wildly—with my hawk face—twirling absurdly.


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    "This is the best party I''ve ever been to," he added—twirling himself—arms flailing, gray armor clanking—delight unrestrained.


    Kaelen scowled—"We''re here to find someone, not... party"—voice sharp, cutting through—fox mask glaring under the hood.


    The chandelier above us began to swing wildly—crystals clinking—then it laughed—a high, lilting giggle like a gleeful child—echoing through the rafters, bouncing off stone.


    From above, a female voice chanted—clear, melodic, dripping with mischief:


    A one-way conversation with history,You know what I say''s a mystery.A boneless vertebrate that never lived,Embrace me, and you''ll swear I did.


    Shadows unfurled along the walls—dark wisps swirling—some danced—pirouetting wild—some tumbled and flipped—cartwheeling across stone—one mimicked a guard''s posture exactly—rigid, mocking—then gave Kaelen a cheeky wave before vanishing into the wall—dissolving like smoke.


    Then—boom—a bright burst of light exploded from the chandelier—white flaring blinding, scattering prism shards across the hall.


    A single black card fluttered through the air—spinning gently—before landing at Kaelen''s feet—ink shimmering faint on its face.


    He picked it up and studied it—"She knows we''re here"—voice steady, fox eyes narrowing—handing it to me—a stylized laughing mask etched in glowing ink on one side—mirth frozen in gold—I flipped it over—written in delicate script:


    Catch me if you can.Or don''t.It''s more fun that way.


    "Let''s get to the balcony," Kaelen said—already moving—cloak trailing as we left the chaos behind—nobles stumbling, shadows giggling, cakes toppling.


    We slipped into one of the upper rooms overlooking the gala floor—doors muffling the din of enchanted laughter and confused shouting—stone cool against my boots, fog pressing the glass. And there—lounging as if she owned the place—was our quarry—sprawled in a velvet chair, theatrical ease radiating.


    Tall, radiant, chaotic by design—her presence a swirling tempest of madness.


    She reclined lazily—four elegant arms moving with effortless grace—one cradled a flute of champagne—bubbles glinting—another lazily tossed a shadow-laced card between her fingers—two more adjusted the folds of her asymmetrical, mask-embroidered cloak—fabric rippling like liquid night. Her iridescent skin shimmered like oil on water—catching every flicker of magic in the air—hues shifting, red to gold to blue. Multi-hued eyes met ours—glinting with layered mischief—cracked gemstones alive with delight.


    "Hello, darlings," she purred—voice velvet-smooth, edged with madness—a song of whimsy and threat—"Enjoying the party?"


    "Laughing Trickster, I love how you party," Mavik said—grinning like the imbecile he can be—lizard mask bobbing, glee unrestrained.


    "Oh, good," she beamed—raising her glass—champagne glinting—"I put this show on especially for you all"—her four arms gesturing wide, a conductor of chaos.


    The moment shattered with the crash of boots—guards burst into the room—blades drawn—gold masks glinting—"There she is—grab her!"—voices barking, steel flashing.


    She raised a single finger to her lips—gave us a wink—then, with a twirl and a flourish—vanished in a swirl of confetti-like shadows—black wisps bursting bright—her voice echoing through the rafters like a song with no ending—"Catch me if you can."


    "Time to get out of here—fast," Kaelen snapped—already drawing his dagger—fox mask tilting, blade gleaming.


    "You got it, buddy!" Mavik replied—with far too much excitement—pulling a small device from his coat—gray metal clicking—pressing it with theatrical flair—click.


    The balcony exploded—wood and stone blasting outward—force launching us into the air—crashing down onto the main floor—impact rattling my teeth—dust choking the fog. A second explosion ripped open the far wall—flame and smoke tearing through—revealing the night beyond—a jagged path to freedom—Veyrith''s haze spilling in.


    "All according to plan," Mavik said—as he dove through the smoking hole—voice lilted, gray armor scraping stone—glee unshaken.


    I wasn''t sure which plan he was referring to—but we followed all the same—scrambling through the breach—making our way to a nearby rooftop to regroup—boots pounding, fog swirling thick.


    As we caught our breath on the rooftop—surveying the wreckage below—smoke curling from the manor''s ruin—a puff of colorful smoke burst beside us—reds, blues, golds flaring bright.


    She appeared casually—as if nothing unusual had happened—chewing on a piece of fruit—apple crunching loud—lounging on the edge like it was her private theater—four arms draped, cloak rippling. "Well done, Mavik," she said between bites—giggling high—"You sure know how to end things with a bang"—she gave a dramatic bow—arms sweeping wide—"You do Meridara proud."


    Then her gaze drifted to Kaelen—multi-hued eyes glinting—"And you—broody boy—you really need to lighten up—drop the whole serious-leader act—live a little"—voice teasing, velvet cutting sharp.


    I tilted my head—watching her—"What''s your name, Trickster?"—voice even, logic probing identity.


    She gave a sly grin—"I have as many names as I have faces—but if I have to pick one... call me Erynis"—she winked at me with a glimmer of theatrical delight—eyes flashing mischief.


    "I heard your little guild of ''assassins'' is making a comeback," she said—air-quoting with her upper arms—cloak fluttering—"Sounds dreadfully boring—guess I''ll have to join and fix that—this city is boring anyway"—voice lilting, chaos threading through.


    Then—with a mischievous laugh—high and wild—she vanished in another puff of rainbow-hued smoke—Colors flared, then faded—her laughter lingering like smoke.


    "I like her," Mavik said—still grinning ear to ear—lizard mask tilting, delight unshaken.


    Varra let out a heavy sigh—shaking her head—"Well... we just invited chaos incarnate into the fold"—golden eyes narrowing, sword steady, voice dry with truth.


    And she was right—Erynis wasn''t good or evil—she had no side but her own—just chaos wearing a smile—she was the kind of person you hoped stayed on your team... because fighting her would be a nightmare—logic noting her unpredictability, a variable wild.


    Honestly—in that moment... I almost wished I was squaring off with the obsidian titan—its stoic force a known quantity—almost—logic preferring the calculable.


    Four monsters—four disasters in humanoid shapes—they look into the darkness and smile—Nightblood''s frost, Veilborn''s ghost, Durekkin''s stone, Velryn''s chaos—each a blade honed different.


    One vanished in a puff of smoke—the next would step from silence—sequence noted, pattern forming.


    We didn''t know it then—but the chaos was only the beginning—logic blind to what brewed ahead.


    The last monster was about to arrive—probability tilting, shadows deepening.