Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The portal opens and everyone walks out, confetti clinging to their bodies and the echo of canned applause from the “Favourite Character Awards” fading behind them. Pomni is the last to leave, the portal snapping shut with a pop! behind her. The others had already drifted off—Gangle guiding Zooble, still wobbling from Stupid Sauce, toward their room; Kinger wandering toward his own space, humming nonsense; and Ragatha… is somewhere.

Pomni lingers in the quiet hall. Everyone has disappeared into their rooms, leaving only Jax, moving down the corridor. His silhouette is the same crooked question she’s never learned how to answer.

“…Jax,” she said, her voice small but carrying through the empty hall.

He paused mid-step, shoulder cocked, and slowly turned. For a second, he just looked at her; then his mouth pulled into that familiar smirk, the one that bent his features into a mask that was always exactly the wrong shape for whatever he really felt. “Well, if it isn’t Pomni the Evil. Here to give me another speech about how I secretly care about you?”

Pomni’s frown twitched at the nickname. She folded her arms. “That’s not what I—”

“—Oh wait,” Jax cut her off with a mock gasp, widening his eyes. “Don’t tell me. You’re gonna ask if I’m ‘okay.’ Classic.”

The silence weighed heavy. She hesitated, then asked anyway. “…Are you?”

His grin widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Never better. I mean, we won, didn’t we? Big ol’ evil duo. Confetti, applause, cue the laugh track.”

Pomni took a step closer, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to act like nothing happened.”

“What happened?” Jax tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “Oh—you mean when you lost it and tried to chew my leg off? Hilarious stuff. Ten out of ten comedy.”

The words hit with blunt force. Pomni’s jaw tightened; the air felt metallic, like sparks from leftover fireworks. “You keep doing this,” she said, shaking her head in frustration. “Turning everything into a joke.”

He leaned in closer, too near, too sudden. “Yeah, and you keep expecting it to be anything else. That’s on you, Pompom.”

The pet name stung in a way he didn’t intend and that made it worse. Pomni swallowed hard. “I thought… maybe for a second, I saw the real you.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth, the brief flinch of something not entirely performance, and then the smile snapped back into place. He laughed, and it scraped across her nerves like sandpaper. “Yikes. Bad guess. The ‘real me’ is the funny one. Always has been.”

He started backing away toward his door.

“Jax—” Pomni called, almost desperate.

But he was already turning his back, hand on the knob. His voice softened only to make the cruelty more clinical. “Try not to lose any sleep over it. You’ll wrinkle that jester hat.”

The door slammed like punctuation. It was abrupt and horribly ordinary, the kind of closing one could put in a script and never have to explain.

Pomni lingered for a heartbeat, fists clenched, throat tight with words that wouldn’t fit the space he’d left. She had a dozen replies in her mind— words that might have softened the moment, made it feel truer—but none of them worked. With a quiet, frustrated sigh, she finally turned, walking down the empty hall with shoulders heavy from a weight she couldn’t name.

Later, soft and late, Pomni found Ragatha on a couch that sagged in the centre like a smile gone tired. The stitching on Ragatha’s patched sleeve caught the light as she sat with her knees tucked, twisting a loose scrap of fabric until it frayed soft between her fingers. Ragatha looked up the moment Pomni approached, straightening as if surprised there was still space for apologies.

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha blurted before either of them could find a more elegant start. The words stumbled out like someone trying to remember a line and panicking.

Pomni blinked. “Uh—for… what?”

Ragatha twisted the fabric tighter, nervous. “Earlier. When you asked me to team up. I should’ve said yes. I just—” She sputtered. “I didn’t want Kinger to get stuck with Jax, and I panicked. Dumb, right?” She gave a weak, embarrassed laugh.

Pomni sat, the couch dipping beside Ragatha. The proximity felt like a promise—small and repairable—and she tried to make her voice even. “No, it’s… it’s not dumb. You were just trying to do the right thing.”

Ragatha’s gaze dropped to the floor, heavy with guilt. “Didn’t feel like it. Felt like I just… pushed you away.”

“You didn’t.” Pomni’s smile was faint, threadbare, but honest. “I… I still trust you, Ragatha.”

Ragatha’s head shot up, startled. Then her stitched face softened into a smile. “Thanks. That… really means a lot.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty—it hummed with the Circus itself, with things both of them wanted to say but couldn’t. Pomni glanced at Ragatha’s hands, then down at her own.

“It was harder than I thought,” Pomni admitted after a moment. “Being on Jax’s team.”

Ragatha tensed, blurting before she could hold it in: “Did he—did he hurt you?”

Pomni shook her head quickly. “No. Not like… that. Just…” She searched for the words, for something that would explain the space Jax left when he smiled at her. “He makes everything feel… twisted. Like nothing’s real unless he’s laughing at it.”

Ragatha went quiet, her voice almost bitter when it finally emerged. “…Yeah. He does that.”

The silence returned, heavier this time. They both almost said other things: Ragatha almost confessed that she felt like she’d failed Pomni; Pomni almost admitted she felt abandoned. But neither found the courage to press those edges open. Instead, Pomni drew a small, awkward smile around the tension in her chest.

“But… I’m glad you’re here,” she said.

“Me too,” Ragatha answered, and there was an ease to it that had not been there before.

They sat close without touching, the sort of closeness that made the air between them hum like a stage light. The Circus exhaled its slow, mechanical breath; gears ticked somewhere behind the walls. Two performers off-script, sitting still in a place that never stopped moving.

It wasn’t the whole truth, not the messy, terrible, honest thing waiting under the lights, but it was something. A map back across the dark.

Pomni let herself rest in that half-made map. Ragatha kept twisting the fabric until the scrap looked like something else: a token, maybe, or a patch sewn over silence. The Circus shivered once, somewhere beyond the curtain, and the two of them stayed, patient and small, waiting for the next act.

Chapter Text

The Circus looks the same as it always does: walls painted in a colour that wasn’t quite a colour, furniture that doesn’t match but insists it does, and nothing remotely resembling comfort no matter how long you stare at it. Still, something is different. The air feels heavier, thick with leftovers from last night, as if the echo of it all has draped itself across every shoulder and refused to leave.

Ragatha and Pomni enter together, mid-conversation, their voices pitched low but carrying in the hush. Ragatha’s yarn-red bob bounces faintly as she gestures, trying to keep the energy bright, while Pomni’s eyes keep straying to the others already scattered around the room.

Across the way, Zooble walks alongside Gangle, who hugs a sketchpad tight to her chest like it’s the only safe thing left in the world. Kinger sits on the floor, humming tunelessly as he carefully stacks cards one by one into a tall, quivering tower.

And then there’s Jax. Sprawled across the couch, his long limbs draped over the cushions, tail flicking idly against the fabric. His head tilted toward his hands, staring as if they didn't belong to him, his expression unreadable.

Zooble breaks the silence, voice sharp as they squint at him. “What’s with you? You’ve been sulking since last night.”

Jax’s mouth twitches into something halfway between a grin and a snarl as he finally looks up. “Sulking? Please. I’m the life of the party. This—” he sweeps a lazy hand at the Circus, “—is just the worst party imaginable.”

Ragatha frowns, arms crossing. “You don’t have to be so—”

“So what, Raggy?” Jax cut her off, his grin wide and cruel. “Honest? Oh no, the doll’s upset again. Someone call the sewing kit.”

The words land sharper than he intends, or maybe exactly as he intends. Ragatha flinches and turns away, lips pressed thin. Kinger tilts his head, then turns back to his cards, murmuring to himself as though he could stitch the silence back together while placing another trembling card on his tower.

Pomni steps forward. Her eyes flick to Ragatha before settling on Jax. Her voice is careful. “Jax… we need to talk.”

He finally turns to her, grin stretching wider while his eyes stay cold. “Yeah? About what, Pomni? Planning another big, dramatic monologue about how we’re all still people inside?” He snorts. “Hard pass.”

Her jaw tightens. She keeps her voice low. “I just… I just wanted to check in.”

“Well, consider me checked.” He sits up, stretching as though all of this bores him. “Gold star for effort.”

He shoves himself off the couch without care, brushing past Kinger’s fragile tower. The structure collapses instantly, cards fluttering to the floor like panicked birds. Kinger stares at the mess in front of him. He says nothing.

Jax doesn’t look back. He strolls out, hands tucked into his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him.

The silence that follows is jagged.

Zooble folds their arms, muttering, “…Yeah. Something’s definitely up with him.”

Nobody disagrees. Gangle hugs her sketchpad tighter, eyes fixed on the space where he’d vanished. Ragatha rubs her arm, still turned away, as if she can smooth away the sting of his words. And Pomni… Pomni stands rooted, gaze locked on the empty hallway, lips pressed tight, as though silence itself might eventually hand her an answer.

The tension doesn’t lift. It clings, thick as dust in the stale air, and refuses to move even after he’s gone.

The world Caine spins up for them is all damp earth and pine bite, a forest stretched too far in every direction, as though someone had copy-pasted the same tree a thousand times. Leaves rustle overhead with no wind to move them, and somewhere in the distance, water gushes fast and loud. The group trudges along a narrow dirt path, their steps mismatched and tired.

Jax lags behind, dragging his feet, his usual energy replaced by something heavier. Pomni slows, falling into step beside him. Her voice is tentative, careful. “…You’ve been quiet.”

“Wow.” His voice is flat, deadpan, his eyes fixed on the ground. “Thanks for the groundbreaking observation, Sherlock.”

She frowns, pressing on. “I didn’t mean— I just… you don’t usually hang back like this.”

Jax’s mouth curls into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Watching them suffer’s the whole point, remember? Why would I help?”

Pomni ignores the barb. “You just seem… different today.”

“Different?” He snorts, finally glancing at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you miss when I was nice? Newsflash, Pompom: that never happened.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Look,” he cuts her off, voice sharper now, slicing the space between them, “if you’re gonna play therapist, go bother Ragatha. She eats that sentimental crap for breakfast.”

Before she can answer, he picks up his pace and leaves her behind, moving ahead to no one in particular. Pomni slows, biting her lip, her chest tight.

The path opens onto a wide, unyielding riverbank. The water runs fast, white-flecked and unrelenting. Caine’s voice booms from nowhere and everywhere at once, explaining the task: build a raft to cross. Everyone scatters to gather supplies.

Zooble groans, dropping their bundle of wood with a thud. “Ugh, this is pointless.”

“It’s not pointless,” Ragatha said, crouching to line up the logs, patient even with a sigh. “We’ll need this to cross. Just… help me line them up.”

Kinger scurries around with vines, babbling about knots and tangles. Gangle shuffles back with a bundle of reeds, too full to hold properly. She accidentally bumps into Kinger and loses her balance, stumbling over a rock. The reeds flew through the air, and her comedy mask cracks against the ground with a sharp snap.

“Oh no—!” Gangle’s voice trembles, her ribbon hands instinctively reaching up to the tragedy mask that has slid over her face. “N-not again…!”

Ragatha hurries to her side. “Gangle, are you okay?”

“I… I just fixed it…” Gangle sniffles, clutching the broken halves.

Jax’s laughter rings out, loud, sharp, and cruel, echoing across the riverbank. He lounges atop a boulder nearby, chin in hand. “There goes the mask again. At this rate, it’s falling apart faster than Kinger.”

Gangle shrinks back, clutching the pieces tighter. “…That’s not—”

Kinger tilts his head, distracted from his vines. “If the mask keeps breaking, maybe it’s a metaphor… or a conspiracy…” He nods to himself as he ties a knot. “Either way, it’s still useful.”

Zooble snaps, glaring at Jax. “Hey! Are you gonna actually do something, or just sit there looking smug?”

“Sitting smug is doing something,” Jax replies, stretching out across the rock. “It’s called morale management.”

Zooble slams down their wood bundle, fury flashing. “You’re useless.”

“Wow,” Jax mock-gasps, hand theatrically to his chest. “Way to hurt my feelings. Guess I’ll cry into the river once you build it for me.”

Kinger freezes mid-knot, blinking at him. “But… if you don’t help, the raft will sink.”

“Then I guess we all drown,” Jax says, deadpan, grin sharpening. “What a tragedy.”

The others exchange uneasy looks. Ragatha shakes her head, muttering just loud enough for Pomni to hear. “He’s worse than usual.”

Pomni says nothing. She only stares at Jax, sprawled on his rock, the sharp curve of his smile too deliberate, too carved, to be anything good. The forest seems to hold its breath along with her, watching him, waiting.

Chapter Text

The portal spits them back into the Circus with a crackle and a pop! Damp leaves cling to their clothes, water drips from sleeves, and the smell of wet earth lingers as stubbornly as the exhaustion on their faces.

Ragatha twists her fabric arm and wrings out a trickle of water, muttering under her breath about how long it would take to dry. Zooble groans, realizes their arm is attached backwards, and with a resigned sigh, yanks it off and flips it the right way. Gangle clutches her broken mask tightly to her chest, ribbon-hands trembling with the effort of holding it steady. And Kinger shuffles forward, dripping, muttering about crocodiles, crocodiles everywhere.

Jax walks a step ahead of them all, silent in a way that makes silence feel louder. His hands are shoved in his pockets, tail flicking lazily behind him, expression unreadable. But before he can disappear into the hall—

BWAH-DA-DA-DA-DAAA!

A trumpet blast bursts overhead, rattling everyone. Caine pops into existence in front of Jax in a swirl of confetti, forcing him to stop. Bubble bobs along beside him, beaming.

“Excellent work today, team!” Caine announces, spreading his arms wide, his voice booming from every corner of the room. “A triumph, if I do say so myself!”

The declaration hangs in the air for a beat, too loud for the drained expressions staring back at him. Caine’s grin falters just slightly. He clears his throat, snaps his fingers, and disappears in a puff of confetti, leaving only silence and scraps of paper drifting down.

One by one, they start to scatter, each to their own corners of the Circus. But Ragatha lingers, eye narrowed, her arms crossed tight, her gaze fixed on Jax as he turns toward the hallway.

“Okay.” Her voice is firm enough to stop him mid-step. “What is your problem? You’ve been acting off all day, and hiding it behind jokes doesn’t make it any better.”

There’s a crackle of air. And then—another snap! Caine reappears, this time with a tub of popcorn in hand, floating just out of reach as if he’s been waiting for the moment. Bubble hovers beside him, practically vibrating with interest.

Jax half-turns, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “My problem?” His voice drips with false innocence. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it’s that I’m stuck in a digital prison with a bunch of fragile little dolls who break the second I don’t smile at them.”

Zooble scoffs, arms crossed. “You’re the one breaking things, jack%$&!#.”

Caine crunches a handful of popcorn. Bubble nods along approvingly.

Jax turns on them with a flourish. He spread his arms as though he’s centre stage. “And yet, here we are. Broken and still dancing for Caine’s circus. You should be thanking me for the entertainment.”

Caine freezes mid-bite, kernels slipping from his gloved hand. “…Well,” he mutters to himself, genuinely offended, “that’s rude.”

Pomni’s voice cracks before she can stop it: “This isn’t funny anymore, Jax.”

The words hit the room like a stone dropped in water. Jax’s smirk twitches, his eyes narrowing as if caught off guard. For one breathless second, he looks like he might let something real slip through the cracks. Then he snorts, his grin snapping back into place as he turns away. “Sure it is. You just don’t have a sense of humour.”

And then he’s gone down the hall, tail flicking in his wake.

Caine and Bubble exchange a look. Bubble says nothing. Caine tosses another kernel into his mouth, shrugs, and disappears with a snap, leaving the confetti to settle in their absence.

The silence stays heavy. No one moves.

(…)

Later, the halls are quieter, though “quiet” in the Circus always carries its own kind of hum, like the walls themselves are listening. Pomni turns a corner and spots him. Jax sits on the floor near the rooms, back slouched against the wall, a Rubik’s cube in his hands. He twists it too fast, so hard the colours bleed together in streaks of glitch, edges flickering.

For a moment, she considers leaving him there. But the weight in her chest tugs her forward. She steps closer. Her voice is small, careful. “…You’ve been shutting me out.”

Jax doesn’t look up. His fingers twist the cube again, harder, almost daring it to snap. “Don’t flatter yourself. I shut everyone out. Equal-opportunity misanthrope. Very progressive.”

Pomni bites her lip, takes another step forward. “Jax, I just—”

“Let me guess,” he cuts her off, eyes still fixed on the cube. “You wanna ‘talk about it.’ How very Ragatha of you.”

Her face falls. “Why are you doing this?”

At that, he finally snaps his head up. His grin is there, but it’s stretched too thin, too tight, his eyes sparking cold. “Doing what? Being myself? Sorry, princess, but you don’t get to rewrite me into your little redemption arc.”

Pomni steadies her breath, standing her ground. “I’m not… I just thought we were—”

He doesn’t let her finish. With a flick of his wrist, he throws the cube at her feet. She flinches as it hits the ground, glitching violently before flickering out of existence with a hollow pop.

“You thought wrong,” Jax says flatly, rising from the floor. “Story of your life.”

He pushes past her, brushing her shoulder with deliberate carelessness, and strides down the hall until his footsteps fade into distance.

Pomni stands frozen, staring at the empty spot where the cube vanished. The silence presses hard in the aftermath.

Ragatha rounds the corner, pausing as her gaze darts between Pomni and Jax just as he slips into his room. The door slams behind him, the sound echoing down the hall, too final to argue with. She reads the stiffness in Pomni’s shoulders, the way her hands clench at her sides. Ragatha doesn’t ask. Instead, she steps closer and lays a careful hand on Pomni’s arm.

Pomni forces a small smile. “…I’m fine.”

But her voice says otherwise.

The Circus has never felt so deflated.

Even the air feels tired, sagging under the weight of everyone’s exhaustion. The group sits scattered around the room, each of them slumped in some version of defeat. Zooble drapes themselves across a mismatched chair, faint scratches still etched across their arms. Gangle sits nearby, still clutching her cracked mask. Kinger sits on the floor, muttering to himself about “logs in the water,” his voice half-lost beneath his uneven humming.

Then come Pomni and Ragatha, side by side in uneasy silence. Their footsteps sound too loud in the Circus. Pomni’s eyes flick toward the empty couch where Jax is usually sprawled. For a heartbeat, she almost expects him to saunter past her with that infuriating grin, to flop down, one arm thrown over the back like he owns the place—pretending like the last few minutes hadn’t happened at all. But the space stays empty.

Ragatha notices her glance and tries to smile, a small, brittle curve of her mouth that doesn’t reach her eyes. Then, without a word, she lowers herself into Jax’s usual seat, folding her hands neatly in her lap as though trying to fill the quiet he’s left behind. Pomni hesitates a second longer before sitting beside her.

For a moment, the room is—

A sudden drumroll.

Lights flare blindingly overhead. Confetti explodes from nowhere.

Caine materializes in a flash of colour, cane in hand, grin wide enough to split the world in two. Bubble floats behind him, bobbing softly in his wake.

“Step right up, my magnificent misfits!” Caine bellows, arms spread wide, “For I have just thought up your next grand adventure!”

Zooble groans audibly, dragging their hands down their face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. We just got back, like, ten minutes ago.”

Kinger, without looking up, mutters, “The crocodiles are still out there… waiting… plotting…”

“I didn’t even fix my mask back yet,” Gangle sniffles.

“Caine,” Ragatha says tiredly, pushing herself halfway upright, “can’t we have at least one—”

“Ah-ah-ah!” Caine wags his finger, cutting her off. “No complaints when brilliance is on the menu!” A red curtain unfurls behind him with a theatrical whoosh. “Today’s adventure is…” He tosses his cane skyward—and in an instant, confetti burst from thin air. Words materialize midair, gleaming and refracting like shards of glass, as he declares, “The Mirror Maze of Mirth and Madness!”

Caine spins dramatically, voice booming. “A marvel of mind-bending design! A wonder of warped geometry! A kaleidoscope of chaos! Within its shiny walls, you will learn the most valuable of lessons—navigation of deception! Orientation of the self! A confrontation with your truest reflections of—”

He stops mid-sentence. The music halts with a record-scratch squeal. His eyes dart around the room. “Wait… Where’s Jax?”

Everyone freezes. A beat of silence passes.

Ragatha’s tone is flat. “He’s in his room.”

“Ah! Of course!” Caine claps his hands together. “Silly me—can’t start the fun without our favourite troublemaker!”

He snaps his fingers.

With a pop, Jax materializes mid-step, as though he'd been pacing his room. He stumbles forward, tail flicking in irritation.

“What the—?!” he barks, catching his balance. “Oh, for %$&!#’s sake, really?!”

The others gape. None of them have ever heard Jax swear before. He drags a hand down his face, muttering under his breath as if daring anyone to comment. No one does. Pomni avoids his gaze completely, staring instead at the floor.

“Wonderful!” Caine says voice immediately chipper again. “Now that we’re all accounted for, let’s resume the show!” He snaps again, and the music resumes mid-beat as though nothing had happened. “As I was saying, today’s adventure is the Mirror Maze of Mirth and Madness! A labyrinth of lights, lies, and just a teensy little touch of psychological peril! Very character-building!”

Zooble crosses their mismatched arms. “What’s the actual point of this? Are we supposed to, like… escape? Collect something? Or are you just throwing us into a hall of mirrors for the hell of it?”

“Questions, questions!” Caine presses a hand to his chest in mock horror. “Must you always interrupt the art of presentation?” Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he snaps his fingers… again. “Fine, fine! If you must know: you simply have to reach the exit. Easy-peasy! Why, even Kinger could do it!”

Kinger blinks, startled. “O-oh… I can?”

“Of course you can!” Caine beams. “…Probably.”

Zooble’s expression doesn’t change. “That tells us nothing.”

“Nothing?!” Caine’s grin twitches. “Oh, you wound me! These aren’t ordinary mirrors, dear Zooble—these beauties lie, trick, and twist your fragile little noodles of perception!” He spins his cane, and the air ripples—walls bending and bending again, flashes of glassy reflection slicing through the space like fish swimming through light. “A dazzling spectacle of distortion! Why, I dare say, it’s my most reflective work yet!”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Zooble mutters. “Pass.”  

The music stutters into silence again.

Caine’s grin freezes, then stretches wider, too wide. “...Pass?”

“Yeah,” Zooble says, deadpan. “Pass.”

A beat. Then—

“PASS?!” Caine’s voice cracks into a dozen tones at once, booming so loud the tent shakes. His eyes whirl like spinning pinwheels. “You don’t get to pass! This is my circus, my rules, my games!” His form warps and looms, towering over Zooble, voice echoing from every direction. “So kindly shut your trap before I make you a permanent funhouse attraction!”

The air trembles.

Then—snap!

Everything returns to normal.

Caine blinks back to his regular size, adjusting his bowtie as if nothing had happened. “Ahem! Now! Moving on!”

Zooble doesn’t move. Gangle whimpers quietly. Ragatha forces a too-bright laugh and nudges Pomni’s arm in an attempt to diffuse the tension, but Pomni doesn’t respond. Her eyes are still locked on Caine, wide and unblinking.

Ragatha clears her throat. “So, uh… Pomni. Wanna team up?”

Pomni blinks, dragging her gaze back. “Y-yeah. Yeah, that sounds—”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Caine sings out, spinning upside down in the air. “No favouritism this time!” He summons a giant bingo machine out of nowhere, filled with bouncing orbs that shimmer in every colour imaginable. “Teams will be assigned randomly! Keeps things unpredictable!”

The group groans in unison. Zooble rolls their eyes; Ragatha sighs. Pomni exhales, already bracing herself for the worst.

“Oh, don’t look so sour, my little gumdrops!” Caine trills. “Variety is the spice of circus life! Now—into the maze you go!”

He snaps his fingers (yes, again).

A glowing portal spirals open above them, shimmering like liquid glass. The floor tilts, gravity hiccups, and the air begins to pull upward.

“W-wait—above us?!” Gangle yelps.

The suction grows stronger.

“Caine, wait!!” Pomni shouts, grabbing for Ragatha.

Ragatha reaches out to grab her, misses, and catches Kinger instead. “Not again!”

“You absolute—!” Zooble starts, before being lifted clean off their feet.

Jax’s yell echos last, sharp and furious: “Oh, COME ON!”

One by one, they’re swallowed by the swirling vortex.

“Don’t forget to smile for the reflections!” Caine calls cheerfully, waving as the portal snaps shut with a neat pop!

Silence falls. Bubble drifts up, wobbles in the still air… and pops softly.

Chapter Text

The ceiling above them tears open with a crackling shimmer of blue light. One by one, the crew tumbles through the portal, landing scattered across the maze in awkward, ungraceful arcs. Pomni barely has time to scream before she plummets through the glowing vortex and lands hard on something solid—and warm.

“—Ow—HEY!” Jax’s groan comes out strangled, the air punched out of him as a  sudden weight lands on his chest. His eyes fly open—and freeze. Pomni is sprawled across him, dazed, blinking like she hasn’t quite processed what just happened.

Her world is still spinning. Her palms meet fabric, not floor. Slowly, she looks down.

Jax stares back up at her, flat on his back, wide-eyed, one ear twitching.

For a full, unbearable second, neither of them moves.

Then—

“Sorry! Sorry!! I didn’t—!” she stammers, panic lacing her voice as she scrambles off him.

Jax glares upward at the maze ceiling, jaw tight. “Unbelievable. Out of everyone, it had to be you again.”

Pomni’s fists clench, defensive. “You think I wanted this?!”

He sits up, rubbing the impact out of his shoulder, crooked smile tugging faintly despite the irritation. “Of course,” he mutters, shaking his head.

They both avert their eyes. The tension between them is thick enough to taste—awkward, prickly, and heavy with things neither wants to acknowledge. Before either can speak again, a burst of static crackles through the air, followed by a voice that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once:

“WELCOME, my wayward wanderers, to the Mirror Maze of Mirth and Madness! They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, but here, the windows are made of mirrors! So I guess… eyes are mirrors? Or mirrors are eyes? Ah, who cares! The only way out… is through! Keep your limbs inside the panic at all times!”

Caine’s laughter bounces around them, overlapping, looping just a little too long before cutting out with a loud pop.

Then, faintly, carnival music begins to play—sugary, upbeat, slightly off-tempo. But it carries a subtle, off-kilter edge that makes Pomni’s stomach churn.  

She pushes herself up from the floor, rubbing her arms and trying to steady herself. Her eyes widen as she takes in the maze. Bright, blinding colours stretched endlessly ahead, twisting in angles that make her head spin again. Corridors bend as though the maze itself was breathing, all gleam and gloss. Gumdrop bulbs blink overhead in perfect rhythm, each one slightly too bright, their sugary glow bleeding across the mirrored walls.

The walls themselves shimmer like polished candy, painted in dizzying stripes of red, yellow, blue, and green that seem to melt into one another if she stares too long. From floor to ceiling, mirrors reflect every angle, multiplying the two of them into hundreds, maybe thousands, of tiny Pomnis and Jaxes, each one watching, blinking, and smiling back with just a hint of wrongness. The checkered floor ripples slightly beneath their feet, making the ground feel unsteady, though nothing actually moves.

Neon signs flicker overhead:

SMILE!

ARE YOU HAVING FUN?

GUARANTEED TO REFLECT YOUR BEST SIDE… OR YOUR WORST!

The last sign buzzes, then fizzes out with a faint pop.

Jax mutters something under his breath that Pomni can’t quite catch—something that definitely wasn’t family-friendly. He shoves his hands into his pockets, cast a wary glance at her, then starts forward. “Well… the sooner we start, the sooner we’re done.”    

The world flickers as the last shards of blue light from Caine’s portal vanish into the ceiling. A muffled thump echoes through the maze—followed by a faint, bouncing laugh.

Ragatha groans softly, blinking spots out of her vision as she pushes herself up. For once, she hasn’t landed on glass, rubble, or Jax’s ego—just something soft and squeaky. The floor is padded with polka-dotted cushions that exhale a cartoonish squeak each time she moves. The air smells faintly of cotton candy and cheap plastic, that familiar artificial sweetness that always clings to Caine’s “fun” ideas.

She exhales and looks around, still dazed. “Okay,” she mutters under her breath, “whoever’s here… please don’t be Jax.”

A muffled grunt answers from somewhere behind a wobbling mirror.

Her shoulders tense. “…Oh no.”

The mirror tilts, and Kinger’s crown-shaped head pops out first. He stumbles through with a delighted giggle, eyes bright with wonder. “Ragatha!” he exclaims. “Look! Look at that! I’m tall!”

Ragatha blinks, caught off guard, then lets out a small, relieved breath. “Oh. Thank Caine. It’s just you.”

Kinger, of course, doesn’t hear her. He’s too busy marvelling at his reflection, which stretches comically tall and noodle-like. “Ha! I’m a tower! A beanstalk! And look—oh! Now I’m tiny!” He darts to the next mirror, where his reflection has shrunk into a tiny, wide-eyed version of himself. “Teeny-tiny me!”

Ragatha can’t help but smile, even as her nerves still thrum faintly beneath her calm exterior. “That’s… great, Kinger—”

A sharp burst of static cuts her off.

“Look at those lovely faces! And so many of them! It’s a two-for-one-for-one-for-one special!” Caine’s voice echoes gleefully from everywhere and nowhere.

The sound fizzles out with a laugh, leaving behind a faint hum of carnival music that wasn’t there a moment ago.

Ragatha groans softly. “Of course he’s watching.”

Kinger leans close to one of the mirrors, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re watching… but if we play along, maybe they won’t bite…”

Her smile falters, just a little, and she catches his arm before his thoughts could spiral too far. “Hey,” she says softly, her tone equal parts patience and practiced calm. “Let’s just stick together, okay? No biting. No running off.”

Kinger blinks at her, then nods solemnly. “Right. No biting.”

Around them, the maze pulses with exaggerated cheer. The mirrors warp in impossible curves, bending their shapes into playful absurdities. Confetti lights twinkle above like little carnival stars, and every so often, a mirror giggles—a shrill, canned laugh on repeat, like an audio file someone forgot to stop looping.

Ragatha tries to sound composed, even though her pulse told a different story. “Okay…” she murmurs, scanning the endless corridors. “We can do this. Just… stay with me, alright?” 

“Staying!” Kinger says brightly, though his attention is already drifting to another reflection of himself.

They start walking, their footsteps squeaking softly against the cushioned floor. Kinger hums under his breath, an off-key tune that bounces off the mirrored walls. The maze doesn’t seem dangerous—at least, not in the way the others might have it. This one is sugar-coated, safe-looking, wrapped in too much colour and too many smiles.

But she knows better than to trust any part of Caine’s world to stay harmless for long.

She glances sideways at Kinger. He taps on a mirror, giggling at the way his reflection blinks back half a beat too late. For a moment, she feels a pang of something… tender. He seems so at peace here—as if this strange, warped world is the first one that doesn’t demand too much sense from him.

Still, worry creeps in like a draft. Somewhere out there, Pomni, Gangle, Zooble… and, well, Jax, too, are scattered across the same endless, twisting maze.

Ragatha tightens her hold on Kinger’s arm. “I hope they’re okay,” she murmurs.

Kinger turns to her, eyes glinting with mirth. “Oh, I’m sure they’re having… reflective experiences.”

Ragatha groans, half laughing, half exasperated. “Kinger, please don’t start making mirror puns.”

“But it was right there!”

Her laugh comes easier this time, small but real, the kind that fills the silence rather than breaking it.

Then they turn a corner.

The light flickers. Just once. Barely noticeable. But Ragatha saw it. The brief delay between movement and reflection. The moment when every mirrored version of them smiles… a half-second too late.

She stops walking.

Kinger doesn’t notice. He waves cheerfully at the reflections. “I think they like us,” he says.

Ragatha’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes this time. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Let’s hope they keep it that way.”

(…)

Elsewhere, the maze is less forgiving.

Zooble hits the ground with an undignified grunt. A beat later, Gangle lands beside them, ribbons twisting and looping into knots like spaghetti.

“Oh—oh no! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—are you okay? I didn’t break anything, did I? Please tell me I didn’t—”

Zooble sits up, rotating one mismatched arm to make sure it’s still attached. “Relax. I’m fine. You’re okay too, right?”

Gangle lets out a soft whimper, tugging at her ribbons only to make the knot worse. “No…” she sniffles, “it’s going to take forever to untangle this…” 

Zooble hesitates, staring at the mess of ribbons. “Uh… do you… want some help?” they ask, holding out a mismatched hand. Gangle’s wide-eyed look freezes them in place, and Zooble realizes how weird that sounded. “Or—never mind. Totally fine if… uh… no.” They clear their throat, looking anywhere but her.

A small giggle slips out of Gangle. “You don’t have to…”

“Yeah, I know,” Zooble mutters, awkwardly scratching the back of their head. “Just figured—uh… you know… might be faster… or not.” Another pause, another clearing of the throat. “Where even are we?” 

Once her ribbons stop tangling, Gangle gets to her feet and scans the mirrored corridor stretching endlessly before them. Their reflections blink back at them—normal at first. But the longer they stare, the more the mirrors twist their forms.

Gangle’s mirrored-self grins too wide, her ribbons looping into impossible knots that pulsed faintly, as if alive. Zooble’s reflection looks almost right— same modular shape, same mismatched limbs—but the colours are inverted, and the halves don’t quite line up anymore.

“Okay, that’s…” Zooble tilts their head. “Creepy.”

“I—I think they’re trying to copy us,” Gangle whispers, voice trembling. “B-but they’re not doing it right.”

Zooble frowns, stepping closer to the mirror. They tap it once, hard enough to make the glass ripple. The reflection freezes, then snaps back into place, almost obediently.

Gangle flinches. “M-maybe we should just go.”

“Good idea,” Zooble says, glancing down one hallway, then the other. Both are identical: polished floors, shimmering walls, neon stretching into infinity. “Pick a direction.”

Gangle hesitates, her ribbons brushing against Zooble’s shoulder. Zooble doesn’t say anything, but they didn’t move away either. “What if we pick the wrong one?” she whispers.

Zooble shrugs, already heading right. “Then we turn around. Easy.”

Surprisingly, it’s… easy? As they walk, their reflections follow perfectly… almost too perfectly. Every tilt of the head, every flick of movement—identical. The silence between them settles into something almost comfortable, broken only by their footsteps and the faint hum of fluorescent light.

Gangle glances at one of the mirrors, her reflection flickering faintly in the dim glow. For a moment, she just… stares.

A soft pop shatters the quiet.

“Fun fact!” Bubble chirps, appearing right in front of her. “If you stare into a mirror long enough, it stares back. Isn’t that neat?”

Gangle yelps, stumbling back into Zooble. “B-Bubble! Don’t do that!”

Zooble flinches too, their mismatched arm jerking up defensively. “The %$&!#? Where did you even come from?”

“Oh! I’ve been around!” Bubble says cheerfully, bobbing up and down before drifting toward the mirror’s surface. “You should see your faces right now! Or, well—those faces!” A tiny giggle bubbles out. “Good luck!” it adds, then pops out of existence with a soft plip.

Zooble exhales slowly. “I hate that thing.”

And then, just as the corridor curves, one reflection hesitates.

Only a beat.

Then follows.

Neither of them notices.

“I hate this.” Pomni’s voice is small, almost swallowed by the neon hum around them.

The maze hums back in agreement. Lights buzz overhead, casting a syrupy pink-and-blue glow that stretches on forever. Jax and Pomni walk side by side—not close, but not far enough apart to call it comfortable.

Pomni’s gaze flicks along the mirrored walls. Their reflections lag—not by much, just half a second off. Just enough to make her stomach twist.

She takes a cautious step sideways, away from the glass. Her reflection follows. Late again.

“This place is… wrong,” she says quietly, almost hoping Jax won’t hear.

“Wow, thanks for the update, Captain Obvious,” Jax drawls, rolling his eyes. “Real groundbreaking observation. Next you’ll tell me water’s wet.”

Pomni frowns but doesn’t bite back. “No, I mean it. The mirrors—” she lowers her voice, “—they’re watching us.”

“Pomni,” Jax sighs, tilting his head toward her with mock patience. “They’re mirrors. You look at them. They look back. That’s literally how that works.”

But before he can turn away, one of his reflections—just slightly off to the left—waves.

First.

Jax freezes. “...Oh.”

Pomni’s look says everything her mouth doesn’t: See? SEE?!

He ignores her, of course. “Probably a glitch,” he mutters, eyes narrowing at the mirror. “Or Caine’s idea of fun. Same difference.”

She shakes her head, edging closer without realizing it. “...This is supposed to be fun?”

“Define fun,” Jax says dryly. “’Cause right now, it’s like Willy Wonka threw up in here.”

Pomni blinks at him. “You’re making jokes?”

“Of course I’m making jokes,” he shoots back, that crooked grin tightening around the edges. “It’s either that or start screaming. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but screaming isn’t exactly great for morale.”

Pomni doesn’t respond. The air buzzes faintly between them, the sound of something pretending to be silence.

Jax starts walking again, hands shoved in his pockets, pretending not to care. His tail flicks nervously with every step. The maze hums louder as they go.

Pomni lingers behind, her gaze catching on a nearby mirror.

Her reflection doesn’t move this time.

It just stares back, smiling faintly, like it knows something she doesn’t.

Pomni’s breath catches. She tears her gaze away and jogs to catch up with Jax, her footsteps echoing a beat behind his.

They walk in silence for a while, the maze stretching endlessly ahead—too bright, too cheerful, too perfect, like a stage built to gaslight them into smiling. The mirrored corridors fold back on themselves, reflections multiplying until Pomni can’t tell which one is real.

She glances at Jax again. His ears twitch; he knows she’s looking, but he doesn’t say anything. Just keeps walking, head high, pretending he isn’t tense.

The music stutters for half a beat—a laugh looped wrong, too loud, too human. Pomni falters; pulse pounding in her ears.

Behind them, one of the reflections doesn’t move. It stays perfectly still while the real Pomni and Jax walk on, both mirrored figures frozen in the glass, smiling after them.

Then, as the corridor lights flicker, their mirrored heads tilt in unison—just slightly—and those smiles begin to stretch.

Wider.

Wider.

Wider.

And it doesn’t stop.