That same night, at Eveta Harbor, the fog rolled thicker than usual.
The sea was restless, its dark surface breaking softly against the docks, as if whispering secrets meant to stay buried. Old cargo lights flickered above the pier, casting uneven shadows across stacked containers and rusted railings. It was the kind of place where nothing good happened after sunset.
Several men stood gathered near the edge of the harbor.
They wore clean suits despite the damp air, each of them carrying identical black suitcases. Their faces were hidden behind plain masks, smooth and expressionless, as if their identities had been erased on purpose. They spoke little, and when they did, it was in low voices, careful and measured.
Opposite them stood a very different group.
Bright colors clashed violently against the darkness of the harbor. Striped sleeves. Oversized buttons. Shoes that looked absurdly impractical for a place like this. Circus clown outfits, worn without irony. Their masks were exaggerated, smiling far too wide, eyes frozen in cheerful madness.
At the front of them stood one figure in particular.
A clown dressed entirely in red.
From head to toe, his outfit was immaculate, almost ceremonial. The fabric caught the harbor lights, glowing faintly through the fog. His mask was painted with a permanent smile, lips curved upward in a way that felt less joyful and more predatory. He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to a joke only he could hear.
"Well then," the red clown said, his voice light, almost playful. A quiet giggle escaped him as he spoke.
"Is that everything You're sure nothing's missing, right"
One of the suited men stepped forward. His grip tightened around the handle of his suitcase.
"That's everything," he replied. "Payment and materials. Just as agreed."
The clown hummed in response, tapping a gloved finger against his mask.
"Good," he said. "It'd be such a shame if something went wrong. I hate disappointment."
The suited men exchanged brief glances. None of them smiled.
Behind them, standing slightly apart, was another presence.
A man in his early thirties, watching the exchange in silence.
His name was Octo.
He didn't wear a clown outfit, nor did he dress like the men in suits. His clothes were simple, functional, blending easily into the night. Dark coat. Gloves. No unnecessary decoration. His hair was short,
unremarkable, and his face carried the weariness of someone who had learned not to expect peace from the world.
Octo's eyes were sharp.
They moved constantly, tracking every motion, every shift in posture. While others talked, he observed. While others laughed, he calculated. There was nothing flamboyant about him, nothing theatrical. Yet there was a tension around him, a sense that he was the most dangerous person present precisely because he didn't look like it.
He wasn't the one leading the deal.
But he was the reason it was happening.
"Load it," Octo said calmly.
His voice was low, firm, carrying authority without effort.
At his command, a few men stepped forward and opened the suitcases. Inside were neatly packed items wrapped in dark fabric. Whatever lay beneath wasn't visible, but the air around them seemed to change slightly, as if reacting to something unseen.
The red clown leaned closer, peering inside with obvious delight.
"Ah," he murmured. "Beautiful. Truly beautiful."
"You got what you wanted," one of Octo's subordinates said. "Now keep your end of the deal."
The clown straightened, spreading his arms slightly.
"Of course, of course," he said cheerfully. "Happines always keeps its promises."
The name hung in the air.
Happines.
An organization infamous not for what it destroyed, but for how it enjoyed doing so. A cult of chaos dressed in color and laughter, believing that true happiness could only be born from fear, despair, and broken minds. They thrived in entertainment districts, underground shows, and places where crowds gathered to forget their troubles.
They didn't just cause chaos.
They curated it.
Octo watched the clown carefully. He had dealt with Happines before. Enough to know that trusting them was never wise. But for now, he needed them. Information, access, influence. In this world, alliances were temporary tools, nothing more.
"Remember," Octo said, his tone neutral, "our agreement ends here."
The clown tilted his head again.
"Oh don't be like that," he replied. "We're having so much fun."
Octo didn't respond.
Instead, he turned away, signaling his men to close the suitcases. The exchange was complete. No blood had been spilled, which in itself felt unnatural.
As Octo and his group began to leave the dock, the red clown watched them go, fingers twitching with excitement.
"Tell your boss," the clown called out, "that the show is about to begin."
Octo paused for half a second, then continued walking.
He didn't look back.
Far from Eveta Harbor, in a quiet building hidden between abandoned warehouses, another group was already moving.
This was not a place marked on any map.
No bright signs. No guards standing openly. Just an unassuming structure that looked forgotten by time. Inside, the air was calm, almost sterile. Clean. Orderly.
This was the headquarters of Seek Peace.
A small organization. Unknown to most. Ignored by the powerful.
And intentionally so.
Seek Peace did not believe in domination, nor in chaos. Their principle was simple, almost naive in a world shaped by violence.
Conflict should be resolved before it escalated.
Power should be restrained, not celebrated.
And peace, even if temporary, was worth pursuing.
Kael Mortis and Arden Crow were part of this organization.
Not heroes.
Not villains.
Fixers.
People who stepped in where chaos threatened to spiral out of control. They didn't hunt criminals for justice, nor did they serve governments or syndicates. They intervened selectively, quietly, often without recognition.
Octo was on their list.
Not because he was evil.
But because he was becoming a catalyst.
"Octo's been getting reckless," one of the Seek Peace members said during a briefing earlier that week. "He's not aligned with Happines, but he's feeding them."
"And if Happines grows," Arden had replied calmly, "cities burn."
Seek Peace didn't have the resources to wage war. They relied on precision. On understanding. On removing key pieces before everything collapsed.
Octo was one such piece.
Back at Eveta Harbor, Octo stood at the edge of the pier, watching the water for a moment longer before leaving. His reflection wavered in the dark sea, distorted and fragmented.
He wasn't loyal to Happines.
He wasn't loyal to anyone.
He believed in survival. In leverage. In staying one step ahead of both order and madness. That belief had shaped his Card, though he rarely used it openly. Unlike the fanatics of Happines, Octo treated power as a tool, not a spectacle.
That was what made him dangerous.
As he turned away from the harbor, Octo felt it. A faint sense of pressure, like eyes watching from somewhere beyond sight.
"Trouble's coming," he muttered to himself.
He didn't know how right he was.
Because far away, cutting through fog and silence, Kael Mortis and Arden Crow were already on the road.
And Seek Peace had finally decided to move.