"Welcome to the world of Meingeist—a truly endless realm some discover while others only hear whispered rumors from those who claim to have been there." The tavern host swept his arm wide, colorful silks billowing as he spun between tables. "Of course, it's all filled with countless wonders, but they all pale in comparison to this city—built around the one true dungeon."
He leaped onto a chair, boots thudding against wood. "They say if you beat it and reach its core, it has the power to grant one unconditional wish."
The host paused, letting the words hang in the air. Tankards froze midway to lips. Conversations died.
The host's grin widened. He hopped down, fabric swirling. "A prospect so appealing that even people from other worlds come here to claim it."
His voice dropped, fingers steepling together. "But all those brave heroes and villains, rebels and tyrants—before they can risk their lives for the priceless prize..." He clapped once, sharp and sudden. "They must first visit my humble establishment. To have an experience like no other—to relive their truth, leaving nothing behind."
The host threw his arms wide. "So for any possible visitor who warms my heart with your presence—let the show start!"
"For our guest!" Light flooded the tavern, washing over customers who shielded their eyes.
A massive stage materialized, rising from the floorboards with the groan of wood and shimmer of magic. Audience stands erupted around it, crystal fixtures catching the light.
The host strutted to center stage, each footfall echoing. "Today we have a quite proud and arrogant former prince—but due to his experiences in life, he's become a bit less insufferable to be around."
In the audience, someone snorted.
"The fallen prince of Valanis. The one who lost his crown." The host paused, letting silence stretch. "One of the seven Apostles of Desire—the Crimson Prince of the Red Crown. The man who will stop at nothing to reclaim his birthright, even if it means dragging the city that took him in when he lost everything into civil war."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a stage whisper. "Also—a man with quite the musical talent. Shocking, I know."
A snap echoed through the tavern.
Crimson hair materialized first—flowing like liquid fire. Sharp features followed, then burning red eyes that locked onto the host. The prince's jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly as he stared at the ornate chair beside the host.
"What are you doing?" Each word came out clipped, razor-sharp. "Do you have any idea who I am?"
The host tilted his head, smile never faltering. "So, Victore, how do you feel about being the first person to stand on stage in this new year?"
"What are you—"
In the audience, a humanoid bird figure doubled over, shoulders shaking with laughter. He tried to speak, gasping for air, but every time his eyes landed on Victore, he collapsed back into his seat, wheezing. "I don't know why we took a stop here," he squeezed the words out with extreme difficulty, feathers ruffling, "but I'm loving it."
A cat golem in the lower section filed its teeth against a glowing crystal, the scraping sound cutting through the noise. "It was an optimal time to take a break. This tavern seemed to be of a sufficient quality."
Another voice rang out from a girl with purple hair who glared at Victore with a malicious smile spreading across her face: "Oh, this is going to be good."
Victore's hand flew to his sword. The blade sang as it cleared the scabbard, and he crouched to leap—
Every weapon in the tavern clattered to the floor. Victore's sword wrenched from his grip, spinning away.
His fingers grasped at empty air. His shoulders drew up, muscles coiling.
"The fuck is she doing here?" He spun toward the host, hands forming fists.
The host raised one finger. The gesture was small, but Victore froze mid-step.
"It's quite heart-wrenching to force you to recall such an important rule so early, but as a reminder..." The host gestured upward. "Let's review the rules."
A massive board materialized above the stage, glowing letters burning into existence:
TAVERN RULES:
1. The stage star is chosen at random
2. You must share the most significant events of your life
3. You cannot lie
4. Once you enter the tavern, you can be chosen and forced to participate
5. You cannot use your powers consciously to harm anyone
6. What happens in the Tavern Talk Show stays in the tavern
7. Have fun
In the audience, a haunted-looking girl stared at the stage. Her fingers twisted together, knuckles white. "Damn shame he isn't here. He would have loved this absurd place."
The woman in the business suit beside her flinched, shoulders curling inward. Her eyes dropped to her lap.
"He wouldn't be dead if you hadn't shoved him in my way!" Victore shouted at them from the stage, his voice cracking with rage.
The haunted girl's head snapped toward him. "It was his choice. You blew up the only way he could see his family." Her voice cracked. "Moreover, you didn't have to kill him. He was a nice person."
Victore's laugh came out sharp, bitter. His hands clenched at his sides. "The reality-bending demigod who was high while fighting me and wanted to kill or cripple me so I wouldn't activate the teleportation portal? The most dangerous of the Seven? That guy was nice?"
"Well, you pushed him."
"Hypocrite." The word dripped venom.
"Sorry to interrupt!" The host appeared between them, his white mask catching the light. Musical notes were engraved across its surface, glinting. "But we have to get on with the show."
Victore's eyes widened. He stepped back, hand reaching for the sword that wasn't there. "How did I not see them when I entered the tavern? Or until I was on this stage?"
The host chuckled, spinning away with a flourish. "Oh, this place is very special. It can cause quite unlikely meetings under impossible circumstances. So again—just enjoy the show." He paused, tilting his head.
He turned to face Victore fully, arms spreading. "Now, former Prince Victore, tell us about yourself. Who are you?"
The musical notes on his mask gleamed, seeming to pulse with each word.
Victore's mouth opened. Closed. His throat worked, swallowing hard. He tried to press his lips together, but they parted against his will. A strange sensation swelled in his chest—pressure building, forcing its way up.
His hands trembled at his sides.
The host's smile widened, genuine warmth breaking through the theatrical persona. He stepped back, arms sweeping to the side, giving Victore the full stage. ,he don't why or what forced him ,but that question was asked it was like a dame broke
"It's the same question." Victore's voice came out rough, raw. "Asked over and over and over. Who are you? What do you want?" He dragged a hand through his crimson hair, fingers catching in the strands. "But the truth is, the answer doesn't matter. All that matters is simple."
He straightened, chin lifting. Fire burned behind his eyes.
"I am Victore Plutus, Crown Prince of Valanis. My father lost something that was mine, and I will simply take it back." His lips curved into something too sharp to be a smile. "But fine. You want a story for this weird show of yours?"
He dropped into the chair, his eyes blazing with obsession, fingers gripping the armrests until his knuckles went white.
"I'll give you one."