Color Focus - Elias Moreau and Wandering Jack

Elias Moreau noticed something was wrong the moment the music faltered.

The streets of the city were alive with celebration, as they always were on La Nuit de Jack Errant. Lanterns glowed from every window, and carved faces - grinning, screaming, exaggerated - watched from every doorstep. Masks hid the living beneath layers of paint and wood, while laughter and music pushed back the night. Everything was as it should be.

But the trumpet in the square cut out mid-note, and for just a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Elias paused on his way home, his hand resting on the brim of his hat. He scanned the crowd. People were still dancing, still laughing - but the rhythm felt off, like a heartbeat skipping where it shouldn’t.

Then he saw the first mask crack.

Across the square, a man froze mid-step. The painted grin on his wooden mask split cleanly down the center. The man reached up instinctively, panic flickering in his movements, and for a moment Elias thought it was just a bad piece of craftsmanship.

But the crack widened.

And widened.

And then the mask peeled away.

There was no blood, no tearing - only a strange, unsettling separation, as though something intangible was being lifted off the man’s face. The crowd recoiled as the man screamed, clutching at nothing as his features seemed to drift upward, dissolving into the dim light above.

Elias took a step back.

He knew the stories. Everyone did. Jack was warded by faces - by reflections, by carvings, by anything that reminded him of his own fractured self. That was why the city was filled with them tonight. Why masks were required. Why no one walked without a face, even for a moment.

But this - this was wrong.

The lanterns flickered.

Just once.

Elias felt it more than he saw it - a pressure in the air, like something large had moved just beyond sight. The laughter died down. Conversations faltered. One by one, people turned their heads toward the center of the square.

Toward the place where the man had been standing.

He was gone.

Not dead. Not collapsed.

Gone.

Only his dropped mask remained, lying face-up on the cobblestones, its painted grin now split and hollow.

Elias felt his chest tighten.

“No,” he whispered. “Not here…”

Then the wind shifted.

It carried with it something faint. A voice, low and quiet, threading through the noise like a knife slipping between ribs.

“Elias…”

He froze.

No one had called him that.

Not in this place.

Not like that.

Slowly, Elias turned.

At the far edge of the square, partially swallowed by shadow, something stood watching.

Tall. Thin. Still.

It didn’t move the way a man moved. It didn’t sway, or breathe, or shift its weight. It simply was - as if it had always been there, and only now allowed itself to be seen.

Its face was… wrong.

Not monstrous. Not grotesque.

Empty.

A hollow where a face should have been, like a mask waiting to be worn.

Elias’s mouth went dry.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

The figure tilted its head slightly.

And for the briefest moment, Elias thought he saw something flicker within the void.

A memory.

A fragment of something human.

“Belong,” the figure echoed softly, as though testing the word. “Such a fragile concept.”

Elias took a step back.

The crowd around them was thinning now. People were leaving, retreating into their homes, pulling doors shut, bolting windows. The music had stopped entirely. Only the lanterns remained, flickering stubbornly against the encroaching dark.

And the carved faces.

Dozens of them.

Watching.

The figure took a step forward.

Not walking.

Not gliding.

Simply closer.

Elias turned and ran.

His footsteps echoed too loudly against the stone streets as he fled through the narrowing alleys. He could hear something behind him - not footsteps, exactly, but a presence moving in a way that didn’t obey distance or direction.

He didn’t look back.

He knew better.

Behind him, the night deepened.

Ahead, a single lantern flickered beside an old iron gate, its carved pumpkin face grinning wide, its flame dancing within.

Elias burst through the gate into a small courtyard, slamming it shut behind him and catching his breath. His hands trembled as he pressed his back against the gate, listening.

Silence.

Too much silence.

Then -

A whisper.

“Faces…”

Elias spun around.

The figure stood at the far end of the courtyard now, as if it had never moved at all.

As if it had simply been waiting.

“You wear one,” it said.

Elias shook his head, stepping back. “It’s just a mask. Everyone wears one tonight.”

The figure inclined its head slightly.

“Then show me.”

Elias hesitated.

For a moment, the world seemed to hold still again.

The lantern flickered.

The carved pumpkin on the wall grinned wider than it should have.

Elias’s breath quickened.

“I -” he began.

The figure moved.

Faster than before.

Suddenly it was close - too close - reaching out with something that was not quite a hand.

Elias tried to scream, but his voice caught in his throat.

And then -

Contact.

Not pain.

Not at first.

Just a sensation.

Like something unseen pressing against the surface of his existence.

Elias’s thoughts fractured.

Memories flickered - childhood, laughter, names, faces - his own face - slipping, dissolving, unraveling at the edges.

“No…” he gasped.

The figure leaned closer.

And for the first time, something like a face began to form within its emptiness.

Not fully.

Not clearly.

But enough.

Enough to recognize.

Enough to steal.

Elias felt something pull at him from within.

A tug.

A tearing.

A separation of something essential.

“Please,” he whispered.

But the figure did not respond.

It only continued.

And then -

It lifted.

Elias’s vision went white.

For a moment, he was nothing.

Just absence.

Then -

Cold air.

Stone beneath him.

The distant sound of music returning, faint and muffled, as though the world had decided to continue without him.

Elias lay still, breathing.

Alive.

But changed.

Above him, Wandering Jack stood.

Holding something that shimmered faintly in the dim light.

Something that looked almost like a face.

He turned it slightly, examining it.

Testing it.

Learning it.

And then, slowly -

He placed it over himself.

The void filled.

Just a little.

And somewhere, deep within the city, a carved pumpkin flickered as its flame dimmed - just for a moment - before steadying again.

Because the night had not yet ended.

And Jack -

Had only just begun to remember someone new.