(Three cloaked figures stand near a broken bridge, its planks shattered and hanging precariously over a deep abyss. Below them, ancient market stalls lay abandoned, filled with timepieces—hourglasses, rusted watches, and stopped clocks, as though time itself had been sold and traded away. Above them, a sky filled with gears and cogs grinds slowly, ticking with the rhythm of the world. Each figure wears a wide-brimmed hat, tilted like those of mad hatters, their faces hidden in the shadows.)

EGASH: So… we broke the bridge?

(Egash’s voice is weary, as though the weight of the failed bridge rests upon his shoulders. His eyes drift to the abyss below, where broken watches lie discarded like forgotten bargains.)

IDASH: I told you, fear builds frail bridges.

(Idash adjusts his hat, the brim casting a long shadow over his face. His voice is matter-of-fact, like a trader announcing the obvious after a bad deal. Behind him, an ancient clock tower chimes once, the sound hollow in the vast emptiness.)

EGASH: It was frail, but it was there. Now, what do we have? Maybe if we had acted differently…

(Egash glances toward the horizon, where the remnants of the bridge sway gently in the wind. He feels the passage of time in every tick and tock of the invisible clocks around them.)

SEGASH: Well, I would say there are other bridges, longer paths, roundabouts… there’s still a way. Can I leave the darkness now?

(Segash gestures broadly, as if offering an alternative deal, a way to escape the failed bargain. His voice is smooth, like a merchant trying to convince a skeptical buyer.)

EGASH: Yes, sure, come and show what can we do to fix this…

(Egash’s voice is laced with doubt, but he gestures for Segash to step forward, as though offering the negotiation table once more.)

SEGASH: I think we can make things right if we really put time into it, give it another chance. Let us try to patch things up.

(Segash’s words flow like promises at a marketplace stall. He taps an old hourglass in his hand, the sand nearly empty, as if time itself is part of the trade.)

SEGASH: Well, we should review our actions, where they led us and their context too. So we can do it differently and, hopefully, fix things. It’s time to collect on whatever barter we did with our soul.

(He smiles slightly, tilting his head under the wide-brimmed hat. His words hang in the air like a salesman making a final offer.)

IDASH: So what do you propose to fix it? We’re in the open now.

(Idash’s voice is cold, calculating. He crosses his arms, eyeing the ruins of the bridge as though evaluating the worth of the path ahead.)

EGASH: Ok, I hear a lot of hope, but none of the specifics. What tools, schemes, and action do you need?

(Egash’s voice carries impatience, the ticking of time growing louder as he taps his foot on the ground. He looks toward Segash, waiting for more than just promises.)

SEGASH: Even hope needs space to exist. First thing is for us to provide it. A crushed soul cannot dream just as hard stone won’t grow seeds.

(Segash speaks with the confidence of a merchant selling dreams, his words deliberate as he gestures toward the barren landscape. His eyes flicker toward the broken clocks scattered around them, as if time itself had been shattered in the bargain.)

SEGASH: The shortest gaps of human existence are the ones between the sane and the insane. Human and inhuman. Good and bad. Reality and wishful constructs. We must surrender a bit of twilight in the hopes of collecting dawn!

(Segash’s tone becomes mystical, his hands moving like a magician pulling tricks from his hat. Behind him, the gears of a massive clock grind slowly, counting down the moments they have left.)

EGASH: Aren’t we under the fake shelter of madness? Do you see others that can help?

(Egash’s voice falters as he glances around the desolate marketplace, where the remnants of bargains and trades lie in ruin. His eyes catch on a cracked pocket watch dangling from a vendor’s stall.)

IDASH: We are alone here. Also, yes, I see them too.

(Idash’s voice is grim, resigned. His eyes flick to the shadows of the stalls, where unseen figures seem to lurk, their hats wide-brimmed, their hands holding out promises of time traded and lost.)

SEGASH: Don’t you see? We just need a safe space to exist with our decisions for a while. Hope and wonder are like magic, all we need to do is to trust and to believe. Then it’s just a matter of pulling them out of a hat.

(Segash waves his hand theatrically, his wide-brimmed hat tilted like that of a mad hatter. His words sound like a deal too good to be true, yet spoken with absolute conviction.)

IDASH: That’s thin air and mad talk. Let’s get back to shelter.

(Idash’s voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. He turns away from the marketplace, where the ticking of broken clocks seems to grow louder.)

EGASH: What on earth are you going about, you mad, mad top hat?

(Egash’s voice drips with frustration as he gestures toward Segash’s hat, mocking the endless bargaining for time that seems to surround them.)

EGASH: Now I’m in the dark here.

(Egash throws his hands up, his patience wearing thin as the shadows of the marketplace seem to creep closer, wrapping around their feet.)

SEGASH: So, funeral ended, I would say our best option is through the forest!

(Segash’s voice is cheerful, as though closing a deal after a long negotiation. His eyes gleam with the promise of something new, even as the marketplace crumbles behind them.)

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IDASH: To die faster?

(Idash’s voice is cold, blunt, as he watches the sun dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the ruined market.)

SEGASH: To get through this before the candles burn out and the sands all rest in the bottom of our souls.

(Segash’s voice is soft now, as though speaking directly to the hourglasses that line the ground, their sands slipping away with every word.)

EGASH: Let’s walk without noise, remember to be lighter than a feather.

(Egash’s voice is a whisper, his eyes fixed on the hourglasses as if afraid that the next sound might shatter the fragile remnants of time they still have.)

IDASH: Getting harder to read as it gets darker, right?

(Idash mutters, his hands tracing the edges of a crumpled map that shows no clear way forward, only endless paths leading back to the ruined bridge.)

EGASH: What’s that all about, anyway?

(Egash asks, his voice bitter, as though they’ve all been haggling for nothing in the end. The marketplace grows darker, the ticking clocks more relentless.)

SEGASH: It is nothing but an attempt at improvement, aiming to feel better and solve this, so we’re back to how things were. We can fix this!

(Segash’s voice is full of desperation, as though trying to salvage the remnants of a failed bargain. His hat tilts precariously as he looks around for something—anything—to barter.)

IDASH: Even whales know when they are done, so they take a final dive. We should know better than a whale.

(Idash speaks slowly, the weight of his words heavy as the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. His eyes flicker toward the abyss, where the broken bridge lies silent.)

EGASH: Well, we have been sinking for a while…

(Egash’s voice is quiet, like someone making a final trade before closing up shop. He stares down at his feet, where the sands of time swirl around his shoes.)

SEGASH: Interesting, are you proposing we deal with chasms, water, and depth so we can rise to a safer, cloud-based road of sorts? To swim up from the holding waters to float above with clouds and birds?

(Segash’s words are playful, his voice full of the possibilities of a new deal. His hand waves through the air, sketching out a world where everything can be fixed with the right trade.)

EGASH: That’s… not what I said at all…

(Egash’s voice is flat, his patience stretched thin as he stares at Segash in disbelief. The ticking of the clocks grows louder.)

IDASH: If you two keep up with the poetics, we might just as well start a funeral for ourselves. Or part ways, if possible.

(Idash’s voice is sharp, like a knife cutting through the endless bargaining. His eyes harden as the shadows of the marketplace stretch long.)

EGASH: We mourn ourselves throughout life, a grain of dust for every blow of the wind. A grain of sand for every gust of air. But can we just not do it now?

(Egash’s voice is resigned, like a merchant closing up after a long day, with nothing left to trade. The wind blows softly, stirring the dust at their feet.)

IDASH: I disagree, nonsense has made us worse than before. You’re wasting energy with bogus trails. I’ve had enough.

(Idash speaks with finality, turning his back on the stalls, the broken clocks, and the failed bargains. His hat tips slightly in the wind.)

EGASH: So what? Should we just stab each other as we wanted from the beginning?

(Egash’s voice is harsh, his frustration boiling over as he throws his arms wide, the shadow of the broken bridge looming behind him.)

IDASH: You speak as if we haven’t been doing it since the beginning.

(Idash’s voice is dark, filled with the weight of too many unspoken deals, as he stares straight ahead.)

SEGASH: We have to negotiate peace. This whole hint is as simple as that!

(Segash’s voice is light, almost cheerful, like a merchant offering a final sale. His eyes gleam with hope, even as the world around them darkens.)

EGASH: I… I’m exhausted, can we just sit down for a while?

(Egash’s voice cracks, as though the weight of the endless negotiations has finally broken him. He glances at the nearest stall, where a chair sits empty.)

SEGASH: The risk in stopping is that darkness might take over and reign. We have to foster the light.

(Segash’s words are filled with urgency, his eyes wide as the last flicker of sunlight fades behind the crumbling bridge.)

IDASH: The only thing we should foster is ourselves.

(Idash’s voice is cold, dismissive, as he steps away from the shadows, his hat pulled low over his eyes.)

EGASH: I… I can’t do this thing anymore, trying to mediate, ponder, act, move on, take cover… it’s… it’s just so overwhelming…

(Egash’s voice is a whisper, his hands trembling as he stares at the ticking clocks that line the broken marketplace.)

SEGASH: That’s exactly why we have to fight to stay out of the dark, fight to keep the lights on!

(Segash’s voice rises, full of determination, as if the light itself could be bartered for if they just tried hard enough.)

IDASH: No.

(Idash’s voice is firm, final, as he steps into the shadows, away from the crumbling marketplace.)

EGASH: Can we just… just… stop?

(Egash’s voice is broken, his shoulders slumped as he sinks into a chair by one of the abandoned stalls, his eyes fixed on a stopped clock.)

SEGASH: There should be no jousting, pushing or pulling at the edges of hope and upcoming truce. Yet, here we are, so I agree, we must stop this nonsense!

(Segash’s voice is soft, like a merchant finally giving up on a deal that’s gone too far. His eyes flicker toward the horizon, where nothing but darkness awaits.)

EGASH: Aye, I’m ready to stop. Stop everything, actually…

(Egash’s voice is quiet, as though the ticking clocks have finally silenced him.)

IDASH: Aye, me too. Almost everything.

(Idash speaks slowly, his voice distant as he stares into the abyss, his hat tipping forward as if in a final farewell.)