Stumbled

"I want to live," I said to the man as he walked up to me.

Who was this? I could not answer.

But just now he had asked me a question, and I felt compelled to respond.

He had curly black hair that fell just past his chest, and his skin looked as though he bathed in sunlight.

His eyes were a deep, dark black, yet somehow they held light within them, like the two moons in the night sky I was gazing at.

He was dressed in a suit, and he carried a cane with a curved handle, almost akin to the shape of a tidal wave.

As he leaned closer, the trees surrounding us seemed to tilt along with him. "You wish to live? How foolish."

I realized, with a faint chill, that on my walk tonight, I had somehow stumbled upon a god.

"You have yet to fly, yet to face a king, and you dare to wish to live?" His voice echoed around us, low and resonant.

"Is living such a bad thing?" I replied, meeting his gaze with defiance.

He chuckled, then spun around, the night air swirling slightly in his wake.

"You are but a guest we plucked from a dying world, yet you dare stand before me?"

"My walk has turned out to be eventful," I said, lowering my head slightly, though I kept my eyes fixed on him.

The man's face grew sharp, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Caelum Ashbane, I granted you a second chance because of the future that awaits you. So, I ask of you," his voice darkened, "lower your head to the depths of hell when speaking to me."

I straightened, forcing a sly grin as I stood tall and took a step closer.

We were on a narrow trail cutting through the dense forest surrounding my new home.

This being was arrogant and powerful; I was weak but clever.

"I have been plucked," I replied, "and I have bloomed."

His eyes flared with anger and something else—a trace of amusement, as if my audacity amused him.

"You are wise not to bow any lower. I might have killed you." He tapped his cane against the ground, and in an instant, a hat appeared in his hand. Placing it on his head, he tilted it slightly, a shadow passing over his face.

"I am the Twin. I am the dark and the light. I am duality incarnate. I am... the Man in Black."

In a flash, his form dissolved, leaving only a single card fluttering in the air before it dropped to the ground. But just before it could fall, I snatched it from the air.

Flipping it over, I looked at it with utter surprise and amusement.

It was my own card.

In this world gods lived and walked, they roamed and spoke.

In this world, once you master your card there is another step to take. You must master the game.

And what is it called you may ask?

War.

After he vanished.

Those twin moons glinting in the sky weren't just celestial bodies—they were his eyes.

The Man in Black was the dark that harbored the light, a paradox of power and presence.

I murmured his name to the night, tasting the warning it held.

The Man in Black. I'd have to watch for him, but there was more—one more thing to add to my list of ambitions: become a god.

I resumed my walk through the forest and returned home in silence.

The night lingered, thick and solemn, as I climbed the steps to my room—our room, where Aubrey lay sleeping.

The scene was peaceful, yet beneath it, I felt a newfound urgency brewing.

Sitting at the desk, I let my fingers spin the card I had taken from the Man in Black, watching it flicker in the candlelight.

If I were to rise, truly, then I needed to know my opponents.

How powerful were the others caught in the King's Game? Who were they in this twisted hierarchy?

I closed my eyes, summoning the throne room to me.

The moment I envisioned it, the space materialized around me, and I found myself seated on my throne.

A dense mist filled the chamber, swirling like vaporous tendrils, and one by one, the thrones of my rivals manifested in the haze, each seat gradually filling with a shadowed presence.

Before I could speak, an unfamiliar voice cut through the quiet.

"Finally, I've been waiting to return to this place."

I turned toward the speaker's throne—a monstrous structure crafted from broken skulls, bound together by thick chains, some of which coiled around him like serpents.

The man was bound, though loosely, his restraint more symbolic than practical.

"You, who sit on a Throne of Binding," I intoned, my voice cold. "I name you Chained."

The figure dipped his head slightly, a wry smile crossing his face as he continued. "Since our last meeting, I have been curious about my company.

'So curious that I traveled to Dankel to meet you, Valery."

He turned his eyes toward her, a hint of danger in his gaze. Valery's smile grew faintly; the mist curled protectively around her, shrouding her form.

"I'd advise against that," she replied coolly. "I'm on the verge of overthrowing my father, and I do not need complications."

Across the room, another presence stirred, the one I had labeled Crying Boy. He nearly leaped from his seat, yet something unseen held him firmly in place.

"No, don't do it yet," he urged, desperation lacing his voice. "If you know who I am, then you must also know my… influence."

A look of surprise crossed Valery's face, mirroring my curiosity. Crying Boy's next words held a gravity none of us had anticipated.

"I killed my father," he admitted, his voice echoing in the eerie silence. "I ended that war. So allow me, Valery—let me be the one to end it for you, too."

Everyone looked at him, and obviously so because what he just said was possibly the most interesting thing since we've got here.

As I observed the room, its silence pressed down, charged with a mixture of awe and apprehension.

The weight of Crying Boy's confession lingered—a ripple of significance that no one could ignore. I let the silence stretch a moment longer, feeling its impact.

"Careful, Crying Boy," I finally warned, my voice a low threat. "One slip, and your secret won't stay safe for long. If they discover you… I won't shield you from the consequences."

He met my eyes, a faint, defiant smile touching his lips. "You, of all people, know I'm no pushover."

Valery leaned toward him, studying him with a calculating gaze. "If we're to meet, then where would it be safest?"

He hesitated, glancing my way as if searching for an answer within me before he sighed. "I'd say Dankel. It's isolated… but it might also draw unwanted attention."

"Too public," she responded coolly. "This should happen in secret."

I interrupted. "If necessary, I can arrange a private meeting place here, within this space, away from prying eyes. I can even grant passage to any realm I choose."

They all turned toward me, and another voice, sharp yet laced with an eerie femininity, broke through the quiet.

"Then tell me, why gather us here?" The speaker's throne stood near Chained's, a chaotic fusion of fire and ice, a spectral mist spilling over its edge. "Why this elaborate ritual instead of cloaking us, one and all?"

I focused on her, nodding. "You, who sit on the Throne of Concealment, shall be known as Mystery Queen."

She inclined her head, accepting the title. "This place… it is unique. In here, none can act outside your will. No other place exists like it—an entirely separate dimension. Why create such a place?"

"Perhaps it's not of my creation," I answered slowly. "Not at present, at least. As for why it exists—consider it a haven for those who wish to speak rather than clash."

Beside her, Tainted Knowledge leaned forward, adding to my words with a calm, eerie assurance. "Think, Mystery Queen. In the open, would we have these discussions? Not all here are of equal strength."

She nodded, thoughtful. "No. In fact, without this place, some might collapse under the weight of the Seeker's power alone."

Chained chuckled, his shackles clinking as he shifted. "Collapse? Stand in his presence and die? You overestimate him… I am not weak."

Across the chamber, Mirror Girl looked his way, a slight frown creasing her brow. "Weak? I assure you, Chained, by transcending, I've come to sense things most cannot fathom. Even in his mere silhouette, I feel the echoes of a power that unsettles me."

"Transcendent?" Crying Boy echoed, his eyes narrowing as he tried to discern her meaning.

I held back a smile, letting the tension build further. "That reminds me," I said, my gaze sweeping over the gathered figures.

"Those among you who have achieved transcendence… here, you should be able to move. It will test your astral bodies, but it is possible."

Shattered Heart, Blade Kid, Mirror Girl, Chained, and Pawn of Fate all struggled to rise, yet their efforts yielded nothing but silence, bound as they were by the weight of their thrones.

Then, another figure stirred, attempting to move—a presence I hadn't yet acknowledged.

This figure's throne was peculiar: a mix of polished gold and patches of rust, both imposing and humble, as though it symbolized something grand yet grounded.

Turning my gaze toward him, I felt a quiet satisfaction. "He who sits upon a Throne of Humility," I began, my voice calm but commanding, "I shall grant you the name, Humble Gold."

He lifted his head, his eyes briefly gleaming with gold flecks, and a subtle smile crossed his face. "So, that was a test," he murmured, almost to himself, his voice calm and composed. "A ploy to see who among us holds transcendent power?"

With a low chuckle, I rose to my feet, waving my hand in the air before me. An empty space shimmered, revealing a table upon which rested a single card and a simple cup.

"All those who tried to stand," I instructed, "take a sip."