Aiko's Gambling Den.
Zachary knew about it, yet he feigned surprise. "A gambling den? Here?"
"I know how it sounds," Lester said as he led the group through one of the courtyard's exits. "But yes. Someone was actually smart enough to kickstart something like that."
"So we have gambling in the Dream Realm before… before that new game that's pretty popular nowadays." Zachary trailed off, then cursed inwardly. He knew nothing about the culture of the Waking World. He'd wanted to make a joke to relate to them—but came up empty.
Fortunately, Mauro had something. "Haha, yeah. We had gambling in the Dream Realm before MareTask 3."
"I know it's hard to believe," Arlo said, eyeing Mauro's antics. "But there are actually a lot of ways to pass the time in the Bright Castle."
Zachary nodded. "Well then, let's go gambling."
The group followed behind Lester through the marble hallways. The gambling den, fortunately, wasn't located in an unauthorized area, so Zachary didn't have any trouble going there.
"You remember how I was seeing this Handmaiden?" Lester suddenly asked Arlo as they walked.
"Hm, Shira?" Arlo replied, raising an eyebrow.
"No, no. Her friend—the one in charge of checking the windows on the north side," Lester corrected, pointing toward a row of tall windows.
"Oh, the fat one?" Mauro said without much thought.
Lester turned sharply, scowling. "What have we talked about, regarding mentioning other people's weight?"
Zachary expected further reprimand, but to his surprise, Lester only shook his head with a tired sigh.
"Yes, her," he said, then quickly added, "And I wouldn't go so far as to call her fat. She gains weight easily. What do you want her to do? It's her Flaw."
He shook his head deprecatingly as Arlo joined in.
"Well…" Arlo said, tilting his head with a doubtful expression.
Lester turned to him again, silently asking whether he really wanted to continue this topic.
"I mean, it's pretty easy to shift the blame to your Flaw," Arlo said quickly, raising his hands defensively. "Look, I've got nothing against people's weight. In fact, I'm more of a chubby type myself, you know?"
Lester's scowl deepened.
"What I'm saying is that if I had a Flaw that made me gain weight easily, I'd probably be more careful with what I eat," Arlo finished.
"True, true," Mauro added carelessly. "You've seen her. Every month when Andra bakes her sweet bread, your girl is the first in line to buy half of it. I mean, come on."
"That has nothing to do with this," Lester replied, his voice rising defensively. "You know that huntress in the Outer Settlement? She eats like a whole cohort, and her figure betrays none of it."
"I mean…" Zachary interjected cautiously. "That probably has more to do with her Aspect. She gains the strength of a whole cohort, but she also has to burn the same amount of calories."
"You too?" Lester asked, looking betrayed before sighing in resignation. "Fine. What do you think about this, since you're so eager to participate?"
Zachary cursed inwardly, caught off guard, but quickly found his footing. "Well, I don't know the girl in question," he said carefully, "but I think every man can agree there's nothing wrong with a little more meat on the bone, you know?"
"Preach, brother," Arlo said, nodding in approval.
Lester stared at him, dumbfounded. Before he could argue further, Zachary continued.
"Anyway, why did you bring her up in the first place?"
Lester sighed, finally letting the topic go. "It's her birthday in a couple of weeks. She says she wants nothing, but I want to give her a little something."
"Well," Mauro said with a grin, "I think we can all agree she's not going to reject a batch of sweet bread."
"Oh, fuck you," Lester said, flipping him the bird.
Zachary laughed along with the rest and couldn't help but pause to contemplate it—he was actually having a lot of fun right now. He hadn't noticed it at first, but after spending two months almost exclusively around two girls, he realized just how much he had missed conversations between men.
No matter how much time passed—or even if you found yourself in a completely different realm altogether—at the end of the day, boys would always be boys. There was something rooted deep within them that made it far easier to become friends with one another, an unspoken understanding that needed no explanation.
Before anyone noticed, they had arrived at the gambling den.
"So, before we enter, I have to explain a few things to you," Lester said, turning to Zachary.
"First, there's an entrance fee. Nothing exaggerated—just a single shard per person," he continued, pulling a small pouch from beneath his shirt.
"Second, unlike the casinos in the Waking World, there are no chips here. You bet directly with shards." Lester handed a shard each to Mauro and Arlo. "They tried implementing chips at the beginning, but there's a certain reluctance to part with your hard-earned shards, even temporarily. So it failed."
"Despite that, the House is still present," Arlo added, joining the explanation. "They act as middlemen for the games, and if someone wants to raise their bets to Memories, they serve as appraisers."
"Speaking of which," Lester said calmly, "the gambling den isn't officially part of the Host, but they work in tandem with some of the groups. The Handmaidens handle the serving of customers, and us Artisans take care of anything they might need. Think of it as a partnership."
"Actually," Mauro said excitedly, "we helped a lot at the beginning. Most of the stuff used inside was crafted by us."
"I don't know why you're acting so proud," Lester shot back. "You helped with absolutely none of it." Then he turned back to Zachary, resuming his briefing.
"And last—but most important—there's an unspoken rule. No aggression inside," he said seriously. "The House has no real way to stop disorder. Most of the customers are members of the Host, after all. But for the same reason, they act as deterrents to one another."
"After all, no one wants their fun spoiled."
With those words, they entered the gambling den.
Zachary was genuinely surprised by what he saw. To be honest, he had never visited a casino in the other world—he had avoided them like the plague. Mostly because he knew himself. If he ever developed a taste for gambling, there wouldn't be a power on God's earth capable of making him stop.
That didn't mean he knew nothing about them. Compared to the casinos of the other world, the gambling den was humble in appearance. Yet there was a serious atmosphere to it, something weighty and restrained that Zachary couldn't quite put into words.
It was a spacious room, filled with tables spread evenly throughout. In one corner sat a crude roulette wheel. The tables themselves were finely crafted but poorly decorated—clearly designed with efficiency in mind rather than aesthetics. What truly surprised Zachary was the number of people inside. He estimated close to fifty, not counting the croupiers or the Handmaidens weaving between tables.
But when he noticed that most of them wore armbands on their shoulders, Zachary understood how they could afford the entrance fee.
An elbow nudged into his stomach, and he turned to see Arlo gesturing for him to move. Together, they joined the waiting line, ready to hand over the entrance fee. The line wasn't particularly long, but the registration process was slow. Names had to be recorded carefully, all while ensuring the shards were properly secured.
"Hey, look over there," Mauro said, grabbing Arlo's shoulder and pointing with his chin toward one of the tables.
Zachary followed their gaze and quickly understood what he meant.
A Handmaiden.
She was small in stature and had short hair, but the way she moved—calm, composed—gave her a quiet charm. Arlo sighed in annoyance and smacked Mauro on the back of the head.
"Just drop it, man. What would this be now, the fourth time?" Arlo said, rubbing his face tiredly.
"Fifth, actually. But trust me, bro, I know this is it," Mauro replied with a stupidly confident grin.
Sighing even deeper, Arlo finally relented. "…Fine. Go for it."
Mauro's grin widened as he strode toward the Handmaiden. Zachary hesitated before moving closer to Arlo and whispering into his ear.
"Is it really wise to let him get close to a Handmaiden… or any woman at all?" he muttered.
He remembered the novel's descriptions—how everyone in the Castle respected, even feared, the Handmaidens. And after knowing Mauro for only a short while, Zachary could already tell he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed. The thought of him doing something catastrophically stupid was genuinely worrying.
"Don't worry about it," Arlo said, shaking his head in resignation. "Just watch."
Sensing someone approach, the Handmaiden turned—only to find Mauro smiling at her. She rolled her eyes almost immediately. Oblivious, Mauro stepped forward and declared proudly:
"Hello. I had a thought… but it left when I saw you."
The Handmaiden stared at him with a deadpan expression. After a few seconds of silence, she simply turned around and walked away without saying a word. Mauro stood there, frozen. Only when Arlo burst into laughter did he shuffle back toward them, defeat written all over his face.
"Accept it, man," Arlo said between laughs. "It's because you're ugly."
"Bitch, you know I'm damn charming!" Mauro snapped back, a faint flush creeping up his face.
"I said nothing about charm," Arlo replied mockingly. "You're just hideous."
Mauro's expression twisted in outrage before a vindictive glint lit his eyes. "Well, your mother found me quite charming last night."
"Bitch, how would you even meet my mom here?" Arlo snapped.
Zachary laughed and added casually, "It was probably the delivery man."
Mauro's eyes snapped to him, his expression suddenly serious. "Oh? You think you can do better?"
Zachary shifted uneasily. "Hey, I'm just saying—"
"Ha! A shard says you can't do better than me," Mauro cut in.
"Oh, I'll take that bet," Arlo said suddenly, clearly enjoying this far too much. "A shard says you can't even get her to laugh."
Zachary cursed inwardly and turned toward Lester for help. The man was doing an impressive job pretending none of this concerned him.
Feeling Zachary's stare, Lester finally glanced over and silently mouthed: You deal with it.
"Shit…" Zachary muttered before nodding. "Alright. Get ready to pay up, you bastards."
Zachary took a breath and stepped away from the line.
At first, he had already begun planning what to say—something harmless, polite, forgettable. Enough to satisfy the bet and nothing more. But halfway there, his gaze flicked toward Mauro, who was still sulking beside Arlo.
A slow, vindictive idea bloomed. '…No. Yeah. I'm doing it.'
As he approached, the Handmaiden sensed him and turned with clear annoyance already written on her face. She had seen this play before, then her eyes landed on Zachary.
The irritation faltered.
For a brief moment, an unreadable expression crossed her features—sharp, assessing, far more alert than before. Zachary noticed immediately. Instinctively, he raised one hand in a small, placating gesture, his lips forming a silent 'just go along with it'.
Her eyes flicked past him. To the line. To Mauro and Arlo, who were both watching far too intently. Understanding dawned.
Slowly, a spark of interest lit her gaze.
Zachary stopped in front of her, straightened slightly, and—doing his absolute best impression—spoke with the exact same tone, cadence, and confidence as Mauro had before.
"Hello. I had a thought… but it left when I saw you."
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the Handmaiden laughed.
It wasn't loud or exaggerated—just a genuine, amused sound that carried far enough to reach the line.
Mauro froze. Arlo's jaw dropped. The Handmaiden covered her mouth, eyes glinting as she looked Zachary up and down.
"Well," she said lightly, "that's a terrible line."
Zachary smiled apologetically. "I know, but I was told it had potential."
She snorted. "You were lied to."
"Tragic," he agreed dramatically. "I'll have words with the source."
She studied him for another second before shaking her head, still smiling. "Good luck, you'll need it."
Zachary gave her a small bow in thanks and turned away.
"Hey, that's cheating. That was my line!" Mauro protested loudly before Arlo's elbow shut him down.
"I said it before, man," Zachary said as he returned to their side. "It's the delivery."
Mauro and Arlo stared at him like he'd just violated several laws of reality.
"Delivery…" Mauro muttered in quiet defeat, more to himself than anyone else. "It was the same tone."
He clicked his tongue. "…Handsome motherfucker."
Feigning deafness, Zachary extended his hand in a knowing gesture. The meaning was clear.
"Pay up."
Cursing loudly, Arlo and Mauro placed two shining shards into Zachary's palm. He smiled broadly. With that, he now had seven Soul Shards—two from the Scavengers he'd hunted at the very beginning of the Forgotten Shore, and three from the Carapace Demon.
Lester cut through their sulking. "It's our turn."
After handing over their shards and registering their names, they finally made their way to the tables. Arlo and Mauro peeled off almost immediately, roaming the room in search of something interesting to play. Aside from the usual card games, Zachary had been told there were also games of ability and dexterity—ones where you played solely against the House.
"So, where do you want to go?" Lester asked casually.
"Hm…" Zachary thought for a moment. "I guess we can start with Blackjack."
Zachary had never actually visited a casino, but that didn't mean he was ignorant of card games. From what he'd heard, aside from Poker—where you played against others—Blackjack was the game where your chances against the House were relatively better.
Nodding, Lester guided him to a table that was mostly empty.
"Would you mind waiting for a few more people to join?" the croupier asked apologetically.
Zachary nodded without much thought. Thinking back to the earlier commotion, he turned to Lester, trying to make light conversation.
"Quite a… unique fellow, isn't he?"
"Who, Mauro?" Lester asked, then sighed with palpable exhaustion. Zachary could suddenly understand where his eye bags came from.
Rubbing his face, Lester continued. "It's just his Flaw. Arlo's the one you should actually be worried about."
"Huh?" Zachary said, caught off guard.
"I'm surprised you didn't notice," Lester said seriously. "Mauro's Flaw is that he says the first thing that comes to mind. Mostly just dumb shit."
"He kept getting into trouble, so the Boss decided to pair him with Arlo," Lester went on, watching as more people gathered around the table. "Arlo can match his energy. Keeps things… contained."
"So Mauro can blame his Flaw," Lester added. "But Arlo?"
Zachary chuckled. "So… Dumb and Dumber?"
Lester laughed quietly. "Pretty much."
By then, the table was full, and the dealer began collecting bets. Deciding to start carefully, Zachary placed a single shard in front of him.
The cards were dealt. Their backs were black, edged with a golden snake coiled along the border. The design was simple, yet strangely captivating.
Zachary pointed at the cards and glanced at Lester. Lester nodded in response.
'Artisans,' Zachary thought.
Checking his hand quietly, Zachary cursed inwardly. Two tens—hearts and diamonds. A strong hand, but an awkward one. The dealer's upcard was also a ten.
He hesitated.
Zachary wanted to tread carefully, avoiding unnecessary losses and maximizing profit. These weren't coins or credits—these were Soul Shards. Still, he knew how the game worked. The basic strategy, the odds… hell, there was an entire movie centered around it.
'Fuck it. Let's do this.'
He placed another shard on the table.
"Split."
Two more cards were dealt—an Ace of Clubs and a nine of Spades.
"Blackjack," the dealer announced, sliding two shards toward Zachary from a coffer beneath the table.
'So blackjack pays double, huh?' Zachary mused as he glanced around. That's when he noticed it—aside from him, another player had received a pair of Jacks.
An idea began to form.
The basics of card counting were simple. There were high cards and low cards. Tens, face cards, and Aces were high; twos through sixes were low. The rest barely mattered. The Hi-Lo method.
You started at zero. Each high card dealt subtracted one. Each low card added one. Over time, the count told you what remained in the shoe—whether high cards were clustered ahead or already burned. Combined with basic strategy, it was enough to tilt the odds—just slightly—against the House.
'Thank you, Kevin Spacey,' Zachary thought as the dealer flipped his hole card.
Another nine.
"Push," Zachary said calmly, reclaiming his shard.
Curses erupted around the table. He glanced at Lester, who had lost on seventeen.
'Alright,' Zachary thought, confidence rising. 'Let's do this.'
He wasn't relying solely on half-remembered tricks from a movie. This time, he had something better.
Balance Control and Cinder Eyes.
With an enhanced, Enlightened Mind, he could track the flow of cards without slipping. With sharpened reflexes and Danger Sense, he could react instantly to any irregularity—any attempt by the House to interfere. If they tried anything…
He'd notice.
The game continued. Zachary kept his posture relaxed, his expression mildly interested at best. To anyone watching, he looked like a cautious first-timer—someone playing for the novelty rather than the shards.
He never raised his bet beyond a single shard.
Hand after hand, he followed the basic strategy to the letter. He stood when he should, hit when the odds favored it, doubled only when the count leaned gently in his favor. No hesitation, no second-guessing. Just quiet decisions made with unremarkable confidence.
He won.
Not every hand—but enough.
His pile of shards grew slowly, never enough in a single round to draw attention, but steadily enough to matter. A shard here. Another there. Pushes in between. Losses too, deliberate and expected.
Underneath the table, his fingers tapped lightly against his knee.
Cinder Eyes painted the scene with clarity. The faint differences in the cards' wear, the subtle thickness of the shoe, the way the dealer's hand dipped and rose—everything stood out just a little sharper than it should have. He could tell how many decks remained without counting them directly, could feel when the composition shifted.
His mind kept the tally effortlessly.
High cards burned. Low cards lingered.
The count climbed.
When it dipped, he slowed. When it rose again, he pressed—barely. Never more than a single shard. Never enough to be suspicious.
Suddenly, Zachary felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted slightly. He had been focusing too completely on the game, on the table—so much so that his Danger Sense had stopped registering the rest of the room.
That was a mistake.
'I need to correct this. Danger Sense is my biggest ally in this hellhole,' he admonished himself. 'I can't afford to dull it just because I'm focused on something else.'
Keeping his expression neutral, Zachary turned to see who had approached him.
"Would you like something to drink?" a Handmaiden asked politely, a faint smile on her lips.
Zachary cleared his throat. "Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred."
The Handmaiden stared at him with a deadpan expression. After a brief pause, she replied flatly, "Sorry. We have water… or water."
Zachary coughed again into his hand.
Then, to his surprise, she chuckled. "We also have iced tea. Would you like some?"
"Yes, please," he said quickly.
She nodded and moved away, and Zachary returned his attention to the game. Beside him, Lester wasn't doing nearly as well. Shifting his focus, Lester leaned closer.
"The tea here's different from what we get during meals," he said, counting the shards in his pouch. "Boss usually produces a separate batch. Better quality leaves."
Zachary nodded. When the tea arrived, he took a sip. It was lightly sweet, balanced with just the right hint of sourness. He sighed in quiet satisfaction and refocused on the table.
The dealer glanced at him with subdued seriousness. Suspicion was beginning to creep in. Zachary met the look with a polite smile—and nothing more.
The game went on, and Zachary continued playing it safe. He let a hand go when the count turned sour. Accepted a loss without a flicker of annoyance. Let the rhythm of the table swallow him whole.
To the House, he was just another cautious gambler getting quietly lucky. To Zachary, it was a controlled exercise in restraint.
Patience over greed. Survival over pride. And as another shard slid into his growing pile, he knew one thing for certain—
He had the edge.
An hour passed, and Zachary had won more than twenty shards. By now, the dealer was watching him closely. Cinder Eyes flared, and the rest of the Dreamers at the table eyed his growing pile of shards with barely concealed greed. Even Lester—who had managed to maintain a careful balance between wins and losses—was staring at him in surprise.
One thing was clear. The House was not happy.
Deciding it was wiser to leave rather than face whatever dirty trick the House might use to reclaim their shards, Zachary stepped away from the table with a filled pouch Lester had lent him. The Artisan stayed behind, clearly tempted to try his luck a little longer after witnessing Zachary's streak.
'What to do now?' Zachary wondered silently.
He had more than doubled the shards he'd started with.
'I should make a living out of this,' he lampooned himself before shaking his head. 'They'd probably ban me from entering for a while.'
Just as he was about to head toward the roulette—confident in Cinder Eyes' ability to follow the wheel—Zachary sensed someone approaching. The Handmaiden he had met at the entrance appeared beside him, wearing a calm smile.
"Hello," she said lightly. "I didn't take you for the lucky type."
She paused, then continued, "The House is opening an exclusive poker table, and they've extended an invitation to you."
Zachary's mind moved immediately, formulating countless scenarios—before settling on the most likely one.
Unlike the other games, poker wasn't played against the House, but against other players. That meant the House had no direct way of reclaiming the shards he'd already won. That's when the word she used resurfaced in his mind.
Exclusive.
'The other players must be members of the Host,' Zachary reasoned with a quiet sigh. 'Well-positioned ones, if I had to guess.'
His lips curled slightly. 'They want to use me as a scapegoat. A way to curry favor.'
A wicked smile tugged at his face. 'And who am I to refuse such a generous opportunity?'
"Lead the way," Zachary said brightly.
Smiling back, the Handmaiden guided him toward the far side of the room, beneath a decorated window where filtered light spilled in a strangely captivating pattern.
"So," Zachary asked casually, "what's it going to be? Draw poker, or Texas?"
"Texas Hold'em," the Handmaiden replied as they reached the table. He was the last to arrive.
Just as Zachary was about to sit, a rugged Sleeper raised a hand, stopping him.
"I forgot to mention," the Handmaiden added calmly. "There's an entrance fee. Ten shards."
Zachary cursed inwardly.
He remembered how, in the novel, Kai had once been proud of owning ten shards—calling it a small fortune. The thought made him realize, with quiet disbelief, just how many shards circulated through the gambling den. In barely an hour, he had earned close to thirty. For a moment, he wondered how the Host could allow a place like this to exist.
Then he answered himself.
'They don't care,' he thought, withdrawing the exact amount from his pouch. 'In the end, every shard flows back to them one way or another.'
He exhaled softly. 'The perfect system Gunlaug created.'
Finally seated at the head of the table, Zachary looked around—and confirmed his suspicion.
Every other player wore an armband. Castle Guards. Hunters. Pathfinders.
Members of the Host.
Zachary grew nervous for a moment.
'I mean, they don't really have a way to make me lose, right?' he reasoned. 'The only way I go down is if I get intimidated… or start falling for their bluffs.'
A voice pulled him out of his thoughts.
"Would you like more iced tea?" the same Handmaiden asked, smiling pleasantly.
"Better not," Zachary replied with a small laugh. "I'm driving."
"Ha. Hilarious," the Handmaiden said, her face utterly impassive.
The game finally began. The dealer was a petite woman with black hair and brown eyes. That alone was enough for Zachary to recognize her.
Aiko.
When his cards were dealt, Zachary peeked at them and immediately cursed inwardly. A pair of twos, he folded instantly.
The cards moved.
Shards clinked softly against the table as the blinds were placed, the sound sharp in the otherwise muted space. No one spoke. Each player sat upright, expressions carefully neutral, eyes tracking movements with practiced caution.
Zachary matched the blinds without comment. The first few hands passed quickly.
He folded when his cards were dead on arrival. Checked when the board offered nothing. Called only when the odds were clear and the pot small. Never raised. Never pushed. To the others, it must have looked like hesitation.
In truth, it was restraint.
'Not yet,' Zachary reminded himself, there was no reason to go on the offensive yet.
Across the table, the players were engaged in a battle just as quiet—and far more aggressive. Small raises. Measured bluffs. Intentional pauses before folding or calling. Each movement was calculated, meant to project confidence or uncertainty.
Cinder Eyes drank it all in.
The twitch of a finger when the river fell poorly. A shallow breath taken too late. The way one man's gaze lingered on the dealer's hands when he was weak—and snapped to the pot when he was strong.
Zachary memorized them.
Balance Control kept his own body perfectly still. His breathing never changed. His hands rested loosely atop the table, neither tense nor careless. No tremors. No tells.
The flop came. Zachary checked, and so did everyone else.
The turn shifted the odds in his favor—quietly, cleanly. He could feel it settle into place like a cog sliding into a mechanism.
Still, he checked.
A Hunter to his left tested the waters with a small raise. Zachary studied him, watched the subtle tightening around his eyes, the way his fingers pressed too firmly into the table's edge.
'He's fishing,' Zachary decided.
He called. The river fell.
Silence stretched.
When the cards were revealed, Zachary's hand won by the narrowest margin. No cheers. No reactions. Just a few shards sliding toward him.
A small pot. Insignificant.
Exactly what he wanted.
Zachary gathered the shards without a word and placed them neatly in front of him.
Around the table, eyes shifted.
He felt it then—the recalibration. The others adjusting their mental image of him, uncertain whether the win had been luck… or something else.
'Good,' Zachary thought calmly. 'Time for the offensive.'
He checked his cards. Ace and seven of clubs.
A Pathfinder raised immediately—five shards. Zachary matched it without hesitation.
The flop came: Jack of clubs, seven of hearts, and five of spades. Someone folded and left the table in quiet defeat; Zachary didn't bother tracking who. A Guard raised to seven shards. The rest folded—except for the Pathfinder and Zachary, both of whom called.
With the flop and his hand, Zachary was aiming for a flush.
Aiko revealed the turn. Ace of hearts.
Two pairs. Zachary raised.
"Ha," the Pathfinder scoffed. "Don't you think it's a little late to go on the offensive?"
It was a facade. Cinder Eyes saw straight through it—the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers hovered too long over his remaining shards. He was desperate.
"Well, who knows?" Zachary shrugged with a knowing smile. "I feel rather lucky right now."
A Hunter sitting beside the Pathfinder leaned in and whispered, but Zachary still caught it.
"Andel, I think this is enough. He's been playing cautiously. For him to raise—"
"Shut it," Andel snapped, then called the bet.
Zachary barely registered the exchange. His attention had snagged on the name.
Andel.
He knew him—or rather, he knew of him. A Pathfinder whit nasty temperament and a nastier gambling debt. A man who would later die at Nephis's hands. Everything clicked.
The temperament. The debt. The recklessness. Zachary almost laughed.
'I've got you,' he thought calmly.
Leaning back in his chair, he spoke lightly. "You know, I really admire you guys."
Andel frowned as Zachary continued.
"I mean, thanks to people like you, I've got food on my table." He tilted his head. "That's why I can say this with confidence—you should fold. The only gamble you ought to take is the one you make with your life every day you walk out there."
The table went deathly silent. Even Aiko looked at him, unease flickering across her face. Andel, however, laughed.
"You sure talk big," he said, mirth sharp and hostile beneath the surface.
"All in." He shoved the remainder of his shards into the center of the table. "Let's see if you can back up your words."
Zachary glanced at his hand. Then at the community cards. He hadn't seen everything—some cards were still unrevealed—but he'd been counting. Watching. Tracking.
He called.
The river fell: Queen of clubs.
Andel let out a triumphant shout as he flipped his cards—Queen of hearts and Jack of diamonds. Two pairs, high and proud.
For a moment, he basked in it. Then Zachary revealed his hand.
A flush. Silence fell.
It was his win.
"Fuck!" Andel screamed, slamming his hands onto the table. In a desperate, shameless move, he snatched the shards he had just bet.
"Hey!" Aiko shot up from her seat. "You ca—"
A deafening crack cut her off.
The poker table split in two as Andel's fist came crashing down. The Gambling Den fell into a deadly silence; every gaze in the room snapped toward them.
"Got something to say, bitch?" Andel sneered, venom barely contained beneath a wicked smile.
As a Pathfinder, there was no one who could openly challenge him. That included Zachary. Aiko remained frozen, her shoulders trembling—the only sign of the storm raging inside her. Andel turned his attention toward Zachary.
"And you?" he asked, voice sharp with challenge.
Zachary was about to speak. Some of the shards Andel had taken were his, after all. Before he could, a hand rested on his shoulder.
Lester.
He shook his head slowly, eyes never leaving Andel. Zachary understood immediately.
With a quiet, resigned sigh, he said, "No. I don't."
Andel chuckled, satisfied. As he turned to leave with his group, he threw one last word over his shoulder. "Pussy."
For a few long seconds, the Gambling Den remained silent—so still it felt unreal. Then, as if a bell had been rung, everyone decided it was time to leave. Sleepers and members of the Host filed toward the exit, murmuring in low voices.
Mauro and Arlo were already at Lester's side. Lester merely shook his head, his expression unreadable. "We should leave too."
Zachary nodded and was about to follow when his gaze caught on Aiko. She was still seated, slumped in her chair, exhaustion etched into her face. His mind stirred.
"I'll meet you outside," he said. "There's something I want to do first."
The Artisans glanced back at him, then shrugged and headed for the exit. Zachary approached the petite dealer.
"Hey," he said calmly. "Are you alright?"
Aiko looked up. Tears clung to the corners of her eyes, her nose running freely.
Zachary remained unimpressed. "I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not some pushover you can squeeze dry just by turning on the waterworks."
"Tch." Aiko clicked her tongue, flailing her arms in frustration. "Damn it all. That's the third time he's done this! I wanted to ban him, but he always swears he'll pay!"
Zachary raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to curse members of the Host that loudly?"
"Who cares?" she snapped with an irritated sigh. "There's no one here but you and me."
She glanced at him. "And he took some of your shards too. You must be pretty pissed."
Zachary tilted his head in quiet acknowledgment. His thoughts moved again, tracing the shape of future events. But something had changed. For the first time, he wasn't thinking about keeping things under control—
He was thinking about how to use them.
"Hey," Zachary said without looking at her. "What would you say if I told you that you could not only get back what that guy owes you…"
He paused. "…but double it?"
Aiko's head snapped toward him. Greed flashed openly across her face. Zachary smiled. He already had her.
"So, are you interested?"