The address on the parchment led Eliard through a labyrinth of backstreets, where gas lamps flickered against the encroaching darkness. The deeper he ventured, the quieter the city became, as if he were stepping into a place forgotten by time itself.
The street names had long faded from the rusted plaques. The buildings, constructed from soot-darkened stone, loomed with jagged edges, their windows like hollow eyes staring into nothingness. The further he walked, the more his instincts screamed at him to turn back.
But Eliard had never been one to retreat from the unknown.
He stopped in front of a narrow three-story building wedged between two larger ones. The structure was old—older than the others in the district. It bore no sign, no indication that anyone lived or worked within. Yet, the address matched perfectly.
A soft wind stirred the air, carrying the faint scent of damp parchment and candle wax.
Eliard hesitated only a moment before stepping up to the wooden door. He raised his hand to knock, but before his knuckles could meet the surface, the door creaked open on its own.
His muscles tensed. Every fiber of his being urged caution, but he forced himself to step inside.
The moment Eliard crossed the threshold, the world outside seemed to vanish. The street noise, the distant hum of the city—it all fell into an eerie silence.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old books, burning incense, and something faintly metallic. Shelves lined the walls, stuffed with aged tomes, strange trinkets, and dusty glass jars filled with unidentifiable substances. A dimly lit chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting long, spindly shadows across the wooden floor.
The door shut behind him with a soft click.
"You took your time," a voice murmured from the darkness.
Eliard's gaze snapped toward the far end of the room, where a figure sat behind an antique desk, half-hidden in the gloom. A single candle flickered beside them, illuminating only the lower half of their face—a mouth curved into an amused smirk.
"I wasn't aware I had an appointment," Eliard replied, keeping his stance relaxed but ready. His fingers brushed against the inside of his coat, where the card still rested in his pocket.
The figure leaned forward slightly, allowing the dim light to reveal more of their face. A woman—perhaps in her thirties, though the sharp glint in her eyes spoke of someone who had lived far longer than that. Her dark hair was braided and adorned with thin silver chains, and the rings on her fingers gleamed like tiny moons.
She stood up slowly, stepping from behind the desk with an effortless grace. The candlelight cast shifting shadows across her face as she moved toward a worn-out chair near the bookshelves. She lowered herself into it with a deliberate ease, watching Eliard with a knowing expression.
"Everyone who holds a card like yours finds their way here eventually," she said. "The question is whether you leave with more knowledge… or more regrets."
Eliard's grip tightened. He took a measured step closer, his boots barely making a sound against the aged floorboards. "You know what this is."
"I know many things." Her fingers drummed against the desk's surface. "But knowledge is not free. It never has been."
Eliard exhaled slowly. "And what's the price?"
The woman tilted her head, studying him as if peeling back his very essence. Then, she reached beneath the desk and retrieved something wrapped in black cloth. She placed it before him with deliberate care.
"Open it," she instructed.
Eliard hesitated, but curiosity overpowered his caution. He unwrapped the cloth, revealing a tarnished silver mirror no larger than his palm. The glass was cracked, its reflection warped.
"Look into it," the woman whispered.
He did.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, the room around him seemed to melt away. His reflection rippled, and instead of his own face, a twisted, monstrous version stared back—a hollow-eyed figure wreathed in shadow, with crimson veins crawling up its neck. Its lips curled into a knowing smile.
A whisper slithered through his mind.
You do not belong here.
Eliard jerked back, nearly dropping the mirror. The world snapped back into place, the flickering candlelight and scent of old parchment rushing to meet him again.
His breathing was unsteady.
The woman watched him with an unreadable expression. "Now you understand."
Eliard swallowed hard, pushing down the unease gnawing at his spine. "Understand what?"
"That you are not simply a man in possession of a card." She folded her hands beneath her chin. "You are an anomaly. A piece that should not exist within this deck."
Eliard clenched his fists. He had suspected as much. But hearing it confirmed sent a ripple of something sharp through his chest.
"And what does that mean for me?"
The woman leaned back, her smirk returning. "That depends. Do you intend to play the game? Or break it?"
A heavy silence settled between them.
Eliard closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying his thoughts. Then, he met her gaze, determination burning behind his irises.
"Tell me everything."
The woman's smirk widened. "Good answer."
And the secrets of the deck began to unfold.