Chapter 3
The Whisper of Cards
The pain came in waves. Ethan sat on the edge of his bed, the dim yellow bulb flickering overhead, and pressed a damp cloth against his split lip. Each sting of cold water brought a hiss through his teeth, but he gritted through it. His ribs ached with every shallow breath, his knuckles burned, and one eye had already begun to swell shut.
The room was silent except for his breathing, harsh and ragged. The battered little apartment smelled of dust and faint mildew, the cracked plaster walls bearing the stains of years. The radiator clanged occasionally, struggling to provide warmth in the winter night.
On the rickety table across from him lay the deck of cards.
Ethan's eyes kept drifting to it despite himself. The box was small, its corners worn, its surface etched with faint symbols that seemed too deliberate to be random scratches. He had left it there when he stumbled in, his curiosity dulled by exhaustion and pain. But now, as the minutes dragged, he couldn't ignore it.
He set the cloth aside, his fingers trembling slightly as he reached for the deck.
It felt heavier than it should, the weight not just physical but… something else. Something unseen. He turned it over in his hands, studying the intricate patterns. In the flickering light, the designs seemed to shimmer faintly, though when he blinked, they returned to stillness.
He frowned. "What are you…?" he murmured under his breath.
Slowly, he slid the cards out of their box.
They fanned into his hand with surprising smoothness. Their surfaces were cool, unnaturally so, as though they carried the chill of stone left in moonlight. Each back bore the same design, but when he tilted them, the patterns shifted, like ink suspended in water.
Yet when he flipped one over—nothing. Blank white face. Another—blank. A third—still blank.
Ethan exhaled sharply, frustration breaking through his fatigue. "Figures." He set the cards back on the table. "Just old junk…"
His father's junk.
The thought twisted inside him. His father had guarded these cards so fiercely, almost obsessively, refusing to explain why. And now, years later, they amounted to nothing but faded cardstock.
Ethan leaned back, pressing the cloth once more to his bruised ribs. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. The exams loomed, his body screamed in pain, and the world seemed to shrink around him.
But despite his attempts at distraction, his gaze kept wandering to the cards.
As if they were waiting.
He reached out again, running his thumb along the edge of the deck. Still nothing. Just smooth surfaces and the faint smell of old paper. He almost laughed bitterly at himself.
Until his grip slipped.
The corner of a card caught his skin, slicing shallowly across his thumb. Ethan hissed, drawing his hand back instinctively. A bead of crimson welled up, sliding down his finger.
It landed on the surface of the top card.
And the world shifted.
The moment his blood touched the deck, the air grew heavier. Not in the way of a storm, but something more profound, as though unseen eyes had opened all around him.
The card shimmered where the drop had fallen, the red spreading across the white surface like veins. Slowly, the blank card began to darken, lines etching themselves into existence. Symbols bloomed where there had been none—suits of clubs, diamonds, hearts, and spades twisting into patterns he didn't recognize.
Ethan's breath caught.
The temperature in the room dropped sharply, the light flickering more violently. He could hear something—faint whispers, too quiet to decipher, curling at the edges of his mind. His heart pounded, panic rising, yet he couldn't tear his gaze away.
One card slipped free from the deck, hovering just above the table. Ethan recoiled, his chair scraping back. The card rotated slowly, its surface glowing faintly. He could feel its presence, a pulse in the air like a heartbeat.
"What the hell…" he whispered.
The whispers grew louder, not words but impressions. Promises. Warnings. The scent of smoke filled the room, though there was no fire. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the walls, bending and twisting as if alive.
The glowing card snapped upright in midair. Symbols flared across its face—♦, glowing crimson, the outline sharp and vivid.
Ethan stumbled to his feet, his injuries screaming in protest. "No, no, no—this isn't real. This—"
The card pulsed, and the air rushed inward, a sudden vacuum dragging at his chest. For a split second, Ethan felt as though his very soul was being weighed, measured.
Then, just as suddenly, everything stilled.
The card fell, landing silently on the table. The glow vanished, leaving only the faint stain of blood where it had begun. The room returned to its dim normalcy, the radiator clanging softly, the bulb buzzing overhead.
Ethan stood trembling, his breath ragged, his body slick with sweat despite the cold. His eyes darted to the card, half-expecting it to leap again, but it lay still, innocuous.
Slowly, cautiously, he approached.
The top card was no longer blank. Across its face were letters, faint but unmistakable, etched in a style that sent chills down his spine:
[Money Deck System – Awakening]
His mouth went dry.
He reached for the card again, fingers shaking. The moment his skin touched it, the whispers surged back—not from the air this time, but from inside his mind. A voice, calm and measured, yet carrying the weight of inevitability:
—Balance detected.—Bloodline resonance confirmed.—System initializing.
Ethan staggered back, clutching his head. Images flashed behind his eyes—cards spinning endlessly in darkness, coins clattering across tables, hands reaching for power, cities burning and rebuilding in cycles. The visions slammed into him with dizzying force, each one leaving him more breathless than the last.
He collapsed into his chair, the world tilting around him.
When the visions faded, only silence remained.
On the table, the deck glowed faintly, as though alive. The cards no longer felt like old paper. They felt like something far older, deeper—something that had waited patiently for this very moment.
Ethan's heart hammered. He wanted to throw them away, to run, to pretend none of it had happened. But his gaze refused to leave the deck.
Because despite the fear, despite the madness of what he had just seen, something inside him whispered of possibility.
Of change.
And for the first time in days, through pain and despair, a spark lit within him.
The cards had awakened.
And nothing would ever be the same again.