The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of an old clock. A haze of smoke curled above velvet tables, swallowing the chandeliers' golden light. Cards slapped against the felt, dice rattled across the polished wood, and chips stacked higher than mountains gleamed like blood-red rubies.
But these were no ordinary chips.
They pulsed faintly, as if alive—each one carrying the warmth of stolen time.
A man in a gray suit sat at the center table, his hands trembling as he pushed forward a pile of those glowing tokens. His face was pale, his hair streaked with sweat. Across from him, the dealer—a woman with eyes like bottomless wells—smiled without warmth.
"Your wager," she said, her voice low and velvet.
The man swallowed hard. "Five years… of my life."
The words slipped into the air like smoke, vanishing as soon as they were spoken. The dealer's smile widened. She placed a single chip on the table, and it flickered, burning with an eerie blue flame.
The wheel spun.
The cards turned.
The dice rolled.
When the final result fell against him, the man let out a strangled cry. In that instant, the color drained from his face, his shoulders sagging as if a decade had been carved out of his body. His youth withered before the eyes of the silent spectators. The dealer reached across the table and collected his chips—the fragments of his life—sliding them neatly into the house's bottomless vault.
"House wins," she whispered.
The man collapsed, broken, his breath ragged. No one rushed to help. The gamblers watching only leaned closer, their eyes shining with feverish greed.
At the edge of the room, in the shadows near the entrance, another figure watched. A newcomer. His heart pounded as he realized what he had just witnessed. This was not a casino of wealth. It was a casino of fate.
And once you entered, there was no turning back.