The Rift Castle breathed like a beast in its sleep. Green braziers licked at the black ribs of the throne hall, their shadows curling along the walls like claws. The air stank faintly of ozone and stone left too long in the sun, though no light ever touched this place.
The generals had dispersed after the King's fury, leaving silence in their wake. Silence, however, never lasted long when Fate lingered.
The Lord of Destruction strode down the long corridor toward his quarters, cloak still guttering thin. His gauntlets flexed with every step. He had not shed the humiliation that clung to him like oil. Bested. The word gnawed at him. He wanted to grind it out of existence, the way his hamr could flatten a village square.
But Fate was waiting.
The tall figure leaned against one of the ribbed pillars near the corridor's mouth, deck in hand, cards sliding between his fingers in a constant, restless dance. His cloak shimred violet in the braziers' light, too rich, too smug.
"Well," Fate said without looking up, "the prodigal hamr returns. Limping, no less. I half expected the King to lt you down and recast you as a doorstop."
Destruction's molten eyes narrowed. "Fate."
"Ah, he speaks." A card flicked into the air, spun once, and landed between Fate's fingers again. "Tell , how does it feel? A thousand years of wreckage, every wall cracked, every fortress broken—and then along cos a cook with a rifle, and suddenly my esteed brother is on one knee in front of the King, whispering about being… bested."
The last word ca out like honey poured over venom.
Destruction's gauntlet creaked. He could still hear the silence of the throne hall when he had said it. He had bled, and worse, admitted it.
"I survived," he said, voice low, iron dragged through gravel.
Fate finally looked up. His eyes were galaxies crushed into sockets, swirling stars that danced with cruel amusent. "So did the Lady of Illusion, after her first gas. For a while. Then—" He snapped his fingers. A card flipped, the Fool, grinning wild. "Gone."
"She toyed," Destruction growled. "I fought."
"Mm." Fate twirled the card, let it vanish into stardust. "And still the King's fire nearly burned you to ash for bringing excuses instead of triumphs."
Destruction stepped closer. The heat of him pressed against the air, making the pillar sweat. "Say what you ca to say, trickster."
Fate grinned. "Oh, but I already have. I rely enjoy the music of your teeth grinding. It's such a rare tune. You, humiliated. You, forced to kneel. You, promising ti like a rchant begging credit." He shuffled, cards whispering. "If I close my eyes, I can almost hear the bells of Elandra laughing."
Destruction's shoulders flared with fire, cloak snapping. For a mont, the obsidian under his boots cracked. "Careful, Fate."
"Careful?" Fate tilted his head, mock-innocent. "Careful was what you should have been when the bullets found your visor. When the Cook's artillery rattled your ribs. When the archer's leaf pinned your gauntlet like laundry on a line. Tell , what did it feel like? To bleed?"
The words cut closer than steel. Destruction's hands shook, not with fear, but with rage. "It felt like rembering what battle ans. And it will never happen again."
Fate slid another card free. The Tower—burning, crumbling stone. He studied it, then held it out, almost kindly. "You know what this is? A fall. Swift, sudden, unavoidable. I drew it when you spoke of being bested. The deck agrees with , not you."
Destruction slapped the card from his hand. It fluttered to the floor, burned, and vanished to smoke. "Your toys don't decide ."
"Oh no," Fate said lightly, "but they predict you. And right now, every line I read, every thread I pluck, every card I draw says the sa thing: you are shaken. Shaken badly. Perhaps broken."
Destruction surged forward, towering over him, heat rolling off in waves. "I am not broken."
Fate did not move. He smiled that thin, sly smile, and let another card slip from the deck. The Joker—chaos painted in mismatched colors. "No. Not yet. But he is breaking you. Inch by inch. With iron teeth and discipline you cannot bully away. And I…" He tucked the card back into the deck with delicate fingers. "…I enjoy watching."
Silence stretched between them. One hot, one cold. One brute force, one silk-thread cruelty.
At last, Destruction turned, his cloak flaring like a banner of fla. "Laugh while you can, Fate. The next ti I et the Cook, the archer, the city—they burn. I will grind his iron storms to dust."
Fate's laugh followed him down the corridor, soft, echoing, impossible to shake. "Oh, I hope so, brother. Because watching you fail again will be the sweetest draw of all."
Destruction did not answer. His gauntlets clenched until sparks hissed. He would not fail again. He would not kneel. Next ti, the Unbound Soul would die screaming.
But Fate wasn't finished. His voice slipped after him like smoke curling under a door.
"You know," he said lazily, "there's sothing almost poetic about it. You, the Lord of Destruction, reduced to the King's lecture hall example. Illusion dies playing gas, and you—well, you don't die. You crawl back with your visor cracked and your pride leaking like a punctured wineskin."
Destruction halted, spine stiff. Slowly, he turned, heat spilling down the corridor.
Fate smiled wider. "Oh, don't glare. It doesn't suit you. You're not brooding, you're sulking. There's a difference." He flicked a card; it spiraled through the air and landed face-up on his palm: the Hanged Man. "See? Even the deck thinks you're dangling, waiting, upside down. Pathetic, really."
Destruction's hand twitched. He wanted to close it around Fate's throat, to snap that smug calm in half. But he rembered the King's warning, heavy as stone. Do not confuse endurance with victory.
"You toy with shadows and paper," he said finally. "I carve lessons into the earth."
"Mm," Fate humd. "Yes, yes, very inspiring. But the Cook carved lessons into you, didn't he? The way you flinched when his artillery sang. The way you staggered—ah, I would pay to see it again. Perhaps I should thank him for teaching you can stumble."
Destruction's cloak flared like a furnace door kicked open. "Mock again, and—"
"And what?" Fate cut in, voice sharp, dangerous now. "Strike ? In the King's halls? Oh, please do. Let's see how well your humiliation plays when you add treachery to it."
For a long mont, they stared at each other—fire against stars.
Then Fate chuckled, soft, infuriating. He fanned his deck, every card shimring. "No, you won't. Because deep down, you need . You need my whispers, my warnings, my cards. Without , you're just a hamr waiting to be swung. And perhaps…" He tucked the deck away with a flourish. "…waiting to be broken."
Destruction turned sharply, cloak snapping against the corridor walls. He stalked toward his chamber, each step cracking stone, each breath hot enough to warp the air.
Fate's parting words floated after him, sweet as poison:
"Do keep practicing, brother. I'd hate for the Joker to draw your blood twice."
Destruction did not look back again, but the fire rolling off him left scorch-marks along the corridor's ribs. His helm under one arm, his jaw tight enough to splinter stone, he forced his pace toward the solitude of his chambers.
Fate, though, never let silence win. His voice followed with the ease of smoke finding cracks.
"You should thank , you know," he drawled. "Had I told the King what my cards really whispered, you'd be ash already. The Tower, the Hanged Man, the Joker… all pointing to you crumbling faster than your pride can patch the gaps." He let the words linger, then added sweetly: "But I didn't. I left you your ti. So perhaps you owe ."
Destruction halted mid-step. The heat around him spiked, lantern braziers guttering in fear. Slowly, his molten gaze turned back down the hall.
"Owe you?" His voice was iron dragged across anvils. "The day I owe a trickster is the day I forget what fire is for."
Fate smiled, unbothered. He flicked a single card into the air, let it spin lazily until it landed upright on his palm. The Devil. Horned, grinning, bound in chains. "But fire burns both ways, brother. And sotis, chains are forged from anger itself."
For a heartbeat, neither moved. One promised violence, the other promised inevitability.
Then Destruction turned away once more, cloak snapping like a banner. His footsteps thundered toward the dark, leaving Fate leaning against his pillar, violet cloak shimring in smug amusent.
"Run along then," Fate murmured, tucking the Devil back into his deck. "Plan your vengeance. Shape your counters. Because when you et him again… I'll be here, waiting to draw your fall."
His laughter echoed down the corridor, cruel and light, chasing Destruction into the black.
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