Ned and lucas were led by David to a spacious room on the second floor. The windowless space was illuminated by the warm, flickering glow of lamps mounted on the walls, casting dancing shadows across the room. Three large tables dominated the center of the room, each surrounded by four players. At the heart of each table sat a dealer, methodically dealing out cards with practiced precision.
The players' expressions varied widely, revealing the highs and lows of their gambling fortunes. A few appeared on the verge of tears, their face pale and tense as if the weight of their losses were too much to bear. Others maintained stoic, unreadable expressions, as if their resolve to hide emotion was as critical as their next move. Among them, only a few wore smiles of triumph, their faces displaying the satisfaction of a winning streak.
The room buzzed with a mix of tension and anticipation, the clinking of coins and the occasional shuffle of cards adding to the charged atmosphere.
Ned absorbed the scene, his eyes sparkling with excitement. His face lit up with a grin so wide it looked like he had just discovered a treasure chest full of gold. He surveyed the players, sizing them up as if they were nothing more than easy money waiting to be scooped up. It was the look of a kid who'd just found himself in a candy store— only this time, the candy was his to take.
"WOHH, look what we have here!! If isn't the infamous Bet Miller!" A man in his mid-thirties called out, his messy dark brown hair, black eyes and bronzed skin, gave him a carefree feeling as nothing in this world could bother him. He gestured toward an empty seat beside him. " Come on, sit here. We just wrapped up the game finished the game."
Ned grinned, his with teeth gleaming as he slid into the cair. "Well, Old Gold, if you're so eager to hand over your coins, who am I to refuse such generosity?"
Old Gold let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "We'll see about that, kid. Let's hope that smile stays after you leave here with empty pockets!"
David, standing of to the side, looked on with a grin, clearly enjoying the banter. He couldn't wait to see Old Gold's face when the kid cleaned him out. Lucas, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably, already picturing Ned heading home broke and apologetic.
"Same game, same rules?" asked Ned as he exchanged two golds for twenty chips with the dealer.
Old Gold smirked. "Have we ever played anything else?"
The other players, who had initially dismissed Ned because of his age, began to watch him more carefully. Money on the table had a way of sharpening instincts, and no one wanted to underestimate someone who walked in with such confidence. Ned's demeanor made it clear that this wasn't his first time in a gambling den.
Ned picked up the dice, rolling them in his palm. His excitement was barely contained as he leaned forward, his voice brimming with energy. "Alright, gentlemen, let's begin fatebinder!"
Fatebinder was a widely popular game, known for blending luck and strategy in equal measure. It was simple enough for commoners to enjoy yet had layers of depth that appealed to seasoned gamblers.
The game was played over five rounds, with players competing to achieve the highest score in each. Each participant started the game with five cards, valued from one to seven, drawn from a shared deck.
At the beginning of each round, players placed their bets. They could raise, call, or fold, depending on their confidence. After betting, each player rolled a six-sided die to establish their base score for the round. To improve their chances, they selected one card from their hand to add to their dice roll. Cards were placed face down, then revealed simultaneously.
The player with the highest combined total—dice roll plus card value—won the round and claimed the pot. In the rare case of a tie, the tied players re-rolled the dice to break the deadlock.
The game continued until all five rounds were completed, and the player with the most winnings at the end was declared the overall victor. With its mix of chance and cunning, Fatebinder had earned its reputation as both a gambler's delight and a thief of fortunes.
The cards were dealt, and each player glanced at their hand with carefully controlled expressions. Some furrowed their brows, others cast calculating looks around the table, but Ned remained relaxed, as if he had already won.
Old Gold surveyed the scene, his sly grin never wavering. "I hope you're ready, kid. This isn't child's play.'
"Doesn't need to be," Ned shot back, his confidence unwavering. He glanced at his cards for a brief moment, a glint of excitement in his eyes.
Only in this glanced Ned noticed how terrible it's his cards, with a seven, six, two ones and a two. However don't wanting to show that, he continued to show a excited and confident face.
The dealer shuffled the deck and gestured toward the dice in the center of the table. His voice cut through the tension like a blade. "Roll to decide who sets the stakes for the first round."
The players reached for the dice one by one, their movements deliberate and measured. The tension thickened as each roll landed. A "3," a "4," and finally, a "2."
Then came the roll of the man sitting across from Ned. He was thin and wiry, with a sharpness in his features that suggested a quiet cunning. His dice tumbled and stopped on "3." He glanced up at Ned, offering a faint, humorless smile, as if to say, Don't underestimate me.
Finally, it was the turn of the man sitting two seats away from Ned. He didn't look remarkable at first glance, with his unassuming face and nondescript clothes. But his eyes told a different story. They were cold and piercing, devoid of hesitation—a sharp contrast to his otherwise nervous demeanor. When his dice stopped, the "6" facing up might as well have been a thunderclap in the quiet room.
The man's gaze swept across the table, taking in his opponents. His voice was steady but low, with a weight that demanded attention. "Five chips," he said. Simple. Direct. Unshakable.
Ned's grin faltered for just a moment, his excitement now mingling with intrigue. This one's not like the others, he thought.
The dealer nodded. "Five chips it is. Gentlemen, place your bets."
As the players began stacking their chips, the air in the room grew heavier. The man who set the stakes leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable but his eyes flicking to each player in turn. Ned studied him carefully, noting the subtle stillness in his movements.
But there was no time for deeper reflection. "Now," the dealer announced, "let's start the first round. Gentlemen, roll your dice!"
The first to roll was Old Gold. He leaned forward, tossing the dice with a casual air, but the way he held his breath betrayed his nerves. The dice tumbled and finally stopped on "4." He exhaled, relieved, and sat back.
The thin, wiry man went next. His roll was precise, almost hesitant, as if calculating the trajectory before the dice even left his hand. The dice hit the table with a clatter, landing on "3." He smirked faintly, his expression calm but guarded.
The man with the cold eyes was next. His roll was deliberate, the dice spinning sharply before halting on "5." He gave nothing away, his face a mask of icy focus.
The fourth player, a merchant whose fine clothes and polished demeanor practically screamed wealth, rolled his dice with exaggerated nonchalance. When the dice landed on "2," he chuckled, as though it didn't matter in the slightest.
Finally, all eyes turned to Ned.
He picked up the dice, rolling them between his fingers as if savoring the moment. The room seemed to quiet, the clinking of coins and shuffling of cards fading into the background.
He gave the dice a firm shake, the sound echoing like a drumroll in the silence. "Alright, let's see what fate has in store," he said, his grin never faltering.
The dice hit the table, bouncing wildly. Each spin seemed to stretch time, every player leaning slightly forward to catch the result.
And then—time seemed to freeze.
The dice wobbled, teetering precariously as though deciding their fate. The room held its breath, every gaze locked onto the small, tumbling object that would determine the next move.
The weight of the unanswered question hung in the air like a storm cloud.