i've walked in shadow, for a time

elias shifted from terror to celebration on the news overnight. every timeslot saved for disappearances had been replaced with father christmas - and chess was confused. it was a bit dark, they thought. chess had witnessed a figure in the underland drink someone's spirit like water and here these humans were ... celebrating the spirit of christmas as if none of it was happening. what did christmas do to deserve such a day?

"and you'll forgive me if i ask what the purpose of this is," chess said plainly as they motioned to a nearby tree strung up with colorful lights. even wonderland knew not to mix foliage with electricity.

But…

Tonight he’d slipped into Elias temporarily. The Underland had let him.

Cor had assumed, entering the city of New Elias for the very first time, that the purpose of his visit would be to not miss home so much. But, unfortunately, New Elias was not to his taste. Everything was…well, so merry and so bright that it almost seemed to be hiding something. (Was that the Underland in him talking?)

A passerby was commenting on a nearby Christmas tree. Cor was about to just walk away, unable to bear any fake spirit of festivity, when he realized that—thank heaven—this person had a negative take.

“You know,” Cor said to the other person casually. “I feel like you’re right on more than one level. It’s coming across as purposeless, right?... We don’t do this kind of thing in my homeland—it’s a little more…I don’t want to say ‘tasteful’, but, well, it sort of is? It’s not electric lights and some kind of attempt to make everything else vanish, is what I mean.

“Are you from here? Elias?” Cor asked the other person curiously. “Do they always do the decorating like this every year?”

holiday festivities event starter (00/05)

eric lingered near the edge of the underland market, hands shoved into his jacket pockets as the air buzzed with vendors barking deals and customers haggling hard enough to start small wars. neon signs flickered overhead, casting everyone in colors no human skin tone should naturally come in. he scanned the crowd, pretending to study a crate of glowing fruit while really watching the alleyways for anyone who looked a little too interested in disappearing. "oh, don't mind me.. just checking things out."

The Vale wasn’t tricksy like this; it was two-faced, to be sure, but the people were warm.

The feelings at the holidays were warm.

Maybe I should just sneak into Elias for a look at what it feels like right about now, Cor thought as he approached the glowing fruit. There was another customer looking at the same crate…but, as he said, “Oh, don’t mind me,” Cor realized that he likely wasn’t just a browser. The man’s gaze was on the alleyways.

“Of course.” Cor paused; he was probably going to say more than he intended, but, well, that was his whole life, wasn’t it?

“Not to pry—especially not while you’re occupied with checking things out,” Cor said, leaning over the crate to grab a pear with a soft golden glow. “But, well…I’m curious as to what you think’s going to happen in that alley over there. This whole market’s restricted access—supposed to be safe, reliable customers…or am I wrong?”

He stood, pear in hands, and offered the other man an innocently curious expression. It was genuine.

orion liked watching people decide whether to cross a threshold.he stepped down from the balcony with the kind of movement that didn’t disturb the air so much as convince it to shift around him. a reflection caught him first..his silhouette materializing in the glass doors just as cor asked the passerby his question.

"people don’t get what they want here." orion came to stand beside him, close enough that cor could smell smoke and the faintest metallic note from the casino’s enchanted lights. "they get what the casino decides they’re ready to face." he said was an invitation or a dare. orion’s eyes glint with something that looked almost alive as the neon serpent blinked overhead, throwing green fire across the other's cheekbone.

"saw you studying the building," he murmured, angling his head just enough. "most people glance once and rush in. you’re looking for signs, omens, a place to breathe before you step into something volatile." his gaze traveled deliberately, unhurried to the hidden wings beneath the leather jacket. a faint smirk followed. not mocking but just highly aware.

The reality was that the world was intriguing to Cor instead of intimidating…vast instead of daunting…beautiful instead of strange.

Orion Bartholomew was, perhaps, a thesis statement on how beauty and strangeness were not exclusive. Orion Bartholomew was the first person Cor had met who—when that familiar “fight or flight” instinct asked the familiar “fight or flight” question—provoked both responses in Cor; Orion, despite igniting a retaliatory fire so hot it hurt behind Cor’s eyes and inside his chest, made Cor take a step back.

Anyone who knew him would’ve also known he was livid. But Orion probably saw Cornelius Aurion as someone out of his depth, playing beyond his league. He probably saw the fear and not the fight.

Let him.

“They get what the casino decides they’re ready to face,” the man who was plainly Orion (if countless descriptions of the man were correct) explained as Cor caught the acrid scent of smoke. Cor, despite a couple conversations earlier to the effect of the casino being very bad news, had suspected something similar; there was something to be had in there, something that uncoiled at the leisure of the casino itself. That in and of itself was a challenge—and Cor loved challenges; but the earlier conversations, particularly the one with the man in the light pink T-shirt, had sobered him—made him conscious of what he had to lose.

Which left Cor trapped between two virtues—his courage and his own self-preservation.

As Orion continued to speak, Cornelius Aurion listened visibly; his posture leaned toward the other man ever so slightly, and his face was one of thoughtfulness—consideration. His eyes, however, were wide. (That was the fight-or-flight. Both urges rolled into one. Let Orion pick which was the dominating instinct.)

(This was Cornelius Aurion, and therefore the right answer would be “fight”.)

“You’re looking for signs, omens…” Orion was saying to him. He was reading Cor like a book. …And then Orion took it one step further, and all but confirmed that he knew Cornelius by face, by species, by identity.

He eyed the wings, and smirked, and Cornelius knew instantly that he would not be leaving the Snake Eyes Casino as he’d all but made up his mind to do two minutes prior.

Orion knew him? (And it was plain that he did—his following statement about “court rules” made it all too apparent.) All right—then Orion ought to also know another thing that wasn’t visible: Cornelius’s obstinance. He ought to know Cor’s strength.

Yes, Cor knew exactly who he was looking at right now—and smiling mildly at, as if he were a friend. (This was something Cor did, for better or worse, when something had gotten under his skin.) Cor knew this man conducted the Underland like an orchestra, hurt the Underland like it was second nature, played with the Underland like it was the only thing on his mind; he knew that Orion Barthlomew, owner of Snake Eyes Casino, was very much stronger than Cor.

But as Cor said, “I think you have me confused with another fairytale prince from another good-for-nothing court,” he realized that he didn’t care.

Because:

“I used to gamble all the time, and my dream scenario was that nobody or their mother thought I’d win. That’s a real fairytale. The kind where there’s someone out there who absolutely hates your guts.”

Cor glanced at the casino; smiled a tad broader (again, a product of Orion having gotten under his skin); glanced back at Orion.

“The Snake Eyes Casino may decide what people are ready to face…but, well, I’ve sat through enough lessons in leadership to recognize a short leash.

“Cards on the table,” said Cor, the smile vanishing. “If I walked in there and engaged in your business, as you’re recommending…I feel as if you’d respect me less. I feel as if you’d hate me more. I feel as if you think you’re above your clientele, and—correct me if I’m wrong, this is entirely based off of hearsay but you know that, too—

“I feel as if the infamous ‘tight ship’ that your reputation ensured I’d heard about…is not an exercise in management, but one in image.” Cor raised his brows. “I was told over and over again that government is an extension of the people’s will, no matter how good or powerful a ruler you are. Snake Eyes will always reflect the idiocy of people who say ‘yes’ to an offer like yours—the offer you just extended to me. Therefore…Snake Eyes is at its best when it looks more like you than them.

“I was asking questions about your noble establishment because—much like you, actually—I need to know that my endeavors will meet me halfway.” He paused, staring at Orion blatantly. “Of course, you know I’m not doing this for me. Of course, you don’t care.

“But do me one trivial kindness this evening,” Cor asked Orion, “and don’t make me the person who walks into that casino alone. You hate that person. You run this place to discard that person almost instantaneously.

“Make me the person,” said Cor as he smiled once more, “who’s able to talk to you.

“Why are you watching the exterior of your building?” Cor asked at last.

it had been three months since she and billy followed grim across the country with their harrowing unspoken mission. three months since she had spoken to grim, despite their agreement - but that was an issue for another time. by now, mandy knew where to go and where to stay away from. by now, she was spending more time in elias, both old and new, and primarily coming into the underland for work.

by now she knew nothing good came out of the gloam market, bought or sold.

so what was she doing at the very center of it now, on her night off? the market was no place for a girl unfamiliar with it and yet here she stood: curious and unwavering.

dark magic came with a price - she knew that. once she was told of a man who sold his name for a handful of berries that, allegedly, granted immortality to any who would eat one. what the man wasn't told, however, was that the body would still naturally decay. imagine how brittle bones at 90 turn to dust at 300.

and still the man without a name lives on.

her goal here was to inspect. to look around only and report back to no one. intel was best kept in silence for her own protection, regardless of what that intel might be. but, maybe something would be worth the price. her curiosity led her toward the nearest, most inoffensive looking table covered in crystals, trinkets, and keys.

"you think these actually unlock anything?" she asked the person next to her, pointing at the most intricate key. "a trunk filled with your deepest desires?"

And yet, as Cor visited the Gloam Market for the unusual underground flowers—using his (changing) powers to heal imperfections in those he didn’t buy as his payment—he often found it rewarding to, his arms full of flowers, appraise the other goods on offer for their worth. Cornelius had always possessed a particular keen eye for value; paired with his decent ability to “feel” magic from short distances, it made trips to the market veritable lessons in Underland culture.

The woman beside Cor at a table stuffed with little treasures was asking him a question.

You think these actually unlock anything?

As she pointed to a particularly ornate key, Cornelius chuckled lowly and took a good look at it. The “trunk filled with your deepest desires” was probably at a more costly booth (with, if Cor knew this place well enough by now, hinges set so you could look through the opening at the desires but not fit your hand inside). The key itself, however, was a spectacle of its own accord; whoever had wrought it had been a master.

Cor’s gut twinged at the sensation of dark magic inside of it. These days, that twinge was not one of foreignness—it resonated with something shadowy that had taken root in Cor, something that twisted his magic and made it unpredictable. (As if on cue, Cor felt the flower his left hand was touching turn pitch black.) But something as tangible as that key was a very different matter from the ambiguity of what was happening to Cornelius; the key was inanimate and ruled by whomever had cursed it (as Cor knew someone had), while Cor himself had the power to remain fully in control, if worse for wear.

“I think that key unlocks a trunk filled with the things you desire least. I think that the key is overcompensating.” Cor pointed to another, smaller key, with some sort of mineral embedded inside. “That key, on the other hand, probably unlocks something intriguing. Maybe a box…that contains a bigger version of whatever stone is in the stem. Good for making and selling many mysterious mineral keys for the rest of your days.”

Cornelius pointed to a faintly orange crystal, then told the woman, “That’s the one that stumped me. Is it just me, or is it casting too long of a shadow?”

he considered the other's words carefully. being cautious was only the first step, he knew. someone could accidentally make a deal they didn't intend to make. people didn't make deals when they had other options—and there were always other options. in his opinion, most people should stay away deals in the underland. they ought to use him as the poster for making bad deals. although he understood the desperation.

"patience... eventually wears thin."

he'd have never made the deal all those years ago for his soul if he thought he could survive. jinu made it, immediately regretted it, and still made bad decisions. now his loyalty was only to the person that could give him the best deal for getting rid of his memories. he only trusted the people he worked with because they hadn't proved him wrong, but there was only so little trust he had to give away.

jinu put a lot of thought into his own image, what people saw and how he interacted with the people in elias. he spent quite a lot of time there when he wasn't trying to keep a low profile. he wanted people to trust him. although he didn't make 'friends' like some people did, he found himself hoping that someone would take the time to understand him. not many had. although jinu would protect any one of the rest of the saja boys, he wondered how easily they'd replace him if he stepped out of line. who was next in line anyways? he wondered.

he also put a lot of effort into what he wore. jinu liked looking like he was a normal citizen of elias. he was nothing more than someone who didn't want to stand out in a crowd. he liked that he didn't. the only time he didn't walk around without a jacket was in his own home. the demon marks across his arms was suspicious enough, but he didn't need to make people even more suspicious of him—he already had people breathing down his neck.

he listened to the man talk. the rationalizing a bad decision. he'd been in the same boat before. thinking there was nothing he could lose. thinking there was nothing worse than being poor and making sure his family was safe. damning his own soul to make sure his sister and mother were safe. thinking he was valiant, a hero, someone to be celebrated— and then betraying it all for the fame, the fortune, the notoriety.

"the thing is..." he started, staring back. "there's always something more to lose, even if you don't think there is. a loved one, a home, your morals, your memories, your soul." it sounded like a threat because it sort of was one, but it was also a warning. one that he should have listened to. "it's not about jeoparadizing or looking like a fool, it's about your own self."

he thought for a moment. "suppose you do save whatever you're trying to save and the second you do, you betray the very people you were trying to save because you've lost something you cannot replace." it wasn't worth it. speaking from experience, it was never worth it. given the chance, he'd probably redo his whole life, make different mistakes, new mistakes and learn from the ones he had and was currently making.

"never a total lie, but an omission of the truth—which if you ask my opinion is the same thing, but it's not my mistake to make. i won't make deals with orion unless it was the last deal available." he hummed under his breath and glanced inside. the dazzling lights, the noise, the atmosphere was overwhelming to the point where sometimes he did feel like it was his only option.

"these days, i'm not sure what isn't at stake."

There was the obvious resting on the surface. Making bad deals got one hurt. Trusting an enemy was akin to thinking fire your friend. Snake Eyes had ruined many, many people (this, too, was obvious in hindsight), and for Cor to think himself above that “natural law” would be half foolishness, half tragedy. The story could easily start and end with that.

But precious wisdom, submerged and almost silent, lay between the lines.

The man had answered Cor’s comment about taking his time with a deal by saying “patience wears thin”. Yet this man himself was the epitome of patience; this man responded to Cornelius’s inquiries and observations with the kind of cool stamina that could either wear down an empire or commit to playing some sort of part.

This man was, then, not speaking from his observations—he was speaking from some kind of personal experience.

…Which made his insight all the more priceless—and more surprising.

Cor was rarely patient. From afar, he’d always viewed it as an end-all, be-all; if this man was correct—and, Cor could intuit, he was—what could patience not accomplish at the bargaining table?

What did this man know?

The man’s remarks after that particular statement, however, were enlightening in a completely different fashion.

He said that you could lose your memories—your soul. That was new to Cornelius—The Vale didn’t mess with identity. But even worse than that, the man explained that one could endanger the good by removing an element of it that was truly irreplaceable.

These truths Cor could have arrived at himself, given time. But underneath them lay another piece of advice, one that Cor never would have arrived at himself:

Snake Eyes plays for keeps. They don’t give back what they take—ever.

Unfair. Playing dirty. Cor could have accused them across the board, but the man’s new words made him take a step back from his sudden disgust and actually think.

Never a total lie, but an omission of the truth.

(Cor immediately responded to the other man’s comment on that with, “You’re right—that’s clearly the same thing.”)

So. Snake Eyes had the power—and used it. There was no winning, no “bright side” (or, rather, clever side for the underdog), no iota of a fair deal anywhere in the establishment; there was only Orion Bartholomew’s way—or the absence of information that residents of the Underland and wanderers like Cor alike suffered from every day. There was only corruption, and a bad end. This was what the stranger before Cor communicated to him; this was what the stranger before Cor so kindly warned him of before it was too late.

Cor had hoped to deal with a third party within those walls who was not Orion. But, with a culture of harm that established…

…it seemed no one would be helpful to Cor tonight.

“You’ve been generous to steer me in the right direction on this endeavor—thank you very much,” Cor said to the stranger as he thought. A group of people spilled through the doors of the casino between him and the other man, and he almost expected him to be gone by the time they’d left and Cor was delivering the second part of his reply.

“I won’t be dealing with anyone tonight,” Cor told the man honestly. “But there’s information inside—information that not just me, but a massive number of people might benefit from. I can’t let that fall by the wayside.

“This is asking more from you than you likely anticipated—I know. But…

“Would you mind filling me in on who the people are to avoid in there? I intend to go inside—not to make a deal tonight, but…to start to make a presence for myself on the gambling end.

“I said I’m not a gambler—that’s true. But I used to be, and am not too shabby around a card table.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be making a deal at Snake Eyes, thanks to you,” Cornelius Aurion said in conclusion, “but I need to know the face of the people I’m against." I need to know my enemy.

And to see if I can’t find, conveyed on the floor of this casino, some weakness in the way they work.

It smelled like rain in the Underland. Not because it was raining, the sky, if it could be called that, was just as fractured and uncertain as the streets it loomed above, but because the scent of damp earth and rusted iron clung to the stone archways and worn tarps that shielded makeshift tents. Aurora gently brushed dust off the last crate of donated blankets before stepping aside to allow a small group of people through. Her hands were red from the chill, and the edge of her coat was stained with mud, but her smile remained.

“Here you go,” she said, kneeling beside a little boy who clutched his sister’s hand. She offered them a pack of hygiene supplies and a roll of wool socks. “The red ones are lucky. Or so I’m told. They giggled quietly, then scurried off after murmuring thank-yous, their eyes not quite meeting hers.

Aurora exhaled slowly, her breath curling in the cold. The donation tent was quieter now, the early evening crowd having thinned out, though more would come as word spread through the maze of alleyways. She moved to rest against a nearby crate, letting herself pause for just a moment. The soft hum of distant generators filled the silence, along with the occasional cough or shuffle of boots on stone.

The Underland was nothing like Old Elias, even less than the rebuilt corners of New Elias and yet, she felt more grounded here than in any marble tower or council chamber. She mattered here and she was making a difference.

She thought of Phillip at times like these. She wondered if he would be out here helping her. He had a big heart and she was sure he'd want to do more than that. Her fingers brushed the edge of her skirt stained from sitting in the dust earlier to help a limping man lace up new boots.

From behind her, the flapping of a tent signaled someone new approaching, whether a volunteer, someone in need, or a stranger with questions, she didn’t know. Aurora stood to meet them, brushing golden hair back from her face as her eyes met theirs.

“Can I help you with something?”

But it wasn’t until an old woman made her way down the side street Cor was observing today—and proudly told another woman, brandishing a stack of blankets, “Winter’s saved!!”—that Cor realized there was someone doing it. It was no supply train, no accident; there was somebody around the corner handing out all of the goods, because every person Cor had seen had fully appreciated the goods’ worth. (They wouldn’t have known if they could trust things recovered rather than received.)

So Cor was now looking into it. Cor—whose aura of spring kept him warm, meaning he didn’t really need things for winter—was eying the new tents, the brother and sister scampering through an opening and into an alleyway, the palpable energy that said, “This is what the Underland deserves.” He thought about that precept for a second; he agreed with it—the Underland did deserve human effort, human compassion, humanitarians in tents just like these ones. The Underland did deserve love.

But Cor had always thought that that love might well up from inside the hearts of the Underland’s own citizens—from the power of its people. …He’d thought that change would come, as the most powerful changes did, from within.

Consequently, Cor thought, Who is brave enough to take Elias’s spirit straight past diplomatic channels—straight past political theory, secret influence, waiting for a people to find their strength and doing what you will with them from there—and all the way to the people’s doorstep?

The Underland is untamed, and tough as leather. Who on Earth has the personal strength to contend with the culture made out of dynamite?

(These were, as you may be able to guess, the thoughts of someone who’d sat through many lectures on how to be a king.)

Cor entered one of the tents at last, his mind made up to ask the courageous soul inside of it why they did what they did. He found her; as they made eye contact, and as she brushed hair back from her face, Cor was struck by her noble bearing. Cornelius Aurion could tell right away when somebody navigated the world for a good cause, simply by how they carried themself. This woman was one such hero.

He decided that he could trust her—with the question he’d been trying to answer all week.

“This visit of yours has been more productive than some businesses down here,” Cor started, offering a small smile. He was wearing a dark gray coat and a necklace of polished obsidian, but he almost felt—and keenly felt—that the Elias resident and kind individual before him would get his former, Vale of the Fairies attire better.

Cor rested a hand on a nearby crate and looked the humanitarian in the eye. “It probably doesn’t take me to tell you that what you’re doing is…off the beaten path.” He paused. “And, of course, brave; and, of course, appreciated.

“I’ve been wandering the Underland for some time now,” Cor said then, “and from what I’ve heard…more people want these efforts than don’t.”

He sighed. If his wings hadn’t been folded beneath layers of thick clothing, they would have drooped.

“I’m searching for a cure for a sickness,” Cor told the woman plainly. This was the question he’d been wanting to ask—as of this week, he’d been taking on his mission in The Vale a little differently. Treat it like a person; treat its curse like disease.

Find a biological solution.

“Do you have any medications in this tent that have been enchanted in any way in Elias?” Cor asked. “Doesn’t matter how minorly; doesn’t matter how weak the medication. I just need to know if Elias’s magic—whatever its tenets, whatever its ‘style’—might be what I’m looking for.

“I’d examine the med, and its magic, and that would be all I’d need. Thank you kindly.”

he knew he probably shouldn't say that too loudly. he really didn't want to offend orion, even if he really didn't care. the casino was a popular place regardless of his own personal opinion. he used to gamble when he was younger, but only for fun or to fit in. jinu liked going to the casino with everyone though, while the rest of the idols ran around having fun, he really enjoyed the chaotic nature of a casino. the bright lights, the loud noises, the people thinking they could beat the house. it could be fun.

on a normal night, jinu might have been beside baby at the poker table, watching him try to guess who was lying—it was always interesting at a place in the underland because most everyone down here was a liar. some nights he'd watch mystery somehow manage to have good luck at the slot machines. or watch romance at the bar chatting up someone. or abby forgetting the rules of blackjack. tonight though, he needed fresh air more than he wanted to walk around inside the casino. or maybe he wanted to be on his own, these days he didn't know the difference between the two.

the casino was crowded again. between desperate people wanting money or wanting to make deals with orion, there were plenty of people around to make mistakes. he liked people watching because it reminded him that he was still among the living and crowded places like the casino was one of the few places that he could distract his brain from the memories that popped up. his favorite place to forget was the stage. the only time he felt alive was when he was on stage.

jinu eyed the person standing in front of him. as much as they tried to fit in, jinu could tell they weren't from around here. he leaned against the wall. his baby pink saja boy's shirt, paired with jeans and plain white sneakers paired with the headphones he never left the house with—he'd learned that no one expected him to walk around wearing his own group's shirt and it made him blend in more. he was just a fan. still, the pink was a nice pop of color in this dreary place. he wouldn't judge someone for not fitting in here.

"if you're not here for gambling, then you're hear to make a deal and that's dangerous." jinu knew a thing or two about making deals with people. it was a deal that kept him from clawing his eyes out, even if he hated hades and the work he had to do. ridding himself of the memories that haunted him was far more important than pretending he cared about the people of elias.

"people get what they think they want, but rarely is that ever the fact. if you walk in there desperate, you'll walk out a loser." but people walked out losers either way because the dealer always won. "the house always wins."

he hoped his words weren't too harsh and that he came off more helpful than not. "my friends are in there losing money playing silly games." he thought for a second. maybe he was being slightly dramatic about the casino—it was after just all a casino. "my advice is don't go in there if you aren't prepared to lose everything."

The house always wins.

The statement was truth. The statement was real truth, not the kind that soothed, sickly-sweet, or incited action, inherently biased. The man before him was offering him a window into the soul of Snake Eyes; he was saying, in essence, Don’t do it.

But Cor—despite the man’s warning not to go in desperate—really had very few options.

He could venture into Elias proper and search there. That road was easier, but likely unyielding; many an Underlander had outlined the difference between Elias and Underland magic—“it’s old down here,” they’d tell Cor, “and it’s wild.” That was the kind of magic that Cornelius Aurion needed to fix The Vale.

Cor could also, if he was up for trying again, search all the lifeless, mystical parts of the Underland—caves galore—for a clue. If Snake Eyes turned out to be too big of a gamble, he was probably headed back there.

Or Cor could start to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind the entire time: Why doesn’t my magic work anymore?

The power of spring.

Why wasn’t it healing the blight?

Cornelius turned his gaze on the man who had (kindly) answered his questions. He was normal; a Saja Boys T-shirt (pink! Cor approved!) and jeans combined with headphones to give the impression that this man really was who he said, just someone dragged there by his friends. His advice, though, had been extremely strong—the words of someone who knew exactly what it was to lose something. (His guidance wouldn’t have been so distilled if he didn’t.)

Cor took a step toward the man and put his hands in his jean pockets. He didn’t know the best way to handle his mission anymore—“being prepared to lose everything” was not where Cor wanted to negotiate from when it came to information trades. But he thought he’d ask regardless:

“Suppose I did walk in there, and I got taken advantage of by some huckster with a silver tongue,” Cornelius began quietly. He let his gaze unfocus as he thought. “Suppose—and this is, maybe, supposing too far—I ended up jeopardizing the very thing I’m trying to save. Like the monkey’s paw, like the worst kinds of granted wishes.

“Suppose all that, and suppose I was made an absolute fool of in the process. No one would respect me ever again; that bad.

“If I then had nothing, and ‘the house’ then had all I formerly possessed…”

Cor looked into the man’s eyes. “Would that be something I’ve never experienced before—at the hands of magic and destiny?” He smiled without feeling. “It wouldn’t be. That’s where I’m coming from.

“So tell a second-timer. Is Snake Eyes in the business of lying? About what’s at stake? …Because that’ll make all the difference, for me.”

He smiled again, this time with the warmth and gratitude he felt for this man’s excellent advice. “I appreciate your help.”

Donnie  had  been  keeping  a  low  profile,  shadows  wrapping  around  his  shell  like  a  second  cloak,  the  purple  glow  of  his  tech-dial  dimmed  to  a  dull  flicker  beneath  his  hoodie.  His  eyes  flicked  upward  the  second  someone  addressed  him,  casual  question  or  not,  this  was  the  Underland.  Questions  didn’t  come  free.  He  blinked  once  behind  his  glasses  surprised  he  hadn’t  noticed  Cornelius  sooner.  Regal  bearing,  despite  the  leather.  That  wasn’t  Underland  native  energy.

“No  one  gets  what  they  want  here,”  Donnie  said  simply  gaze  lingering  on  the  doors  of  Snake  Eyes  like  they  were  about  to  bite.  “They  get  what  they  trade  for.  Sometimes  more.  Usually  less.”  He  took  a  cautious  step  closer  not  threatening  but  deliberately  closing  the  space  between  them.  “But  you  probably  knew  that  already.  You  don’t  walk  in  here  wearing  court-cut  cheekbones  and  a  jacket  like  that  unless  you’re  willing  to  risk  something.”

Wearing a hoodie and glasses, he seemed quite normal. But Cor couldn’t deny—nor would he want to, when it came to intellect—that his advice (and Cor hadn’t even dared to hope for that) was sage. Cor hadn’t known just how far the poison within those casino walls reached…but a statement like “they get what they trade for”?

It seemed that this place took far more than it gave.

(And the addendum that everyone was watching served to solidify that impression. Cor took a step inside an adjacent shadow and kept his head down low.)

Cor laughed softly, dryly. “Do my cheekbones out me as a strong personality?” he asked the other man, internally curious. “Or as a martyr for a cause of royal proportions? I won’t lie—there’s something of that ilk on the line, but you knew that, or else you wouldn’t be pitying me and my unsuitability for this endeavor enough to answer me.”

It was true—this person, casual and “beneath notice” the way they were, probably had something different than aiding the conflicted on their plate.

“But you are correct,” said Cor, “in every pragmatic way. I don’t think I’ll be sharing the whole sob story—yes, it’s a sad story, you deserve to know that for your kindness—once I head through these double doors.”

Cor looked at the other man, his curiosity now likely written on his face. “Have you ever struck a deal at Snake Eyes?” he asked.