The glow of the sun spilled gently across the horizon as Novaeus stirred from deep slumber.
Not that he needed rest—his kind transcended such mortal requirements—but sleep was, as he had discovered, a pleasant way to pass the hours. He opened his eyes to the lavishly decorated ceiling above him, tracing the patterns of gold and ivory that curved like frozen waves.
"EIDEN," he said, his voice steady, carrying the ease of command. "What time is it?"
"My Lord," EIDEN's voice replied through the glasses resting on the bedside table, calm and exact, "it is 5:30 in the afternoon. The manager from the previous casino has sent a message. The poker game will begin around eight this evening, and a driver will arrive to collect you at seven. You still have ample time to prepare."
"Hmm," Novaeus murmured with a slow nod as he rose from the bed. The silk sheets slid off his shoulders like liquid shadow. "Plenty of time indeed."
He walked to the bathroom, the polished floor cool beneath his bare feet.
"EIDEN," he said again, looking over the unfamiliar fixtures, "order food for me. And tell me—how does one use this contraption?"
"My Lord," EIDEN replied, ever patient, "the mechanism is rudimentary. Turn the knob to allow water to flow. Adjust the second for temperature. It is primitive by Dominion standards, but it will suffice."
"I see," Novaeus muttered, his tone carrying faint amusement. "A crude but functional device."
Steam filled the chamber moments later. He washed swiftly, the water cascading over him in clean warmth. The simplicity of it—the abundance—fascinated him. In the Astral Dominion, water was sacred, rationed only to the highborn and the elite. But here, on this small blue world, it gushed freely from walls as if it were infinite. He found the notion almost absurd.
When he emerged, a new aroma had filled the air. On the dining table lay a feast: red wine glimmering in the crystal glass, a thick cut of A5 Wagyu steak cooked medium rare beside creamy mashed potatoes, a platter of lobster and pasta, and a spread of steamed oysters, sushi, and golden Ebi tempura.
EIDEN's voice accompanied the sight. "Your order is complete, my Lord. The establishment's kitchen executed it with commendable precision."
Novaeus sat and studied the food, expression unreadable.
"Water," he said quietly, recalling his earlier thought. "In the Dominion, one could build empires with a single reservoir. Here, they use it to wash their bodies, even their feet. They treat abundance as carelessly as dust."
He picked up the wine glass and took a slow sip. The flavor was sharp, earthly.
"This planet is primitive," he said, almost to himself. "Yet… curious."
He began to eat. His enhanced metabolism made such indulgence inconsequential; he could consume the entire spread without difficulty. He took his time, sampling each dish, experiencing textures and tastes that were once the privilege of kings in his realm.
As he dined, he spoke again. "EIDEN, this poker game we are to play—tell me its rules. I need complete understanding before I sit at their table. I will not appear ignorant, especially if I intend to win."
"Yes, my Lord."
A brief pause followed, then EIDEN's voice filled the quiet, smooth and deliberate.
"Poker, my Lord, is a game of chance wrapped in strategy. Each player receives cards and places wagers over several rounds. The goal: hold the strongest hand—or convince others that you do."
Novaeus listened in silence, cutting into his steak.
"The hands," EIDEN continued, "are ranked in ascending order: High Card, Pair, Two Pair, Three of a Kind, Straight, Flush, Full House, Four of a Kind, Straight Flush, and Royal Flush. Players bet, call, raise, or fold through each round. When all wagers are made, the cards are revealed. The best hand—or the best deception—wins."
EIDEN paused, his tone softening into something almost philosophical.
"In truth, poker is not a game of cards, but of people. Victory belongs not to luck, but to the one who best reads fear."
Novaeus smiled faintly, setting his fork down. "So… a game of strategy, then."
"Yes, my Lord," EIDEN replied. "I have uploaded every possible variation and strategy into your neural drive. With your current equipment, victory is assured. The glasses can provide full readouts—facial temperature shifts, pulse rates, even microexpressions. In addition, their X-ray function will reveal your opponents' hands should you choose to use it."
"That seems… convenient," Novaeus said with quiet amusement.
"Indeed. However," EIDEN continued, "such games can last for hours. Fatigue and emotion often dictate the outcome more than cards themselves. You will need to pace your play—to make them restless, agitated, predictable. Control the tempo, and they will dance to your rhythm."
"I see." Novaeus leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "Then let us test this so-called game of chance. Let us see how much this world's luck is worth."
He finished the meal with deliberate grace, emptying the last of the wine. EIDEN contacted the reception to handle the cleanup while Novaeus prepared himself for the evening ahead.
He changed into a new set of clothes—sleek, tailored, and simple. The tuxedo had been recalibrated by EIDEN's nanofabrication subroutine: woven with adaptive fibers that could mimic ordinary fabric yet resist damage. The violet sheen of his eyes caught the faintest trace of light as he looked into the mirror.
"Do I appear… ordinary enough?" he asked.
"To the untrained eye, yes," EIDEN replied. "To those who see deeply, you will appear as something they cannot define. That, my Lord, is the best disguise."
A faint smile curved Novaeus's lips. "Then let them wonder."
He left the room and descended to the hotel lobby. The air there was scented faintly with polished marble and imported flowers. Guests passed by, dressed in evening wear, voices mingling in multiple tongues. Novaeus sat on one of the velvet couches, crossing one leg over the other, appearing every bit the composed gentleman.
Through his glasses, EIDEN projected subtle overlays—names, occupations, data streams drawn from local databases. Every person who passed was catalogued silently. To anyone watching, Novaeus was simply a man waiting for his evening appointment.
When the clock struck seven precisely, the glass door at the entrance opened. A man in a dark suit approached, posture straight and purposeful. He moved with a practiced gait—a man who had been trained to navigate other people's nights without becoming part of them.
"Good evening, sir," the chauffeur said, voice careful and polite. "I was assigned to collect you tonight. I drove you here last evening as well—if that helps with timing."
Novaeus's gaze sharpened subtly. The recognition was not of a face etched into memory, but of patterns: the man's posture, the manner in which he carried himself, the faint scent of the same cologne that had brushed Novaeus as he stepped from the car the night before. The familiarity settled like a small, accurate weight.
"Indeed," Novaeus said mildly. "You were the driver who returned me to my lodgings earlier. It seems the house prefers continuity."
The chauffeur gave a small, professional nod. "We find patrons prefer the same driver when possible, sir. It keeps things smooth. Do you require assistance with anything this evening? Luggage? Refreshments?"
"No luggage," Novaeus replied. "I require only your punctuality and discretion."
"You will have both," the man said with a small, assured smile. "The route tonight will avoid high-traffic corridors and pass through the service entrance. It keeps the cameras and the crowds minimal. If you would prefer, I can also maintain a slower pace on arrival, so your entrance is not sudden."
For a heartbeat Novaeus considered the precise kindness of the offer—an offer from someone whose casual care hid layers of utility. He inclined his head almost imperceptibly. "Very well. That course may suit tonight's needs."
The chauffeur's expression softened into what might have been sympathy—or merely professional courtesy. "If there is anything you require during transit, sir, please let me know. Water, a brief stop, anything."
"Understood," Novaeus replied. He watched the man's hands as he motioned toward the sleek black car waiting at the curb. "We shall be on our way."
Before Novaeus rose, a small, nearly inaudible insertion came through his glasses—EIDEN's signature logic, delivered like a whisper in the ear. Profile: chauffeur. Employed by the casino for six years. Routine driver for V.I.P. rotations. Monitored by casino integrity systems; no flagged irregularities. Behavioral baseline: efficient, discreet. No evidence of hostile intent. The data folded into Novaeus's mind as casually as breath.
"Thank you," he said softly, appreciating the summary. The driver's professional air did not falter. He opened the rear door with the practiced motion of one who has carried many men to similar thresholds.
They drove through the city. The streets blurred into a parade of neon and signage—small shops yawning closed, street vendors folding their stands, the distant clatter of maintenance crews taking down temporary stalls. The car wove through lanes with a purpose that felt like choreography; the chauffeur's hands were steady on the wheel.
Novaeus sat back and watched the city pass with curiosity. The man next to him was more than just a conveyance; he was a small, necessary note in the evening's composition. A familiar figure—seen once and now again—lends an odd thread of continuity to a life stitched from anonymity.
EIDEN's voice murmured in his ear, neutral and efficient. "Estimated time of arrival: twelve minutes. I have temporarily disabled facial-recognition feeds within two blocks of the casino. Digital footprints will be minimized during transit."
"Thoughtful," Novaeus said. "Keep the car's channel clean."
"I have done so, my Lord," EIDEN confirmed. "No traces will remain."
The chauffeur, glancing at Novaeus through the rearview mirror, offered a small, human smile. "We are nearly there, sir. I'll open the passenger door directly on the service side to ensure minimal attention."
"Thank you," Novaeus said, and then added, almost conversationally, "Your familiarity is appreciated."
"It's my job to make sure the night is as quiet as possible for gentlemen such as yourself," the driver answered. "We prefer things to appear natural, even if they are arranged."
They slid into the casino's approach under the cover of muted lights. The façade shimmered, gilded and noisy, its heart pulsing with music and commerce. The chauffeur opened the door. "Welcome back, sir."
Novaeus rose, straightening his cuff with a practiced motion. He stepped into the warm noise and the smell of perfume, cigarette smoke, and expensive oil. The night swallowed him in a tide of color and voices—where chance and appetite braided together until they were indistinguishable.
"EIDEN," he murmured as he crossed the threshold, "it begins."
"Indeed, my Lord," EIDEN replied. "The table awaits."
And with that quiet note, Novaeus Karion walked forward into the casino's gilded maw—each step measured, each breath deliberate—ready to make his first true wager among mortals.