Chapter 2: EXPERIENCE


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    My head throbbed as I tried to make sense of it all.


    Yesterday—was it really just yesterday?—I''d been at the Golden Nugget, cleaning up at the high-stakes table like any other night. The clinking of chips, the snap of cards, Rocky''s steady hands dealing, everything normal until...


    That black chip.


    I remembered staring at it when I cashed out, turning it over in my fingers. It wasn''t like anything I''d seen before—no casino markings, just a skull-like symbol etched into its surface. I should''ve turned it in, but something about it pulled at me. So I pocketed it and headed back to my suite.


    That night, I held the chip again, and the pain in my arm…


    Did I have a heart attack?


    I gingerly rotated my wrists where the ropes cut into them. How''d I get from examining a poker chip in my luxury Vegas suite to being accused of assassination in some medieval dungeon?


    "Rocky," I whispered to myself, my voice rough. He''d be worried sick by now. We were supposed to grab dinner and have a games night.


    That ninja with the fire in his eyes recognized me. But how would I know any ninjas? I was a poker player, an influencer with a million followers who''d rather fold than fight. The closest I got to combat was trash-talking other players on X.


    The pulsing in my head shifted, like someone adjusting the focus on a camera. I''d been seeing something in my peripheral vision since waking up here but dismissed it as trauma or concussion symptoms.


    I concentrated on that ghostly text hovering at the edge of my sight. It sharpened into clarity. It was like wearing those AR contact lenses I''d tested for a sponsor once.


    Stats and numbers were floating right there in my field of view.


    Name: Ember


    Tier: -


    Faction: -


    Zii: -


    Cards: -


    Deck: -


    I blinked hard, but the text remained. Perfectly legible, yet somehow not actually there. The dashes after each category pulsed faintly as if waiting to be filled in.


    "I''m losing it," I muttered, squeezing my eyes shut. But when I opened them again, the interface—because that''s what it was, some gaming interface—stayed stubbornly present. Except this wasn''t a game. The rope burns on my wrists felt real. The metallic taste of blood in my mouth tasted real. And that ninja bursting into flames?


    No. That can''t be real.


    ***


    The guards returned, their boots scraping against stone. My ribs ached from yesterday''s bludgeoning, each breath a reminder of their brutality. Time blurred in this cell—had it been days? Weeks?


    "Look who''s awake," the taller one sneered, his scarred face twisting into a grin. "Pretty little assassin."


    I kept my eyes down, focusing on a crack in the floor. Don''t engage. Don''t give them anything.


    "Such lovely red hair," the other guard said, grabbing a fistful. "Rare for the faction."


    I jerked away, but the chains held me in place. His fingers trailed down my neck, making my skin crawl.


    "Maybe we should show her some... different treatment," Scarface suggested, stepping closer. His breath reeked of ale. "Might get her to talk."


    The second guard''s hand slid lower.


    "King didn''t say how to make her talk, just that we should."


    My stomach lurched. No. Not this. I''d rather take the beatings.


    "What do you say, assassin?" Scarface grabbed my chin roughly. "Ready to be more cooperative?"


    I spat in his face. He backhanded me hard enough to make stars explode behind my eyes.


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    "Wrong answer," he growled, wiping his cheek. "We''ll let you think about it. But if you don''t talk the next time…"


    The door slammed shut behind them with an awful metallic shriek. Their cruel laughter echoed down the stone hall as their heavy footsteps grew fainter.


    I closed my eyes tight, willing myself anywhere but here. The darkness beckoned, promising escape from what was coming. I dove into it desperately, letting unconsciousness take me. While their laughter faded, I sank deeper into the void, embracing the emptiness.


    ***


    I tried to chuckle, but pain shot through my ribs. The irony was too much—me, a ninja assassin? If they only knew.


    Five years ago, I won my first and only World Series bracelet with pocket aces—pure luck. The cameras loved my red hair, and suddenly, "Big Red" was trending. Some idiot commentator learned I grew up in Japan and started calling me the "Big Red Poker Ninja" for the memes.


    God, I hated that name.


    Another wave of pain hit as I shifted in my bindings.


    I''d built my whole brand fighting against that stupid nickname. Carefully curated Instagram posts, strategic sponsorships, and a merch line. Everything to distance myself from being some anime stereotype. Sure, I''d grown up in Tokyo with my adoptive parents, but I was about as ninja as a leprechaun.


    Another laugh escaped before I could stop it. The guards must have really scrambled my brain—here I was, tied up in some medieval dungeon, accused of being an actual ninja assassin. Oh, if my followers could see me now.


    The laughter died in my throat as fresh pain bloomed across my ribs. Nothing funny about that.


    ***


    “Ember?”


    My senses snapped into focus. Inches from my face, someone crouched and stared back at me. It was humanoid but thinner, made of cracked orange clay mottled with different shades of rocks.


    It also had four arms.


    I recoiled, feeling my body protest as razor blades sliced down my spine. The thing stumbled back, giving me a fuller view of the scarecrow figure. Its six limbs were disproportionately long, with oversized hands and feet.


    “Please don’t be afraid.” The voice was calm, deep, and sounded male.


    More text.


    Name: Cragmarr [Covenant Dealer]


    Tier: II [Bronze] Rank 1


    Faction: Golem [Demi]


    I squinted and read, “Crag… marr?”


    “Yes, that is my name.”


    Cragmarr knelt again, letting me see his eyes. They swirled—two orange marbles like melting creamsicles.


    “It is good that you can read your interface.”


    Interface? So, it is an interface.


    I croaked, “Where am I? Who are you? What do you—”


    “You are about to have an experience that will feel uncomfortable,” he interrupted. “Please stay calm and follow my instructions.”


    How the hell am I supposed to be calm?


    Cragmarr untied my ropes, allowing me to fall to the floor into a pool of sweat and blood. I attempted to stand, but my body wouldn’t respond.


    He stepped to a grate on the floor and twisted it open with all four arms, making a loud noise as the stone ground on metal. I winced, hoping nobody had heard that.


    “Down there,” he said.


    My legs refused to cooperate. Hours of hanging had left my muscles seized and useless. Pain shot through my body at even the slightest attempt to shift position.


    With a flick of his clay wrist, Cragmarr''s long fingers produced an orange card glowing with a mesmerizing light. He extended it toward me.


    I recoiled, eyeing the card with suspicion. After what I''d just been through…


    "It will help," Cragmarr said.


    I studied his marble-like orange eyes, searching for any hint of deception. For some reason, I trusted him and gave a slight nod.


    Cragmarr pressed the card against my chest. With another hand, he snapped his fingers. An orange coin with the same warm glow appeared. He placed the coin over the card, and it dissolved through the card''s surface into my skin.


    Warmth spread through my body, washing away the pain and stiffness. My muscles relaxed, and strength returned to my limbs.


    "The effect is temporary," Cragmarr warned, gesturing to the open grate. "You must move quickly."


    I dropped with a splash into a pool of black sludge, feeling lingering shockwaves of pain. The rancid stench of waste was unbearable. The grate slid back over the hole with a clang.


    “Ember, they will know you are gone shortly,” he whispered. “Run to the end of the tunnel.”


    The cramped sewer forced me to crouch low. I ran like a monkey on all fours, splashing through the muck and slime. Ahead was the opening at the tunnel''s far end.


    Voices erupted above me.


    “The prisoner''s escaped!”


    Stifling a gag, I kept moving.


    A child''s twisted arm dangled from an opening above the tunnel, the small hand dirty and swollen, yet the skin still soft and unblemished. As I drew closer, the rest of the tiny, mangled body came into view atop the grate.


    A renewed burst of adrenaline propelled me down the tunnel. I passed under the next grate, where another body was curled up. The last thing I wanted to do was look, but I couldn’t help myself.


    Thank God, it was an adult prisoner—an old man''s face with a scruffy beard pressed against the metal. Behind those bushy eyebrows, his eyes flickered with fire. I felt compelled to reach through the grate and touch his cheek, causing him to stir.


    “Go,” he rasped.


    I frantically tugged on the bars with a futile whimper.


    “Go.”


    Turning my head, I saw rain falling outside the tunnel''s end. Streams of water poured across the mouth of the bars, which gave me an idea.


    After crawling up to the opening, I raised my hands to my mouth, allowing the cool rain to wash down my parched throat. I refilled my cupped hands and carefully shuffled back to the old man.


    Lifting my hands through the grate, the prisoner drank as much as possible, his dry, cracked lips pressing on my palms.


    With those fiery eyes, he stared at me with new intensity.


    “Go,” he whispered. “Then seek me.”


    Seek you? There’s no way in hell I’m coming back here.


    The old man grunted as he was abruptly dragged away. My eyes met a guard''s glare, who knelt and twisted the grate, covering me in dust and debris.


    I monkey-sprinted away to the opening, where I desperately searched for some way to pry the bars open. By then, guards had entered the sewer and crawled towards me. They were bulkier in armor and moved slowly, but I had nowhere to go, crumbling against the wall in despair.


    On the other side of the opening, Cragmarr wrenched a bar from the stone. Secured with two arms, he extended his third hand after dislodging another bar to make a big enough opening.


    “Come, Ember, quickly.”


    With just enough room, I squeezed through.


    Halfway out, Cragmarr hoisted me into the air. I clung to him tightly as we plummeted, the freefall stretching into an eternity. Cragmarr’s rock body absorbed the impact as we plunged into the water.


    We sank like anchors.


    I held my breath as long as possible, my chest burning with the effort. The creature that had saved me moments before was now my undoing, pulling me into the abyss. My lungs screamed for air, and as water rushed in, everything went black.