The Time Gambler's Curse

Chapter 15: The Rules of Time

The cards lay spread before Damian, their edges worn, their faces hidden like the secrets of fate itself. His hand trembled, hovering above the deck as if his very soul were caught in the balance between the unknown and the inevitable. Across from him, the Dealer watched, his smirk carved from shadow and certainty, as though every outcome had already been written in the pages of time.

The weight of the final move bore down on Damian like an anchor, heavy and inescapable. The trap had been set long ago. Every step, every breath had brought him to this moment, and now, here he sat, facing not just a man, but the embodiment of time itself. He had been playing a game he never understood, one where the rules had remained hidden in the corners of his mistakes, his regrets.

"The rules were always there, Damian," the Dealer said, his voice smooth, almost kind in its cruelty. "You've spent all this time fighting them, believing you could change the outcome. But time doesn't care about your struggle. It cares only for the game."

Damian's chest tightened, his breath shallow. He had fought so long, pushed so hard, trying to bend time to his will, only to realize—too late—that the game was never about winning. It was about survival. About acceptance. His eyes darted down to the cards, still facedown, waiting for him to make the move that would seal his fate.

"I didn't know the rules," Damian whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. "How could I play when I never understood what was at stake?"

The Dealer chuckled softly, the sound like the rustle of dead leaves. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong. Time doesn't care if you understand the rules. It only cares that you play. And you, Damian, you've been playing all along, even when you thought you could outmaneuver it."

The words sank deep, twisting in Damian's gut. His pulse quickened, the frantic beat of a man who had realized too late that he was lost in a game he couldn't win. "What are the rules then?" he asked, his voice thin, desperate. "If I can't change anything, if I can't win—what was the point of any of this?"

The Dealer's smile faltered for a moment, a shadow of something darker flickering across his features. "The rules are simple. Time doesn't bend, Damian. Time moves. It doesn't matter what you wagered or why. It only matters that you moved through it. Every choice, every jump—it was all part of the game."

Damian's fists clenched, anger bubbling beneath his skin. "Riddles," he spat. "You keep talking in riddles while I've been chasing a fix that never existed. What was the point of dragging me through this if there's no way out?"

The Dealer's eyes gleamed, a predatory glint catching in the dim light of the casino. "Because you needed to learn. The game isn't about fixing anything. It's about playing your part. You thought you could change the past, but all you did was create more fractures, more cracks in the very fabric of time. And now, you've come to the end of it."

The realization hit Damian like a punch to the gut. His jumps, his attempts to control fate—they hadn't just broken the rules, they had deepened the fracture. He had been caught in a web of his own making, the threads pulling tighter with every move he made.

"So, there's no way out?" Damian's voice trembled, barely more than a whisper. "No way to fix this?"

The Dealer's gaze softened, just for a moment, as if acknowledging the gravity of the question. "There's no way out of time, Damian. The game isn't about escaping. It's about understanding that every move leads somewhere. And now, you've reached the final hand."

Damian's eyes fell to the cards once more, their edges frayed from use, each one a symbol of a choice made, a consequence lived. His hand hovered over the deck, trembling with the weight of it all. He had spent so long running, so long trying to fix the unfixable, and now—now he was faced with the ultimate truth. The rules had never been about control. They had been about navigating the inevitable.

With a deep breath, Damian asked the only question left. "What happens when I play the card?"

The Dealer's smirk softened into something colder, more knowing. "That, Damian, is the final rule of time. Once you play your move, there's no taking it back. Every decision has a consequence, and time doesn't care about regrets."

A shiver ran through Damian. His whole life, he had fought against this moment, thinking he could cheat time, that he could win against its relentless march. But now, as he stared at the cards, he understood. Time had never been his enemy—it had always been his path. And he was merely a traveler upon it.

The Dealer leaned back, his expression unreadable now. "You've spent so long thinking you were the one making the rules. But time—it doesn't need your understanding. It only requires that you play."

Damian's breath steadied. The fear, the anger, the regret—they all began to dissolve into something quieter, something deeper. Acceptance. He had fought for so long, chased the impossible, and now, finally, he understood. The game had never been about beating time. It had always been about learning to move with it, to play his part in the grand, unchanging flow.

His fingers closed around the card, lifting it from the table. When he turned it over, he felt a jolt of surprise.

It was blank.

A moment passed, heavy and profound, as Damian stared at the empty card, waiting for its meaning to reveal itself. But there was nothing—no symbols, no cryptic messages. Just the endless white of nothingness.

The Dealer's smile returned, slower this time, almost gentle. "You see now? Time doesn't care about the card. It only cares that you played."

And in that emptiness, Damian found something he hadn't expected: peace. The blank card was not a trap—it was liberation. The realization washed over him like a wave, the calm that comes from understanding what had always been true. He hadn't been playing to win or lose. He had been playing to learn that the game was not about control. It was about acceptance.

Damian met the Dealer's gaze, a strange sense of calm settling in his chest. "So what happens now?"

The Dealer's smirk faded into something more solemn, almost reverent. "Now, Damian, you move forward. The game continues—but you, you are no longer a player. You've made your final move."

A weight lifted from Damian's shoulders, lighter than he could ever remember. He stood, his body trembling with the relief of a man who had finally stopped fighting. He turned toward the door, the warm light spilling in from the outside, beckoning him forward.

For the first time in what felt like lifetimes, Damian wasn't afraid. He wasn't running. He wasn't chasing the clock.

He was free.

The Dealer watched as Damian walked through the door, the soft creak of it closing echoing in the stillness. In the silence of the empty casino, the Dealer reached for the deck, shuffling it once more, his smile fading into the shadows.

Time, as always, moved on.