The Time Gambler's Curse

Prologue: The Game of Time

The dim glow of a hidden room cast long, spectral shadows across walls stained with the weight of years. Elias sat alone at a polished table in the center, an array of cards spread before him. Each card bore a symbol from an ancient lexicon, characters too old for the human mind to interpret and too potent for it to forget. These cards were but fragments of a grander scheme—a piece of a game that stretched across lives and centuries, a game bound by choices, paths taken, and futures surrendered.

Outside, the city thrummed with life, unaware of the quiet sentinel among them. It pulsed in a rhythm of oblivion—a vast sea of lives moving forward, each unaware of the pull of time's hidden current, each oblivious to the silent keeper who bore witness to their fragile attempts to mold their destinies. Elias, ever the observer, gazed at the familiar room with the resigned understanding of one who had seen this cycle begin and end more times than he could count.

He reached for one of the cards, fingers grazing its surface. The weight of countless ages pulsed beneath his hand. This particular card bore the symbol of the Fool, the mark of those who believed they could outwit fate, shape destiny, and escape time's indifferent grasp. How often had he drawn this card, and how often had it heralded a face that burned bright with the allure of control, of bending time itself to their will?

Damian's face had been one of those—a fire in his eyes and a gambler's certainty in his smile. He had entered this very room, unaware that he was stepping into a cycle older than the stars. Elias recalled the intensity Damian brought to each decision, each move as he dared to believe he could bend time's immutable fabric. But the game had rules—rules that neither courage nor brilliance could break.

Elias released the card, letting it fall softly back to the table, its symbol glinting faintly in the shadows. Another life had played out its tale, another attempt at the impossible had been absorbed into the currents of time. And yet, as always, the game remained set, ready for the next soul, another life unknowingly poised to become a thread in the endless tapestry.

He surveyed the cards once more, each one a door to countless possible futures, each one holding the weight of lives yet to be lived. Elias had learned that these lives weren't inconsequential, even if the cycle was unbreakable. Each player left a trace, a subtle shift in the cosmic weave—a flicker of defiance, a moment of regret, a final, quiet surrender.

A faint sigh escaped him as he leaned back, the ghost of a smile crossing his lips. Time, he knew, was no river that could be diverted or reshaped. It was an ocean, vast and untamable, swallowing each ripple without slowing. In this, Elias understood his role. He was not a player but a keeper, a watcher bound to witness each attempt, every cycle of ambition, every moment where another life reached for eternity only to slip back into the silent depths of existence.

He knew there would be another—there always was. Another dreamer with eyes too bright and heart too wild, unaware that time allowed neither conquest nor compromise. But Elias would be here, as always, ready to observe, to bear witness, to guide them toward the end they could not yet see.

He gathered the cards into a careful pile, shuffling them with the ritual precision of one who had shuffled them for eons. The game was set, the players unknowingly bound, each move already in motion. And as he shuffled, Elias listened, anticipating the creak of the door, the soft, tentative footsteps of another soul who would unknowingly step into time's relentless cycle.

The door finally creaked open, and Elias looked up. Footsteps approached, and he watched as yet another chapter prepared to unfold. A new story, a new player, and yet the same eternal game.

For time was a game that allowed no winners.

Only players.