By now, the cards had spread.
Like myth.
Like rot.
Some called them divine.
Others, cursed.
They were neither.
They were me.
I was old.
Bone-thin.
Soul-tired.
I sat beneath the ruins of the throne I once ruled.
I shuffled the deck with hands I barely recognized.
I told myself I only wanted to see.
And then I drew.
Blank.
The first card turned my flesh to bone.
But I did not die.
I became something else.
A vessel. Eternal.
I pulled again.
Blank.
The second gave me strength beyond gods.
But no crown.
Only clarity.
What I was meant to do.
The third…
Blank.
It did not speak.
It simply erased.
Not me—
The memory of me.
No history.
No name.
Only myth.
Only silence.
And so I wandered.
A Forgotten king
A Forgotten man.
Across years. Across wars.
Waiting for the one who would draw all three.
Not by chance.
But by purpose.
That bearer will not be a king.
Nor a god.
But something far more dangerous.
The hand of Fate.