A chill ran down Lars's spine. He remembered those nights back at the palace—the unsettling feeling of being watched, the shadows that seemed to stretch too far. Now, that same shadow was slowly moving toward him.
Lars nodded slightly, his jaw tense. "I thought I was imagining things. When I opened that book—you're connected to it, aren't you?"
"You weren't imagining anything." The shadow retreated back into Viktor like a pulse of darkness melting into his silhouette. "It was me. I was watching you. And no, I've never seen that book before."
Silence fell again, heavier this time. Lars held Viktor's gaze, a mix of distrust and curiosity burning in his eyes. "Why?" he finally asked, his voice low but firm. "What the hell did you want from me?"
"I was curious to see who you were and how you ended up in Dominion," Viktor said, still looking out at the city. Then, more personally, he added, "And I wanted to know how the old man Seck is doing."
Lars took a step closer, intrigued. "Seems like Seck is quite popular… The first thing Sigmund asked me when I arrived was how I knew him, then Klein gave me information about him—and now you."
The water in Viktor's glass swirled slowly as he held it. "After Marcus, he was the one I trusted most in Dominion. If that man was at your back, you knew you were safe. You knew he'd never stab you. But now… I can't say the same."
Lars frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
"Just remember this," Viktor said calmly, though his voice carried an edge. "No matter how kind some people seem—or how nice they smile—don't trust too easily. The organization's falling apart."
He paused, gazing at the horizon. "It wouldn't surprise me if one day some of our members tried to destroy Dominion from within—or leak our secrets. The truth is, the group's splitting slowly into factions. And believe me… not everyone agrees with Sigmund's leadership."
Lars stood silent for a moment, thoughtful. "And who's on Sigmund's side?"
"Besides Marcus and me, there's Klein and Amelia—you've met them. Also Frank Becker and Amaya Tanaka. The rest… they follow their own ideals. Even though Sigmund's the leader, many prefer to obey others." Viktor finished and stepped away from the window toward his room.
Lars stopped him. "What about Lauren?"
Viktor turned around. His voice dropped a tone. "The only thing I can tell you is that she's on the side of the man who despises Sigmund the most."
Lars frowned. "Then why did Sigmund treat her so well at the palace? Just like Amelia and Klein."
"Because he knows what she's capable of. It's better to keep her calm—and he doesn't want to spark a war with that man." Viktor yawned lazily. "Anyway, that's enough talk. I'm going to sleep. Good night."
He closed the door behind him.
Lars stood still, replaying Viktor's words in his mind. He'd thought Dominion was a solid, united organization—or at least that's what it looked like back at the palace. The thought of internal divisions and quiet betrayals made him uneasy.
His eyes drifted toward the coffee table, where a deck of English playing cards rested. Lars had always loved card games—Contract Rummy, poker—and especially the sleight-of-hand tricks he'd practiced since childhood. He grabbed the deck almost unconsciously and began to shuffle it, his movements fast and precise.
Without realizing it, the mark on his wrist began to darken. A strange heat coursed through his arm—and suddenly, small black flames flickered among the cards.
Lars's eyes widened. He dropped the cards instantly, but they never hit the floor; they disintegrated midair, reduced to dust in seconds.
What the hell was that?! That's… my power.
Cautiously, he picked up another card and focused on it. He inhaled deeply, concentrating. The mark on his wrist pulsed darker, and again, black flames engulfed the card, consuming it until nothing remained.
This fire was different—hungrier, absolute.
He stared at the ashes drifting through the air, both terrified and fascinated. Then he tried the same with another object: a pen. Nothing happened. Then a magazine, a napkin—still nothing.
He frowned, grabbed another card, and once more the black flames erupted instantly.
"Why only the cards?" he muttered. "What the hell makes them different?"
Confused yet exhilarated, Lars stared at the floating dust. For the first time, he felt real power—something tangible, something alive within him. He almost ran to knock on Marcus's and Viktor's doors, to show them what he'd discovered, but stopped himself. They were surely asleep.
Not the right time.
He gathered the deck—or what was left of it—and locked himself in his room. The night dragged on as he repeated the process again and again, watching the black flames dance and devour each card. No other object responded—only the cards.
Baffled yet smiling faintly, Lars continued experimenting until dawn.
By nine in the morning, he was still asleep when a knock came at his door.
"Lars?" It was Marcus's voice.
Groggily, Lars opened the door, his hair a mess. "What's up?" he mumbled.
"Breakfast's ready," Marcus said, raising an eyebrow. "But you're still sleeping? We were supposed to start early today."
Lars yawned. "Didn't sleep much. I… managed to make my power work last night."
Marcus blinked, surprised. "Seriously? How?"
"Give me a few minutes to shower, and I'll tell you over breakfast."
Marcus grinned. "Forget it, breakfast's already on the table. Viktor's waiting."
Lars sighed. "Fine. At least let me wash my face."
A quick rinse and a toothbrush later, he walked to the dining area in his pajamas. Marcus was halfway through his meal, and Viktor sat with a cup of coffee and a stack of documents.
When Viktor saw Lars, he frowned. "Pajamas? We're supposed to start working today." His tone was dry, almost commanding.
Lars shrugged as he sat down. "Had a productive night. I figured out how my power works."
Viktor set his cup down with a soft clink. "What did you just say?"
Marcus, still chewing, added, "He's serious. Said he finally made it work."
Lars took a breath and told them everything—the black flames, the cards burning away, his failed attempts with other objects.
Both listened closely. Marcus looked fascinated; Viktor, analytical.
When Lars finished, silence lingered for a moment.
"Interesting," Viktor murmured, tapping his fingers on the table. "If your flames only react to cards, then your bond isn't just with fire—it's with a symbol."
"A symbol?" Lars repeated.
"Yes. Powers granted through demonic pacts don't always follow logic. Sometimes they manifest through objects that represent something personal—a memory, a repressed emotion, a fragment of who you are," Viktor explained. "Your demon might've tied your power to whatever channels your intent most effectively."
Marcus crossed his arms. "So you're saying Lars's black flames depend on the cards because he… feels something toward them?"
"Exactly," Viktor nodded. "It could be emotional. Maybe the cards remind him of something, or represent control, chance, deception—the things the demon sensed within him during the ritual."
Lars looked down at his cup. "I've always liked cards," he admitted quietly. "Not just for games. I liked how unpredictable they were… how every hand was a mystery. I guess I've always tried to keep control, even when everything seemed random."
"There you have it," Viktor said with a faint smile. "Dark fire doesn't destroy at random—it mirrors what's inside you. Maybe the cards are its chosen vessel."
Marcus tilted his head. "Isn't there a way to change that? I mean, use the power without depending on cards?"
"Maybe someday," Viktor said. "Once he fully understands it. But forcing that process too early could come with a cost. Every demonic power is bound by balance—break it, and the demon takes its due."
Lars went quiet, absorbing the weight of his words. That spark of excitement from earlier was now tempered with caution—and respect. He reached for his coffee, then paused, remembering something.
"There's a problem," he said. "If my power only works with cards, it's useless in combat. They burn away instantly—I can't hold the flames long enough to do anything."
Marcus nodded. "He's right. If the cards vanish before you can act, it's worthless in a fight."
"Exactly," Lars said, frustration creeping into his voice. "If I can't stabilize the flames, I can't use them to defend myself."
A pause. Viktor studied him quietly, his gaze calculating. Finally, he spoke:
"Maybe the problem isn't the power—but the medium."
"The medium?" Lars asked.
"The cards are too fragile to contain that energy," Viktor said. "But if you changed the material—made them from steel, or some alloy designed to channel demonic energy—you could maintain the flames as long as you wish. Imagine a deck of metal cards… your power would become far more stable—and deadly."
Marcus snapped his fingers. "That actually sounds brilliant. Metal cards. That could work."
Viktor nodded. "When we return to Germany, talk to Sigmund. He has access to Dominion's blacksmiths and alchemists. He'll know what materials can withstand your flames."
Lars nodded slowly, a flicker of hope lighting his eyes. "Then that's what I'll do." He smiled faintly. "Maybe those cards still have a purpose after all."
Viktor leaned back as the sunlight of Dubai filtered through the hotel curtains—marking the end of their talk, and the beginning of something new.