There were two kinds of silence in the House.
The first was anticipation — the quiet before someone placed a bet stupid enough to rewrite physics.
The second was danger — the kind of silence that meant the House itself was listening.
Rex currently stood in the second kind.
He'd barely survived his Trial when a black envelope materialized in front of him — sealed with molten wax bearing a single symbol: a half-smiling, half-frowning mask.
Lia's eyes widened. "That's from The House of Masks."
"Sounds festive."
"Festive," she echoed flatly, "in the same way a guillotine is efficient. They're one of the thirteen Great Factions — specialists in deception, manipulation, and social warfare. They don't fight with weapons, Rex. They fight with truths."
"Ah. Politicians."
"Worse. Professional gamblers with trust issues."
The envelope unfolded into a glowing sigil that projected a floating door in midair. Beyond it shimmered a ballroom of gold and shadow.
"Guess we're invited," Rex said, stepping forward.
Lia grabbed his sleeve. "You don't have to go."
He smirked. "Of course I do. I'm allergic to good advice."
_____
The ballroom was crowded with beautiful monsters.
Each figure wore a mask — porcelain, gold, or bone — and each one radiated something Rex could only describe as intent.
Not killing intent.
Worse — curiosity.
Every eye that hid behind a mask seemed to whisper:
Who are you, Wildcard? What makes you worth betting on?
A slender man approached, his mask split diagonally — one side grinning, one side crying.
"Welcome to our table, Mr. Vance. I'm Callas, host of the House of Masks. We've been… dying to meet you."
"Please don't," Rex said. "I'm still recovering from my last near-death experience."
Lia pinched the bridge of her nose. "He means that literally."
Callas gestured, and the ballroom shimmered into a hall of mirrors — each reflection showing different versions of Rex.
In one, he wore a crown.
In another, he was kneeling in chains.
In a third… Lia stood beside him, smiling in a way that hurt to look at.
Callas's voice slithered through the glass.
"Every gambler carries masks, Wildcard. The question is — which one will you wear when the House comes to collect?"
Rex stared at his reflections, then chuckled. "Whichever one pisses the House off the most."
Callas laughed — genuinely. "Excellent answer."
A floating poker chip appeared in his hand — half black, half white.
"This is a Favor Token. One free deception in the House's records. You may use it to erase a mistake… or a person."
Rex twirled the chip. "What's the catch?"
"The catch," Callas said softly, "is that every lie you erase takes truth with it. The House remembers balance."
Lia frowned. "He's offering you power at a price. Refuse it."
Rex's grin widened. "Oh, I'll take it."
"Rex!"
"Relax. I'm just borrowing it… for science."
[System Notification]
Faction Contact Established: The House of Masks
Reward: +10 Recognition Points
Item Acquired: Favor Token (One Use)
Effect: May erase one recorded truth or lie.
Warning: Consequence unpredictable.
As they left the ballroom, the mirrors whispered after them.
The Wildcard wears no mask. How dangerous.
Lia walked beside him, silent.
Finally, she said, "You shouldn't have accepted it."
Rex shrugged. "If I didn't, they'd think I was afraid."
"You are afraid. You're just too stupid to notice."
He grinned. "You say that like it's not part of my charm."
She didn't respond — but her reflection in the glass, just for a heartbeat, smiled faintly before vanishing.