After completing the transformation of the castle, I sat down upon the throne.
The stone was cold, ancient, as if it had existed long before I ever imagined it. From here, the gray fog stretched endlessly, swallowing distance and time alike. The palace responded to my presence, subtle ripples passing through the air—as though acknowledging its master.
Once I confirmed that everything was stable, I returned to my bedroom in the real world.
An idea struck me.
I picked up the alarm clock from my bedside table and brought it with me into the castle.
Success.
That single act confirmed several things. I could bring ordinary objects into the dimension freely, as long as they were under my control. After several rounds of testing, I gained a clear understanding of the rules—what could be transported, what required permission, and what was outright rejected.
Then came the most important test.
Communication.
Standing alone in my room, I spoke softly, deliberately, letting each word carry intent.
"The Fool that doesn't belong to this era."
"The Mysterious Ruler above the gray fog."
"The King of Yellow and Black who wields good luck."
"The True Creator who embodies luck, deception, and fate."
The moment the final line left my lips, the world seemed to pause.
I returned to the castle.
There, suspended in the gray fog, was the confirmation I had been waiting for.
The honorific worked.
A slow breath escaped me.
Good. Very good.
Now came the real question.
Who should I invite first?
This wasn't charity. This was investment.
If I wanted to maximize profit—and influence—there was an obvious choice.
Tony Stark.
Billionaire. Genius. Arrogant enough to believe he controlled his destiny—and desperate enough to reach for any edge once his world began to crumble.
Perfect.
I briefly considered Bruce Banner, but dismissed the idea just as quickly. He was already unstable, already on the brink. Now wasn't the time.
The twins crossed my mind next.
Wanda and Pietro.
Inviting the Scarlet Witch early could reshape the future in ways even I couldn't fully predict. That alone made her tempting.
Then there was T'Challa—the Black Panther. A king, hidden wealth beyond imagination, and access to technology that could rival Stark's.
Stephen Strange was still just a surgeon somewhere in New York. Too early.
Hope van Dyne was a possibility.
Thor Odinson was… complicated. Asgard held treasures and knowledge far beyond Earth, but inviting a god too early could attract unwanted attention.
I immediately ruled out S.H.I.E.L.D. agents like Black Widow and Hawkeye. Not yet.
Captain America was still frozen in ice.
Spider-Man was just a kid.
The Inhumans—especially Black Bolt—were wealthy, powerful, and dangerous. A future option.
After weighing everything carefully, I made my decision.
Three invitations.
Tony Stark.
T'Challa.
Wanda Maximoff.
Two kings of wealth.
One harbinger of chaos.
Before summoning them, I faced a more subtle problem.
How should I appear?
I was the ruler of this domain. I could not lower myself by speaking too much, nor could I afford to reveal too much. Mystery was authority.
So I created a solution.
With a thought, a clone formed—seated at the edge of the long stone table. It was an extension of my will, a puppet through which I could speak when necessary, without diminishing my presence on the throne.
I would remain silent.
Observing.
Judging.
Before the invitations were sent, I reshaped the environment once more.
The fog thickened, obscuring faces entirely. Each participant would only see vague silhouettes—humanoid outlines seated around the table. No expressions. No identities.
I added faint, distorted music—low, rhythmic, unsettling. Not loud enough to distract, but impossible to ignore.
When I finally settled back onto the throne, power rolled off me like a tide.
If anyone dared to look directly at me, they would feel it.
Fear.
Awe.
The instinctive realization that they were standing before something ancient, unknowable, and far above them.
I raised my hand.
The first invitations were about to be sent.
And the Tarot Club would finally begin.