With a flick of his fingers, Blackwell raised his hand, and the space around them seemed to empty, hushed off all presence. He widened his right palm, and a flame leapt upward—then another, then another—dancing as he tossed them from one hand to the other.Gradually, the flames transformed into a swarm of tarot cards,
spinning and twisting in the air as if alive. Without warning, they settled neatly atop the table, spreading out in a mesmerizing pattern.
Blackwell's gaze fixed on them, deliberate and unreadable, as if the cards themselves held the weight of some hidden truth.
Crow's eyes fell on the cards spread across the table, drawn to the tarot cards.
Blackwell regarded him calmly. "Pick a card."
Crow raised an eyebrow slowly, studying Blackwell.
"Pick a card," Blackwell repeated, his voice steady, almost insistent. "Any card."
Crow hesitated, then extended his hand, touching one of the cards. He turned it upward.
The card revealed itself—dark yet intricate, gold patterns twisting across its surface. An image appeared:a figure sitting atop a broken throne, legs stretched forward, resting on pillars. The sky behind them was empty, and foreign words were written below.
Crow's brow furrowed. He could not understand the language, yet the image resonated deeply.
He held the card, and a faint wave of energy passed through his skin. Looking down, his feet were blanketed by warm red roses, surrendering completely to their touch.
Raising his head, he glanced around—but Blackwell was gone.
He shifted back slightly, card still in hand, and looked forward. A dying tree stood before him, its roots dead, branches stripped of life.
Something in the sky drew his gaze—a vision that unsettled him. He felt a raw, inexplicable evil pressing down, a corruption like shattered divinity, an oracle undone, dragging him toward madness. He stumbled back as petals from the roses scattered through the air.
His eyes flicked to his right hand. On his palm, a giant mouth appeared. He waved it frantically, trying to remove it—but it would not vanish. Then, impossibly, the lips spoke.
Unyielding and unsettling, ungiving and untaking, truly shameless.
"For you have walked entangled through the Wanderer's Deck,
for you have journeyed through insanity,
and you have claimed madness—
betrayed by fate and trapped by destiny."
As the voice moved on his palm, the lips whispered again:
"Truly, and truly, shameless you are.
For you have entangled the Deck of the Wondrous Journey.
You have been bestowed the title of Shameless.
You have become the bastard of insanity,
and thus you shall carry madness.
For you have been sealed with a faith of insanity,
a vessel for a deity that is neither divine nor human."
The lips spoke with authority, then the mouth on his hand vanished.
Crow blinked, turning slowly, his mind struggling to anchor itself to reality.
He found himself once more at the table. The tarot cards lay neatly before him. Blackwell stood opposite, his gaze fixed and unyielding.
His voice carried a rhythm that seemed almost otherworldly. "Pick a card… any card."
Crow stared at him, confusion tightening his chest. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took a tentative step forward, then extended his hand again toward the cards.
Stretching his hand forward, Crow picked another card—this time choosing one from the very end of the deck.
He lifted it.
The card shimmered faintly—gold veins running through dark silver and black metal. At its center stood the image of a man alone in an endless void. No sky. No ground. No presence.
Below it, written in a foreign script:
The Wondrous Deck.
Crow stared at it in confusion—yet this time, he understood the language.
Blackwell studied him. "What is it?"
Crow's eyes lingered on the card before meeting Blackwell's.
"The Wondrous Deck."
A flicker passed across Blackwell's face, though he concealed it quickly.
"Oh? Perhaps it is a new deck."
Crow turned sharply. "What do you mean—a new deck?"
Blackwell merely clicked his fingers and turned away, waving his hand dismissively.
Crow did not press further. He walked out of the office without looking back.
The corridor stretched before him once more. At its end, Lily waited.
Her pink hair shimmered under the gas lamps, her garment flowing with innocent precision.
She smiled.
"Welcome to the High Court."
Crow stared at her, still unsettled. He gave a slight nod, though his mind was still trapped inside that office.
He said nothing of the lips.
Nothing of the title.
Nothing of the word Shameless.
Why was he keeping it secret?
Even thinking about it felt heavy.
Lily looked at him gently. "You are now to become a member of the High Court. You need not dress as you are."
Crow blinked.
"What is the High Court?"
Her eyes brightened. "It is a secret association of those known as Ascendants."
Crow placed a hand against his cheek.
Ah… that explains why the old man kept speaking of madness.
He followed Lily down another corridor. She stopped at its end while Crow approached the door ahead.
He turned back.
"Aren't you coming?"
"I'm sorry," she replied softly. "Only you may enter from here onward."
Crow hesitated—then stepped through.
The space beyond was dark, damp, and faintly foul. The smell reminded him of the lawless district—rot, moisture, neglect. Yet this was inside a room.
A gas lamp flickered to life.
A cloth covering a figure fell aside.
A young woman stood there—small in stature, long crimson hair cascading down her back. Her garment was oversized, slipping loosely from her shoulders. She rose slowly.
Crow's brow furrowed.
The High Court… do they all possess such strange characters? What is this nonsense?
She was neither tall nor short, her presence oddly fragile. Round red eyes. Pale skin. Soft pink lips.
The garment slid further from her shoulder, exposing part of her skin.
Crow immediately turned his gaze away.
Only then did he truly see the
room—garbage scattered across the floor, filth gathering in corners. Unclean. Unkept.
He covered his nose slightly, stepping back.
No form had been given to him. No oath explained. No test described.
And yet here he was.
He straightened himself.
"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Crow Morrow."
The girl looked at him.
Her voice came small, dragging slightly behind her breath.
"Ema Rose… that is my name."