"In the name of the Maker," Councillor Carlos's voice boomed through the brass amplifiers, cutting through the rhythmic hiss of the grand hall's steam-driven ventilators. "We are summoned here to be placed where we are destined. I am the Councillor of the Distribution Sector, and I am here to bestow upon all fifty-two participants the cards they rightfully deserve."
He adjusted his spectacles, the intricate clockwork gears on his podium ticking into place. "Without further delay, I call upon Mr. Shu from House Linnar. Come forward and collect your fate."
A confident young man stepped up to the dais.
"Take your card," Carlos instructed, "and reveal it to the world."
"As you command, Councillor," Shu said, holding the heavy, metallic card aloft. "Behold."
The card shifted, its surface peeling back like liquid silver. A gasp rippled through the audience. It was a shining card—a card of absolute power.
The King of Spades.
"Now, my lord," Carlos said, bowing his head slightly, "place the card on your right wrist, so you and your power may finally connect."
"As you say."
Shu pressed the card to his right wrist. Instantly, the atmosphere in the room warped. The heavy scent of coal and steam was replaced by a blinding, oppressive light radiating from Shu's very skin. The sheer pressure of the King's presence forced the crowd to their knees. Silence blanketed the room; they were kneeling before a man who had just become royalty.
Once the light faded and the crowd cautiously stood, the Councillor cleared his throat. "Next, I call Miss Marry from House Elar."
She approached with elegant strides.
"Take your card, and show the world what you have been chosen for," Carlos said.
"See for yourselves," Marry declared, holding her prize high. "I have been chosen by the Queen."
The Queen of Spades.
When she pressed it to her right wrist, a brilliant, vibrant light erupted, softer than the King's but no less awe-inspiring. The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing off the vaulted, iron-wrought ceilings.
"Silence!" the Councillor roared, his voice amplified by the steam vents. "For the final noble draw, I call Vailor from The House Saint. Come and claim your birthright."
Vailor stepped forward, a smug grin on his face. "Listen well," he shouted to the hall, "for I have been fortunate enough to be chosen as the Knight."
The Jack of Spades.
He slapped the card onto his right wrist. The resulting light was a piercing, impactful silver-grey.
"Now," Carlos announced to the remaining forty-nine participants, "stay where you are. Your cards will react to you on their own."
The air grew thick and surreal. Cards launched themselves from the central deck, zipping through the air like mechanized sparrows, landing precisely on the wrists of their chosen owners.
In this era, steam power reigned supreme. Clockwork automatons patrolled the streets, and massive airships blotted out the sun. Yet, for all their machinery, society ran on the Warp Deck. These weren't mere pieces of metal; they held the power to grant resources and abilities beyond human imagination. Where they came from, no one knew—and the elites certainly didn't care to ask. All that mattered was that a card dictated a person's entire value in this world, capable of elevating them to the clouds or breaking them entirely.
"The final card will now seek its owner," the Councillor announced, his eyes scanning the crowd.
It was mandatory to receive a card to get a job, but getting a card didn't guarantee a life. Sometimes, the deck spat out a Blank. A Blank meant a person had no assigned value. They could either give up and become a ward of the state, or return a year later to try again.
For Marzell Côme, this was his twentieth attempt.
For twenty years, he had pushed his physical limits, training his body until his muscles screamed, hoping sheer willpower could overcome a system based on luck. He just needed a normal card. Just enough to pull his family out of the slums.
The final card shot through the air. But instead of flying toward his right hand, it aggressively curved and slammed onto Marzell's left wrist.
A collective gasp sucked the air from the room. The left wrist. A universal omen of worthlessness.
Marzell gently peeled the card back to look, his heart hammering against his ribs. He turned it over.
It was Blank. Again.
The crowd erupted, but this time, it wasn't cheers. It was laughter. Twenty years of trying, only to receive a cursed Blank on the left wrist. Marzell was the ultimate joke of the ceremony.
He tightened his fists, his fingernails digging into his palms until they bled. He made his choice.
He walked heavily onto the stage. "Councillor. I am going to bind this card to my wrist."
Carlos looked at him, genuine pity in his eyes. "Marzell... are you sure? You can always try again next year. Give me the card. I will personally petition the board—I will make sure you get what you deserve."
"Thank you, Councillor," Marzell said, his voice hollow. "You've always encouraged me. But it's too late for me. At least with this, I can get a job under the Special Category."
"But you are a perfectly healthy, capable young man!" Carlos pleaded.
"I'm sorry."
Marzell pressed the Blank card into his left wrist. The metal seared his skin, sinking deep into his flesh.
Suddenly, a strange sensation washed over him. It felt like cold fingers lightly tracing the back of his neck. A short, breathy chuckle slipped from Marzell's lips. It wasn't his laugh. It felt entirely involuntary, like someone else had used his throat.
"Sorry, Councillor," Marzell muttered, his eyes wide and unfocused. "I think I should go."
Carlos frowned, deeply unsettled but trying to maintain his composure. "Alright. Take care, Marzell. Come visit me if you ever need help. I'll gladly help a friend."
"Sure, Carlos. As you say."
As Marzell turned his back, another strange, quiet chuckle bubbled up from his chest.
"Remember, Marzell," Carlos called out softly over the lingering laughter of the crowd, "you are the bravest of them all."