The echo of Seryn's footsteps dissolved into the dark, leaving the chamber emptied of her feverish malice. Selene lingered in the silence for a heartbeat longer, her laughter dripping in low threads—mocking, amused, sharp enough to draw blood from the air itself. She exhaled softly, lips curved with decadent pleasure at the memory of Seryn's hunger for destruction.
Then she turned—not in the direction Seryn had taken, but the opposite. Her heels clicked against the stone, deliberate and unhurried, carrying her deeper into shadow. For a moment there was only the black, suffocating and heavy, until her hand brushed cool metal. A door handle, waiting like an invitation. She twisted it, and the void split open.
Light burst through—warm, golden, intoxicating. The air thickened with smoke, laughter, and the restless clatter of dice and cards. The House of Dice.
Inside, the world bloomed in excess: red velvet draped the walls, gilded chandeliers spilled glitter across polished tables, and the fever of chance burned in every corner. Students filled the space—many no more than children of wealth and privilege, their family names stitched in their jackets and their arrogance reeking like perfume. Their eyes were hungry, wild, chasing fortune as if it were salvation. Some cheered. Some cursed. Some leaned forward with trembling fingers, wagering pieces of gold worth more than a servant's yearly wage.
Selene glided through them like a phantom queen, her presence drawing glances, whispers, but no interruption. Every step of hers was soundless elegance, every sway of her cloak an announcement that she owned not just the room, but the very breath of those inside it.
She reached a table in the far corner. Craps. Dice rattling in a cup, tossed onto green felt, fortunes rising and dying in the roll. Players she knew—sons of dukes, daughters of counts, scions of old wealth—clustered at the edges. Their laughter was loud, but beneath it sat something else: the frantic heartbeat of people who could not afford to lose, but could not resist playing.
Selene sat gracefully, crossing one leg over the other. The dealer bowed in silent acknowledgment, sliding the dice toward her pale fingers. She rolled them once between her hands, feeling their weight, smiling as though they whispered secrets only she could hear.
The crowd leaned in.
And Selene's voice cut the smoke with velvet sharpness:
"Shall we raise the stakes tonight?"
Gasps and murmurs rippled outward. Her grin widened. The dice clattered across the felt, spinning, tumbling, dancing in her grasp of fate. Eyes locked on the movement—eyes greedy, desperate, terrified, enchanted.
When the dice landed, Selene laughed again, the sound honeyed and cruel, her gaze sweeping over her prey.
The House of Dice lived, thrived, consumed.
And at its center sat Selene Varentia—its heart, its queen, its shadow.
The game had begun long before Seryn's schemes.
And in this house, in this den, Selene would make sure it never ended.
The dice rattled across the velvet table, rolling like bones across a battlefield, the noise sharp and unforgiving. Around Selene, laughter and jeers flared, players leaning back with smug smiles, their eyes glinting with arrogant confidence. They looked at her not as an opponent, but as prey—a hostess, a mere owner of this den of glittering rot, a woman who dressed for the stage but had no right to claim it. Their coins stacked high, their grins wide, they whispered to one another, mocking under their breath.
"Does she even know how to play?"
"She's here to look pretty, nothing more."
"I'll enjoy taking her down."
But Selene remained still, her face a porcelain mask of amusement, lips curled into a smile so faint it was almost imperceptible. She twirled the dice in her pale fingers, each motion liquid and deliberate, as though she were stroking the strings of fate itself. Her eyes, sharp and gleaming, scanned the table—not the dice, not the felt, but the people. She read their arrogance, their pride, their overconfidence, and tucked it away as if it were already hers.
The first roll came. A cascade of sound—dice spinning, bouncing, tumbling across the felt. The numbers fell in her favor. Gasps broke the air. Murmurs followed, soft but insistent, yet the players scoffed, waving it off as beginner's luck.
The second round came faster. Selene barely moved; her wrist flicked with precision so flawless it was almost unreal, like the dice themselves bent to her command. The outcome was clean. Perfect. Her pile of winnings swelled, the mountain of gold before her growing.
The tension at the table thickened, souring the smoke-filled air. Confidence in the players' eyes dimmed, replaced by a flicker of unease, yet still they clung to their arrogance. One leaned forward, slamming his bet down with more force than needed, sneering.
"You won't keep this streak. No one does."
Selene only tilted her head, lashes low, voice smooth as silk cutting across their bravado.
"Oh, darling… you've already lost. You just haven't realized it yet."
The third round began. Her hands moved faster than their eyes could follow, dice released with a flick that looked too elegant to be dangerous, yet the sound when they landed was thunderous. Perfect again. The dealer, almost trembling, announced the results. Cheers did not rise this time. Silence spread like a contagion.
By the fourth round, they were no longer mocking her. They were leaning forward, desperate, sweating, their pride crumbling with every roll. Their hands shook as they placed their bets, and their eyes darted not to the dice, but to Selene—as though she herself were the game, and they had been foolish enough to challenge her.
Her final throw was effortless. A single flick, a whisper of motion, and the dice spun as though the world itself paused to watch them tumble. The moment stretched long, unbearable, every heartbeat in the room synchronized to the clatter of ivory against velvet. And when they stopped—when the numbers stood clear, undeniable—Selene's victory was absolute.
The table erupted, not in cheers, but in gasps, in curses, in a suffocating silence where arrogance had once sat fat and comfortable. Coins clattered as they were pushed toward her. Mountains of wealth piled at her feet, but she did not even glance at them. Her attention was fixed solely on her opponents—their pale faces, their trembling hands, the way their confidence had drained out of them like blood from a wound.
Selene rose slowly from her chair, every movement laced with elegance, every step heavy with dominion. She didn't need to gloat. The victory itself was her weapon, sharp and merciless. She leaned forward just enough for her eyes to catch the light, a predator's gleam reflecting in their horror-struck stares.
"I told you," she murmured, her voice a whisper that slithered into their bones, "the dice always fall for me."
And with that, she left them shattered, sitting in the ruins of their pride, while the House of Dice roared on around them—its queen untouchable, its ruler undeniable, its shadow stretching longer than ever.
The silence of the casino fractured under the sudden, venomous outburst of the defeated players. One slammed his palm down on the velvet table so hard the dice jumped, his voice cracking through the air like a whip.
"She rigged it! This whole game was set up! There's no way she wins like that!"
Another stood, his chair screeching against the marble floor, his face twisted with fury and humiliation. "You all saw it! There's no fairness here—it's all her design! She's the owner—of course she's pulling the strings!"
The room froze. The laughter, the chatter, the rhythmic clinking of coins—it all died at once. The other students, nobles dressed in silks and polished rings, turned their heads in unison. A sudden heaviness pressed down on the room, as though the air itself waited to see what would follow.
The gamblers who had lost sneered and pointed trembling fingers at Selene, their arrogance now mixed with fear. Their shouts carried through the velvet-draped halls of the House of Dice, echoing against the chandeliers that glittered above them.
"She cheated us all! She's no queen—she's a fraud!"
Selene did not respond immediately. She stood at the table with her head bowed, her shoulders trembling as though she had finally been cornered. For a breathless moment, it almost looked like they had struck her down, that their words had pierced her veil of untouchable grace. Murmurs spread. Some began to nod, some leaned closer, waiting for the fall of a queen.
And then, from the curve of her lips, from the shadow of her hair, came a sound—low, rising, terrible. A laugh.
It burst forth like a crack in glass, shattering the stillness. Her body shook, but not from fear—no, it was the quake of suppressed delight, of cruelty unchained. The laughter swelled louder, sharper, until it echoed like blades clashing in the air. Students flinched; even the bravest among them recoiled from the madness laced into that sound.
Selene's head snapped up. Her eyes gleamed wild and sharp, a predator's gleam that cut through the smoke and candlelight. She stepped forward, slow and deliberate, heels clicking against marble like the toll of a clock.
"Me? Cheat?"
Her voice rolled out soft at first, but beneath it was venom, a tone that curled around the ears of every listener like a whisper at the back of the skull.
"Is that the joke you've chosen tonight? That you lost because of me? Pathetic."
Her laughter bled into her words, not mirthful but savage, the sound of someone savoring their prey's desperation. She spread her hands as if presenting herself to the whole casino, her cape sweeping the ground like black silk fire.
"If you lose, you lose. That's all. You think shouting makes your shame smaller? You think pointing at me makes your weakness disappear? No. What you've lost tonight isn't just your gold—it's your pride, your standing, your face in front of every noble in this hall."
The crowd shifted, whispers hissing like snakes. Some smiled, amused by her cruelty. Others stiffened, pale, because they realized she was right—there was no recovering from this spectacle.
But Selene was not finished. Her voice sharpened, dripping with sweet poison.
"And worse than all of that… what you owe now is greater than your wager. The dice fall as they will, and fortune favors me. Which means—"
Her smile spread into a grin, elegant yet monstrous.
"You owe the House of Dice. You owe me."
The losers erupted again, faces burning red with fury. One of them slammed his fist into the table, nearly toppling his drink. "We won't pay! Not a single coin! This is theft dressed in glamour! You've stolen from us, and we won't stand for it!"
Gasps rippled across the room. To defy her, here, in her own kingdom, was an act of suicide. The gamblers' voices cracked as they shouted louder, desperate for the other students to side with them.
"She's bleeding us dry! She's a liar, a trickster! Don't you see? This entire place is a trap!"
But Selene only tilted her head, laughter still dripping from her lips. Her gaze pierced through the crowd like daggers of glass, and with each step she drew nearer, the accused gamblers seemed to shrink in their chairs despite their rage.
Her voice slid across the silence, playful and razor-sharp.
"So you refuse to pay your debt? How bold. How foolish. Did you forget whose floor you're standing on? Did you forget whose house you walked into? You thought the dice were yours to command… but here, they bow only to me."
She leaned close enough for them to see the shimmer of madness in her eyes, close enough for her whisper to sting like a knife against the ear.
"And when you deny the dice, when you deny me… the debt doesn't vanish."
She straightened, her shadow long and suffocating against the walls of velvet and gold, her grin twisting into something unholy.
"It grows."
The crowd erupted—not in defense of the gamblers, but in gasps, whispers, and nervous laughter. A tide of unease surged through the casino, and yet, no one dared to intervene.
The tension in the House of Dice thickened like smoke after a fire, choking every breath, strangling every whisper. The gamblers who had refused to pay their debt froze when a subtle sound cut the silence—the unmistakable hiss of weapons being unsheathed.
From the shadows at the edges of the gaming hall, Selene's loyalists emerged. They were not ordinary students; each one carried the unmistakable gleam of Astraga-forged armaments—blades shimmering with unnatural sharpness, spears vibrating with restrained energy, chains that rattled like serpents coiling around prey. In perfect unison, they raised their weapons and leveled them directly at the defiant gamblers.
The students who had dared to accuse Selene now stood surrounded, pale faces flickering in the glow of golden chandeliers. Sweat rolled down their temples as they realized this was no longer about a game of dice or a pile of coins—this was a noose tightening around their throats.
Selene walked toward them, her heels clicking across the marble floor with steady rhythm, like a pendulum swinging closer and closer to the end. The crowd parted before her as though an invisible force demanded they step aside. She moved gracefully, almost lazily, as though savoring the terror she was about to ignite. When she reached the center of the circle, she tilted her head, her raven-dark hair slipping like silk across her cheek, and spoke softly enough that everyone strained to hear.
"You think you can walk into my house, spit on my floor, and refuse to pay your due?"
Her words cut sharper than any blade. She let the silence linger, watching as the defiant students twitched beneath the gaze of her followers' drawn weapons. Then, without warning, her voice rose, sharp and commanding.
"Do you know why the House of Dice still stands? Why does it thrive—untouched, unbroken—despite the academy's iron grip on every corner of this city?"
The students around her exchanged glances, fear etched across their faces. No one dared to answer. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint hum of Astraga energy thrumming from the weapons pointed at the gamblers' throats.
Selene chuckled low, a sound so sweet it was venomous, and turned her back on her prey as if dismissing them entirely. She addressed the crowd, spreading her arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire hall.
"It is because I hold the most valuable currency there is—information."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Her grin widened, her eyes glittering with malice as she paced between tables stacked with chips and gold.
"I have records of every student who has stepped foot in this house. Every noble heir. Every promising talent. Every secret risk-taker who slipped away from the academy's watchful eyes to taste the thrill of the dice. All of you…"
Her gaze swept over the crowd like a blade, cutting down to the bone.
"…are mine."
A heavy silence fell. The realization struck like lightning—Selene's power wasn't just in the games or the gold. It was in the noose she hung around every neck that entered her domain.
The defiant gamblers stammered, voices trembling. "Y-you can't… you can't threaten us like this. The academy—"
Selene spun sharply, her laughter bubbling forth like broken glass.
"The academy?"
She sauntered closer, her shadow stretching across their terrified faces.
"If even one of you whispers of this place, if even one of you thinks to betray me, I ensure the academy hears not of me, but of you. Do you think your professors will protect you? Do you think they will risk their reputation for foolish children who gamble away their dignity? No…"
Her eyes narrowed, the cold smile never faltering.
"They will bury the truth to protect themselves, and you will be left alone—ruined, disgraced, broken. Even the teachers choose silence when they hear my name. Because I am the card they can never play."
The words echoed in the hearts of every listener. It was more than intimidation—it was a cage built of shame and fear, a prison where no key existed.
The gamblers fell quiet, their bravado dissolving into ash. One lowered his gaze, trembling. Another clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles bled, but still, no words came. They knew now they had no choice.
Selene leaned in closer, her whisper like a serpent curling around their ears.
"This is why the House of Dice has never fallen. Why no raid has ever touched my walls. Because every soul that walks through these doors becomes my insurance… my pawn… my silence."
She straightened, snapping her fingers once. The weapons lowered, but the threat remained heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable.
Then Selene's smile returned, elegant and chilling, as though none of this were more than a casual game. She addressed the hall once more, her voice rising into a command that echoed like a verdict.
"Now. Pay your debt."
The defeated gamblers' faces contorted in anguish, but their trembling hands reached for their purses all the same. Coins clattered onto the table, a metallic surrender that sealed their humiliation.
Selene's grin widened, her eyes alight with cruel satisfaction.
"Good. And remember—here, the dice never lie. Only people do."
The room erupted in nervous applause, laughter forced and uneasy, as though the audience hoped the sound would cover their terror. Selene basked in it, her silhouette framed by golden light and the weight of absolute control.
The pile of coins clinked on the green felt table, but Selene's eyes narrowed, her manicured fingers brushing lightly over the neat stacks as if caressing prey she had already caught. Then, with a slow shake of her head, she let out a laugh that started low and silken, swelling into something sharp and venomous.
"Oh… this isn't enough."
The words cut through the air like a blade. The gamblers stiffened, their throats tightening as if invisible chains were locking around them. Selene's smile widened, her teeth glinting in the golden light of the chandeliers, her voice a velvet coil wrapping around the silence.
"Do you fools not know the rules of my house? In the House of Dice, there are no second chances. If you cannot pay your debt in coin…"
Her voice dropped, intimate and cruel.
"…then you pay for it yourself."
"Five platinum remains unpaid."
Her voice rang clear, cruelly sweet, echoing through the chamber like a sermon delivered in hell.
The color drained from the losing student's face. His hands trembled above the table as the reality sank in, the room pressing down on him like a suffocating weight. He croaked, his voice raw and desperate, "Five… platinum? That's impossible. No one—no one can pay that!"
The crowd stirred, a ripple of shock rolling through them. Five platinum was not a debt—it was a sentence, the kind that could destroy entire families. The conversion whispered through their minds like a curse: one platinum worth one hundred gold, one gold fifty silvers, one silver ten coppers. The numbers spiraled into something monstrous, unbearable.
Selene's laugh rang out again, cruel and intoxicating. She turned her head slightly, and one of her loyalists stepped forward. From his hand dangled a thin strip of leather, a dark collar glinting faintly in the light, its steel buckle shining with terrible promise. The follower placed it reverently in Selene's palm, as though handing a queen her crown.
Selene stared at the collar for a long moment, her grin curling wider, the shadows in her eyes glittering with sadistic delight. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she hurled it onto the table, the sharp clatter echoing like a gavel's strike. The collar slid to a halt in front of the fallen gambler, its presence heavier than any weight of coin.
"Put it on."
Her command was soft, almost gentle, yet it carried the authority of doom. The student's body shook violently, his knees buckling as he collapsed into the chair, his face ashen, lips trembling without sound.
Selene leaned forward, her hair cascading like ink down her shoulders, her eyes locking onto him with merciless hunger.
"You can wear it… and become mine. A slave bought not with gold, but with your own arrogance. Or…"
She let the word hang, savoring it like the aftertaste of victory.
"…I can make sure the academy hears everything. Every coin you bet. Every secret you tried to hide here. Every weakness your family tried to bury. I'll burn your name in their records until even your ancestors choke on the shame."
The student's face crumpled. His chest heaved, ragged breaths breaking into small, broken sobs. Around them, the crowd said nothing, frozen in horrified silence. Not a single person dared to intervene. Not a single voice rose in defense.
Selene tilted her head, mock pity flickering across her face as her tone dropped into a venomous purr.
"So, little lamb… will you wear the collar? Or will you watch your family's legacy rot, all because you couldn't handle a game of dice?"
Her words slithered into his mind like poison, corroding pride, corroding will. The student slumped forward, his hand shaking as he reached toward the collar, his spirit breaking audibly in the way his sobs turned hollow. His fingers brushed the leather.
Selene's smile sharpened into something wicked, triumphant. She had won more than a game—she had claimed a soul.
The rest of the hall remained suffocated by silence, each student too terrified to even breathe too loud. The lesson was etched into their bones: in the House of Dice, loss meant more than coin. Loss meant chains. Loss meant Selene owned you.
The hall of the House of Dice lingered in an unnatural stillness. The air felt heavy, suffocating, pressing down on every soul present. Students who only moments ago had been roaring with laughter over the roll of dice or the flip of a card now sat in silence, their hands frozen over chips and tokens, their throats dry, their eyes fixed on the broken figure who knelt before Selene. The collar gleamed dully on the table, its presence more terrifying than any weapon.
And yet, despite the humiliation, despite the cruelty carved into every breath, not one dared to interfere. Everyone knew the unwritten law. To oppose Selene Varentia was not simply to gamble with one's pride or fortune—it was to gamble with one's life. Her shadow extended far beyond the casino floor, beyond the velvet curtains and glittering chandeliers, seeping into the very marrow of the academy's student body.
Some averted their eyes, trying to distance themselves from the scene. Others stared, wide-eyed, desperate to memorize every detail as a warning for themselves. But all shared the same truth: no one would raise a hand. No one would speak out.
A few students, veterans of the House of Dice, exchanged weary glances. They had seen this before. This spectacle of destruction, this calculated cruelty—Selene's method of ensuring her throne remained unchallenged. To them, this was routine. A ritual of terror disguised as entertainment. And so, one by one, they turned back to their tables, to their cards, to their dice. The wheel spun again, chips clattered, laughter—thin and nervous—returned. The casino began to breathe once more, as though the horror had never happened at all.
Selene stood tall at the center, her presence radiating a cold magnificence, her smile carved with victory. To the uninitiated, she was beautiful, radiant even—yet to those who knew, her beauty was a mask, a crown of thorns. She had broken countless challengers before, reduced countless heirs and prodigies to trembling husks, each one a stepping stone beneath her heel.
And now, her legend was absolute.
Whispers began to spread, hushed and reverent, echoing from table to table. They called her by the name etched into their fear: The Gambler's Crown. She was no longer merely the owner of the casino, nor just the leader of the North's House of Dice. She was its sovereign, its monarch, the queen of every chip stacked, every card dealt, every dice cast. Her reign was forged not by fairness but by fear, by manipulation, by domination so complete that even the academy itself turned a blind eye.
Selene, the Crown of Gamblers. The one no one dared defy.
And as she turned, the hem of her dress whispering across the velvet floor, her followers bowing in silent devotion, the weight of her rule settled deeper into the bones of every soul who had witnessed. Her empire was not built on stone or steel—it was built on silence, on secrets, on the shattering of wills.
The student who had lost sat hollow-eyed, the collar heavy in his trembling hands, his pride shattered, his dignity erased. His fate was sealed, and the message was clear: in Selene's world, to lose was to be owned.
The casino resumed its rhythm, the lights glittered above, and the music of dice and laughter drowned the echoes of despair. But beneath it all lingered the truth, etched in every heart: the House of Dice did not belong to the academy, nor to the gamblers who came seeking fortune.
It belonged to her.
To Selene Varentia.
The Gambler's Crown.
And so ends Volume Two: Veins of Aether
The crowds cheer, the victors rest.
But beneath the surface, rot seeps deeper.
Pieces move, unseen hands tighten their grip.
And the next game begins—
with the Council itself on the board.