The cards shimmered faintly as they were shuffled, glowing runes flickering across their surfaces before fading back into stillness. The air around the table was thick with heat, sweat, and smoke—and tension.
One of the mercenaries at the table gave Noel a curious look. "You know the rules, kid?"
Noel shrugged, casual. "Heard a bit here and there."
Balthor let out a deep, rumbling laugh, shaking the table with his broad arms.
"Hah! That's what every loser says before coughing up their boots. Sit down, lad. I'll give you the quick version—no tears later."
Noel pulled out the chair, cloak settling around him, and leaned forward slightly.
"Magical Poker," Balthor began, gesturing broadly with one thick finger. "Five-card hands. Betting rounds. Simple enough. But here's the twist—"
He snapped his fingers, and one of the cards on the table lifted itself into the air and flipped slowly.
