Prologue: A Hunger Unfilled

“At the end, people are just disappointing, aren’t they?” Clayton said, his voice a low murmur as he finished the novel on his tablet, the final page fading to black. Collapsing on the recliner, he gazed out from his luxurious penthouse. His fingers drummed a rhythm on the tablet’s edge, his thoughts spiraling, restless. At twenty-three, he was the youngest hedge fund manager in the city, a prodigy who’d clawed his way to the top. But the view, the money, the power —they were hollow. Inside, he was empty, a void no success could fill.

“Day by day, these novels are getting boring,” he muttered, tossing the tablet onto the couch. “Nothing good left to escape.” He scrolled through his digital library, hunting for a new novel, comic, anything to drown out reality. Stories were his refuge, a way to silence the noise of his ADHD, the constant buzz of thoughts that never settled, and the anxiety that crept at him like a shadow. But even they were losing their spark.

Tossed into an orphanage at birth, Clayton had grown up craving connection, a sense of belonging that never came. Foster homes, fleeting friendships, betrayals—each one had chipped away at him until he locked his true self away without realizing it.

He wore a mask for the world, all sharp smiles and unshakable confidence. He dominated wherever he went—academics, sports, the cutthroat world of finance—and he loved the thrill of it, the adrenaline of a challenge met and conquered. But pride wasn’t enough. Something was missing, a piece of himself he couldn’t name, a hunger that no victory could sate.

His phone pinged with another invitation—drinks with colleagues, another chance to play the part of the golden boy. He ignored it. Surrounded by people, he was never alone but always lonely. No one saw past the mask, and he didn’t let them. The only time he felt alive was in the heat of a challenge, when his mind could outpace his doubts, when the world bent to his will.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

He scrolled for an hour, flicking through his past reads—a fantasy about card-wielding duelists caught his eye, The Arcane Gambit. It promised battles of wit, where warriors played cards like superpowers to outsmart foes, not just overpower them. Clayton smirked, imagining himself in that world, strategizing, winning. But the thought faded, replaced by the familiar ache. He leaned back, the tablet slipping to the floor, and closed his eyes.

Then it hit—an immense pain, sharp and searing, like a blade twisting in his gut. He huffed, clutching his heart, the room blurring. The air grew heavy, charged with a strange hum, and his tablet glowed, its screen rippling like water. A voice, low and resonant, echoed in his mind: The Deck calls you, Clayton. Prove your worth. The penthouse dissolved, replaced by a vortex of light and shadow, pulling him in. He tried to scream, but the world went black.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in Seattle. He stood in a vast courtyard, surrounded by towering stone walls carved with glowing runes. Students in green robes and blazers were making their way around. Suddenly an unknown woman with silver-runed armor appeared in front of him—his mind somehow knew—stepped forward, her gaze piercing. “Welcome to Vyrith’s Arcane Academy, Clayton,” she said. “Your deck has awakened.”

Clayton’s hand went to his belt, where a pouch now hung, warm and pulsing. He opened it, and twenty cards fanned out in his mind, each glowing with power: Arcane Bolt, Ethereal Shield, Disruptive Pulse, Counter Trap, and Arcane Flash. His 15 Arcane Points buzzed, a new kind of energy, ready to fuel his will. But her next words sent a chill through him. “You’ve arrived at a dark time. The Veilbreakers—Card Weavers corrupted by the Void—are stirring. Their cards defy the deck’s balance, and you’ll need more than wit to face them.” Then she vanished.

He was confused, shocked, and scared. He did not know what exactly happened, but there was a feeling of thrill deep in his heart, which raced like a madman.