I hovered my hand over the Demon of Poverty’s cards. Everything inside me was vibrating with tension. Was she bluffing or not? Her face was a stone mask; not a single muscle twitched. I wanted to cheat so badly—to peer beneath the layer of mana—but I restrained myself.

  — "HEY! NO PEEKING!" I jabbed a finger toward the demoness, who was studying my sleeves a little too intently.

  I started cycling through the possibilities in my mind. Okay, if she put it in the center, then… or maybe… Ah, to hell with it.

  — "Eeny, meeny, miny, moe..." I muttered the most reliable decision-making method in human history.

  I jerked a card out.

  SNAP.

  The Queen of Spades. In the flesh. She stared back at me from the card with her usual haughty gaze.

  Everything inside me plummeted, but outwardly, I didn't even blink. On the contrary, I broke into a wide, almost predatory grin, pointedly baring my teeth. Let her think I pulled exactly what I needed.

  The main problem was the Demon of Poverty. That idiot had seen what I drew, and now he was shaking from suppressed laughter.

  "Just try and give me away," I thought, sending him a mental impulse full of promises to turn him into a cactus. "Just make a peep."

  The turn passed to the Demon of War. She slowly reached for my cards. Her gaze was strange—she wasn't looking at the backs of the cards. She was looking me straight in the face. Point-blank. She stared so hard it felt like she was trying to count my eyelashes.

  She confidently pulled a card… the one right next to the Queen of Spades. The Ten of Hearts.

  Then another. And another.

  Eventually, all the cards on the table were gone. Poverty had none. War had none. And there I sat, clutching a single card with a drawing of a lady in a crown.

  — "HOW?! JUST HOW?!" I jumped up, slamming the Queen into the dust. "My bluff was perfect! You couldn't have read my emotions—I don't have any! Tell me, how did you do it?!"

  The Demon of War erupted into such a fit of laughter that her new tail started drumming against the stones.

  — "Oh, I can't… Zenhald, are you serious? You really are so stupid!"

  She wiped a tear and pointed a finger at my face.

  — "Your right eye. Your precious 'Void.' Do you even realize how black it is? It works like a perfect spherical mirror, you idiot! I could see the reflection of all your cards in your pupil! When you drew the Queen, it lit up in there like a beacon in the night!"

  I froze, feeling a flush of shame wash over my face.

  — "Well," I muttered, covering my face with my hand.

  — "Stupid," War concluded, still giggling. "Small, and very, very stupid."

  I sat back down on the ground, feeling my authority among the demons sink even lower. It was time to quit gambling. With a face like mine, the only game I should play is hide-and-seek—and even then, only in the dark.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The journey continued, but it had grown quieter. Mira called me over, her face set in that serious "big sister" expression that never boded well.

  — "Zen," she began softly. "From this moment on, stop using your power. No mana. At all."

  — "And why is that?" I frowned. "I'm too lazy to walk; a teleport would be much—"

  — "Your power is poisoning you," she interrupted, looking me dead in the eye. "It’s burning out your essence. You know, sometimes I turn around and... I don't see my little brother. It’s like a completely different person is standing before me. A stranger. Cold."

  I remained silent. "A different person," then. The one I’m afraid to see in the mirror myself.

  — "Fine," I replied quietly.

  The road immediately became three times harder. It turns out that when you aren't bolstering your muscles with mana, the world turns into an obstacle course. But if you think that without magic I turn into a rag doll, you’re dead wrong. Do you have any idea what kind of body you need to possess for such massive flows of energy to pass through it without turning you into mush?

  Physically, I wasn't a weakling. I was sturdy. It was just... unusual to feel gravity with my whole body instead of ignoring it.

  By the end of the evening, I could barely move my legs. My brain was melting; my eyelids weighed a ton each. Sleep hit me like an avalanche.

  — "Hey, Zenhald!" the mocking voice of the Demon of Poverty reached me. "What’s wrong? All tapped out? Going to sleep? Hey, pipsqueak!"

  I didn't answer. I didn't even have the strength to tell him to go to the Abyss.

  Everything after that was a blur. I felt the ground slip away. Someone caught me and carried me in their arms. The sensation was strange: secure and warm.

  My fingers instinctively began to form a snap. Just one spark of healing, one impulse—and the fatigue would vanish; I’d be energized again.

  But a warm palm covered my fist, gently squeezing my fingers.

  — "No, Zen," I heard Mira’s voice right at my ear. "Don't you dare. Endure it."

  I sighed, relaxing my hand. If she’s that afraid of what I’m becoming... fine. Let her carry me. Being "just a little brother" turned out to be damn exhausting.

  I closed my eyes and plunged into total darkness.

  I woke up because the world beneath me was rhythmically swaying. It turned out the Demon of Poverty was lugging me along. As soon as he noticed I’d opened my eyes, he simply... let go.

  THUD.

  I face-planted into the grass.

  — "HEY!" I protested, spitting out dirt. "Is that how you usually drop off passengers?"

  Poverty didn't answer. He stepped close and started peering intently into my face.

  — "Hey, War!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Get over here. Look at his eyes."

  I sat up, dusting off my sleeves. — "What haven't you seen? Ordinary eyes..." I began, but the demoness was already there.

  She leaned in so close her nose almost touched my neck. She sniffed the air. — "Hmm... Now you smell like a human. For real. And your eyes..."

  I already raised my hand to create a thin film of water to use as a mirror, but I ran into Mira’s gaze. It was sharper than any blade.

  — "No mana, Zen," she repeated. "I told you."

  — "What do you mean?" I was taken aback. "Not even a tiny bit? Just for a reflection?"

  — "No."

  An hour later, we reached a small forest lake. The first thing I did was crawl to the shore and look into the water.

  Holy hell...

  Where there had always been absolute, impenetrable blackness in my right eye, the white sclera was beginning to show. But this didn't make my gaze look "human." On the contrary, the effect was macabre: the black ink-blot iris against the white background looked like a hole in an empty skull. The other eye simply remained solid black. I looked like a maniac out of a very bad fairy tale.

  We moved on.

  I began to feel the changes. The mana inside me was behaving strangely: it was no longer surging like a mountain river, but flowing like a lazy, murky stream. The heaviness in my legs became familiar.

  But the most frightening part was my thoughts. They were starting to change. I suddenly remembered the taste of the bread I’d eaten a week ago. I felt the cold wind not as an environmental parameter, but as... cold. I was becoming vulnerable. And I hated it.

  By evening, I started blacking out again. My body, deprived of its magical recharge, simply demanded a reset every five hours.

  We had just declared a rest stop, and I was already toppling over.

  — "HEY! WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE SLEEPING?!" the indignant wail of Poverty reached me. "I’m not carrying you anymore! My spine isn't public property!"

  I wanted to say something biting, but my jaw wouldn't cooperate.

  A moment later, I felt strong arms catch my limp body again.

  — "Sleep," I heard my sister’s voice.

  And I slept.