Shadow Slave: The Sound of Glass

The casino of the Shaking Fist clan was built inside a bunker, its concrete walls hidden beneath layers of rust-red desert soil. The air shimmered with heat.

At the entrance, a money lender sat at a desk carved from the massive teeth of a nightmare creature. The jagged ivory gleamed under the dim light of flickering torches, a grotesque reminder of the Dream Realm's dangers.

Further inside, faded carpets from the Waking World lay scattered across the floor, their intricate patterns dulled by years of dust and foot traffic. Around these makeshift gambling pits, Awakened placed bets on a simple yet deceptive game known as the 'shell game.' Three shells, one rock. The rules were straightforward: guess the correct shell, and your money doubled; guess wrong, and your wager was lost. To Waynie's surprise, many of the players seemed to be winning a fair amount.

The room held roughly twenty Awakened, all seemingly in good spirits. Laughter and drunken boasts filled the space. Waynie didn't see a single Master on this level. On the other side of the room there was a staircase to level two but another bouncer was standing there, just an Awakened. Waynie returned to the money lender. "Do you happen to know where an Anvil soldier is in this establishment?"

The money lender barely glanced up from the book in which he was scrawling numbers. His fingers, ink-stained and calloused, moved without pause. "Yeah. Second floor. But you can only go up if you loan some soul shards from me."

Waynie raised a brow. "I'd prefer to just use my own."

 "You can actually. I loan you five, you pay back six when you come back from the second floor. Just make sure you already have them and it won't be a problem."

"I've only got two," .Waynie glanced down at his belt. There hadn't been a reason to stock up on soul shards recently and since he was pressed for money, he didn't feel like wasting time on this..

The money lender shrugged. "Well, if you try the shell game, you can turn your shards into six and pay back the debt."

Waynie reluctantly looked over to the carpets. The guests were certainly winning a lot. And Waynie's senses were very sharp. Every time the guests found a rock, Waynie could've found it too. "All right, lets try this."

He approached a shell handler, dropping a soul shard onto the ground. The handler's fingers moved swiftly, shuffling the shells in a blur. Waynie tracked the rock carefully and pointed with confidence.

The dealer lifted the shell. The rock wasn't there.

A quiet exhale of disbelief escaped Waynie's lips as his soul shard vanished into the dealer's hand. A man wearing a tattered cap bumped into his shoulder, chuckling.

"Unlucky," the man said with a bubble of laughter, his breath smelling faintly of salmon. "Come on, let's play another round together. I think you have good eyes."

Waynie hesitated, but with only one shard left, what choice did he have? He placed it down, and the man in the cap matched his bet. The shells moved again. Waynie concentrated harder this time, convinced he had tracked the rock perfectly.

The result was the same.

The rock was gone. His last soul shard disappeared.

The crowd erupted into laughter, the sound grating against his nerves like a rusted blade. The man in the cap exhaled through his lips, creating small water bubbles as he sighed dramatically.

Waynie turned away from the jeering spectators and stomped back to the money lender. "I'll borrow the five shards," he said, voice tight with frustration.

The lender slid a piece of parchment toward him. Waynie signed it without bothering to read the fine print. In return, five soul shards were placed into his hand, their eerie glow a small comfort.

Then, a realization struck him. He frowned. "Wait a second." He looked up at the lender. "I have five shards now. If I had just one more, I could pay back my debt instantly."

The money lender merely nodded. "True."

Waynie narrowed his eyes. "Then why did you tell me to go gambling when I already had enough shards to get in and out again?"

The money lender shrugged again, smirking. "I thought that was what you wanted to do." He gestured lazily toward the staircase. "You're free to enter the second floor now."

The bouncer stepped aside.

Waynie exhaled sharply and climbed the stairs. The atmosphere on the second floor was starkly different. Dim lighting cast long, wavering shadows over the room. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and stale breath. Here, the games were crueler—dice games where a single unlucky roll could cost a person their last possessions. The people here weren't laughing. They were desperate.

In the far corner, Waynie spotted his target. A young Awakened with short black hair, slumped against the wall. His Anvil uniform, once regal, was tattered and caked with dried blood. It hadn't been washed in weeks.

Waynie approached cautiously. "Hey, I'm Waynie."

The Anvil soldier barely reacted. His dull, bloodshot eyes flicked up to meet Waynie's. "You gonna rob me?" he asked, voice hoarse. "I have no money left."

Waynie's gaze flicked to the single soul shard hanging from his belt. "That?"

The soldier clutched it protectively, looking away. "You can't have it."

"I don't even want it," Waynie said, trying to sound non-threatening.

"Then why are you bothering me?"

Waynie studied the soldier more closely. He wasn't just broke, he was broken. If he wanted answers, he'd need a different approach.

"What's your name?"

"Awakened Merrin," he muttered. Merrin did not seem to have any problems to share his name. "Retinue of Saint Sagramore."

"If you follow a Saint, you must be strong, yeah?"

Merrin scoffed bitterly. "Strong enough to get sent to this hell."

"You mean Ki Song in general? Or just this bunker?"

"In general. This place is just the truest representation of it."

"I don't think this has anything to do with Ki Song. These guys are barely even vassals. They're just a powerless bunch who do whatever they want."

Awakened Merrin did not look well. His posture sagged, and there was a nervous tremor in his voice. "I have only one soul shard left. If I lose that one, they'll send me to the lower level."

"What's on the lower level?"

"Poker players." Merrins face was grim as if he was telling about some type of cursed form of gambling..

"Poker. Is it hard?"

"It's a well-known game."

Waynie took a deep breath, considering his next words carefully. Then he asked the most important question. "Do you know any other Anvil soldiers around here?"

Merrin's eyes narrowed. "Why do you want to know?"

"I'd like to see their territory a little. Maybe visit the capital, Bastion."

Merrin narrowed his eyes. "You think you can squeeze secrets out of me?"

"No, this wasn't meant to be hostile. Please, understand. I just want some cooperation."

"I don't understand what you're after."

Then Waynie told him the honest truth. "I'd like to defect from the Song clan."

Merrin's expression tightened. "What? Even if that's true, I'm stuck in this bunker. Why should I help you or even hear you out?"

"I can take you outside, no problem."

"You don't even have enough soul shards, or do you?"

"I have five. But besides that, I can just go outside and hunt for any amount I need."

Merrin shook his head. "You have five shards and a debt of six? Then you can't even escape yourself. If you can't pay your debts, you can't leave."

Waynie frowned. "So, does that mean to make more shards, I have to gamble?"

"Exactly. But if you lose your shards, you'll be sent to the lower level."

Waynie gave a self-convinced smile. "Then I just have to make enough soul shards to pay for both of us?"

Merrin did not have much hope but agreed regardless. "Yes, that would be great."

Next, Waynie made his way to the dice gamblers. The air was thick with tension, murmurs of small victories and devastating losses filling the dimly lit space. They handed him two dice. He placed a soul shard on the table.

The man with the cap he had met earlier upstairs appeared beside him, grinning. "If you roll a twelve, you get your winnings six times instead of five times."

Waynie frowned. Something about that seemed… off. Two six-sided dice could produce only twelve possible sums, ranging from two to twelve. Logically, each result should have the same likelihood. So why were they offering a higher payout for rolling twelve? His instincts flared. It was a trap. That meant the opposite number, one, had to be a better bet. Waynie decisively declared that he wanted to roll a one.

Then he threw the dice. They tumbled across the table and landed on three and four. Seven. He watched in disappointment as the gambler scooped up his shard.

Undeterred, he placed another soul shard and again gambled on rolling one. Another loss.

Waynie gritted his teeth and tried three more times, but luck was against him. His last soul shard vanished into the pitiless hands of the dice master.

The man in the cap sighed theatrically. "That was really unlucky."

Waynie coughed in frustration. "What's next?"

The man led him to another loan shark. The deal was simple: fifteen soul shards, with only sixteen owed in return. Waynie agreed, took the shards, and followed the man down to the third level.

On the third level, people sat hunched over card tables, their faces shadowed by flickering lights. The air smelled of sweat and desperation. This was poker territory.

The rules were straightforward:

Each player received two cards. Three community cards were revealed in the first phase—the flop. A fourth card—the turn—was added next. Finally, the last card—the river—completed the set. After each phase, players could bet, check, raise, or fold. Every game required one shard to enter. The hand with the highest value won.

Waynie found a seat. There were five other players. He drew a five and a king, then checked. The second-to-last player before him raised to three shards. Waynie matched, tossing two more onto the table. Then the player after him raised to seven shards.

Waynie hesitated. He couldn't afford to go all in this early. He folded. One of his tears 'the lost moment' blurred for a moment. Waynie shook his head and tried to focus.

Two more rounds played out in a similar fashion. He was down to six shards. This time, his hand looked promising. It showed a king and an ace. There was no point in going half way here, or he's just end up without all his shards. The best move was to go all-in.

Two other players followed. The cards were revealed. One of his opponents had the same hand—a king and an ace. The third, however, had a pair of tens, and as the community cards came down, another ten appeared. A triple ten.

Waynie was bankrupt.

A bald-headed man grabbed his arm.

"Where are you taking me?" Waynie followed reluctantly. Some more tears on his arm were ringing, still quietly.

"It's time for you to get to the last level." The man led him further below. The air thick and damp, carried the scent of rock dust and sweat. A cavernous mine stretched before him, illuminated by weak lanterns. Over fifty people labored in its depths, their pickaxes ringing against stone.

"This is a pocket dimension," the bald man explained, his grip firm. "A memory, shaped into a gateway to another world. The bunker exists inside this mountain, and inside this mountain, there's copper, iron, and gold. And you will mine it to pay back your debts."

Waynie scowled. "How much do I owe?"

"Sixteen shards from your second loan and six from your first. So, twenty-two in total."

"What? That's way more than I agreed to! I only started with two shards—how can I owe more than ten times that?"

"That's exactly what you agreed to."

Waynie gritted his teeth. "Let me go outside and get them."

The bald man chuckled. "Nice try. You just want to run."

"That's not true! Twenty-two shards is nothing to me—I swear I'll pay."

"Enough talk." The bald man shoved him forward.

The large chamber opened up into a maze of tunnels and wooden scaffolding. The dim light barely reached the jagged rock walls. The sounds of labor echoed around them—metal striking stone, low mutters, and the occasional grunt of exhaustion.

Waynie spotted a shirtless Awakened—a scrawny man, barely more than skin and bones, chipping away at an iron vein.

"How much do I need to mine to get a soul shard?" Waynie asked.

"About two tons of gold."

Waynie blinked. "Two tons? What about iron?"

"Iron gets you synth paste."

"Then why are you mining iron?"

"The gold veins are too contested. I don't stand a chance against the competition." Too little food had created a terrible cycle of exhaustion that had turned the once capable young man into a wreckage.

"Show them to me."

The miner hesitated. "If you share some gold with me."

Waynie had no intention of doing that, but he nodded anyway. "Sure."

The man, Florian, led him deeper into the tunnels until they reached a small cavern. Five strong, well-fed miners in sturdy uniforms stood guard, their expressions hardened.

One of them, a man with a long scar down his cheek, stepped forward. "Get lost. We don't want you here."

Waynie smirked. "Because you mine here? Don't you see how pointless this is? You're being extorted."

"We're just paying our debts. We're honest people."

Waynie cleared his throat. The moment to change things had come. He raised his voice so all could hear:

"Attention! I am a soldier from Ravenheart! All soul shards in this establishment are confiscated! As of this moment, all of you are drafted by Ki Song!"