11:23 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor — Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
Tucker slipped out of the employee-only room, keeping his head low as he stepped back into the glow of the gala.
For a moment, he didn't move.
His eyes swept across the floor, scanning for anything out of place… or anyone looking for him.
But his search came to nothing, just the same golden chaos. Music, laughter, glass clinking.
"…Alright," he muttered quietly.
He adjusted the uniform he had taken, smoothing the front of the clean white shirt and tugging slightly at the silk red waistcoat. The black pants and polished shoes fit just well enough to pass.
His hat still sat low on his head.
And stuffed poorly inside it… His old jacket.
He tapped his cane once against the floor.
"…Now," he whispered to himself, a small grin creeping onto his face, "…I'm bartender Tucker."
He exhaled.
"I'll try to get as much information as I can…"
A pause.
"…but what do bartenders actually do?"
He blinked, then shrugged.
"…Eh. I'll figure it out."
Tucker stepped forward, weaving through the crowd until he reached one of the busier bars on the first floor.
This one was packed.
Voices overlapped in layers, laughter spilling between conversations. Some guests leaned over the counter mid-story, others sat scrolling through their phones, drinks half-finished in their hands.
The smell of alcohol hung thick in the air.
Behind the counter, two bartenders were already moving quickly, hands never stopping as they poured, mixed, and slid drinks across the polished surface.
Tucker slipped behind the bar like he belonged there.
No one stopped him. For a second, He stared down at the setup.
Bottles, shakers, glasses.
Tools he had absolutely no idea how to use.
"…What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, picking up a cocktail shaker and turning it over in his hands like it might explain itself.
The two bartenders slowly paused. They looked at him.
One of them, a scruffy man with tired eyes, leaned over slightly and tapped Tucker on the shoulder.
"…You supposed to be back here, dude?"
Before Tucker could answer, a blonde woman crouched slightly to look at his face from the side, squinting like she was trying to remember him.
But the moment didn't last.
"DRINKS!" someone shouted from the other side of the bar.
The scruffy man clicked his tongue.
"…Okay—yeah—just… just do your job, alright?" he said quickly, already turning back to pour something into a glass.
Then, lower this time, almost under his breath— "And don't forget the… thing."
Tucker froze for half a second.
"…Yeah," he said slowly, giving a hesitant thumbs up.
"I got it."
The man didn't look back.
Tucker glanced down at the shaker again.
"…What the hell is 'the thing'?"
He didn't wait for an answer.
Instead, he grabbed the first bottle he saw, a cola-colored liquid with a peach-toned label—and poured it straight into the shaker, ice followed.
Then he paused, looked at it. Thought about shaking it. Didn't.
Instead, he popped the lid and dumped the entire thing into a glass.
He slid it across the counter.
"…Good luck," he muttered quietly.
The scruffy man turned.
His face dropped instantly.
"What the hell are you doing?!" he snapped, snatching another glass and pushing Tucker aside slightly.
"C'mon, dude, we've got drinks to make, get serious!"
Then again, quieter, sharper this time, "…And don't forget the stuff."
Tucker blinked.
Put on a strained smile.
Gave another thumbs up.
"…Yep."
He looked back down at his creation.
Then slowly pushed it further away.
"…Not my problem."
He turned back to the bar, and that's when he felt it.
A subtle but sharp shift. Like something brushing against his awareness.
Tucker's grip tightened slightly around his cane.
His body stilled.
"…What was that?"
He slowly turned, his eyes scanned the crowd, but there was nothing.
No one reacted, guests kept talking, laughing, scrolling, drinking.
The bartenders didn't even pause.
"…You've gotta be kidding me," Tucker muttered under his breath.
"…No way I'm the only one that felt that."
His eyes flicked upward instinctively. Toward the second floor.
"…Whatever."
He shook his head once.
"…Focus."
11:25 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor — Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
He turned back to the bar.
Now paying attention.
Really paying attention.
And that's when he noticed that the system the bartenders used was not random. Not at all.
One of the bartenders reached for a bottle, she paused, checked something beneath the counter, then poured.
Another server approached.
"Table twelve," she said quietly.
The scruffy man nodded, he also reached under the counter and pulled out a small golden vial that bubbled slightly.
Tucker's eyes narrowed.
"…Wait."
The vial was poured carefully into a glass then mixed. Then it was slid across the bar.
"Careful with that one," the man muttered.
The server nodded.
Took it. And left.
Tucker stared.
"…That's the same stuff."
He slipped a hand into his pocket.
Felt the vial he had taken earlier.
"…So it's not just a weird drink…"
His gaze shifted across the room.
"…It's assigned."
A guest nearby scoffed loudly.
"I swear, if this is one of those special pours again—"
Tucker blinked.
"…Special?"
The guest waved his hand dismissively.
"Last time I had one, I couldn't feel my legs for ten minutes."
Tucker stared.
"…What?"
The man laughed it off.
"…Rich people nonsense," Tucker muttered under his breath.
But his eyes stayed sharp now. A shadow moved at the edge of his vision.
Tucker didn't turn right away.
That same pressure from the blue suits. Closer this time.
"…You new?"
The voice came from his side.
Low. Direct.
Tucker glanced over.
A blue suit.
Standing just a little too close, eyes locked on him.
Tucker leaned casually against the counter.
"…Been here all night," he said.
The man didn't smile. Didn't blink.
"…You don't smell like it."
Tucker's grip tightened just slightly on the edge of the bar.
"…You checking everyone or just me?" he shot back lightly.
The man stepped closer. Not aggressive.
"…Just doing my job."
A pause. Tucker smirked.
"…Same here."
The tension hung.
For a moment.
Then, "Bartender!"
A voice cut through. A man in a pristine suit took a seat at the counter.
A smooth French accent.
Tucker exhaled quietly.
"…Saved by the rich guy."
He stepped forward.
"…What can I get you?"
The man rested an arm casually on the counter.
Eyes scanning the room.
Then settling back on Tucker.
"…Something… interesting s'il vous plaît," he said.
Tucker tilted his head slightly. A grin forming.
"…Yeah," he said.
"…I think I can do that."
His eyes flicked once more toward the blue suit.
Still watching.
Then back to the man in front of him.
"…Let's see what you've got to say."
11:25 PM — Ascension Gala, Second Floor: Sovereign District — Shirley's POV
Shirley's gaze lifted toward the balcony.
The man in the purple suit stood above it all, calm, composed, the entire gala existed beneath him.
"…Is that August?" Shirley asked, his voice low but direct.
Across from him, the woman didn't answer immediately.
She reached into her pocket, pulling out a tube of red lipstick. With slow, deliberate movements, she applied it across her lips, her eyes never quite leaving him.
Then, "The one and only," she said.
A faint smirk touched her expression.
"He always does this… makes an entrance, lets the room settle, then decides what he wants to do with it."
Shirley's eyes narrowed slightly as he continued watching August.
"…He's the one with answers."
He pushed his chair back, started to stand.
And then, His body stopped.
It was no longer his.
His muscles refused to respond.
Shirley's eyes widened slightly.
"…What?"
"Sit."
Her voice wasn't loud. It didn't need to be.
His body moved instantly, lowering back into the chair without hesitation.
Shirley's grip tightened against the armrest.
…Commanding Presence.
"I can't control myself…"
Across from him, the woman rested her chin against her hand, watching him like this was expected.
Like this was part of the game.
"Good," she said softly.
"Now…"
Her finger tapped lightly against the deck of cards.
"Let's play."
Round One
The cards were dealt.
Shirley's eyes flicked down. Simple game.
A game of numbers and chance.
But something about the way she watched him made it feel like more than that.
She didn't even glance at her own hand right away.
Instead, "You're looking for answers," she said.
Shirley didn't respond.
His focus stayed on the cards.
She continued anyway.
"The Seven Kingdoms. The people here. Him."
A small pause. "But this world doesn't work like that."
She finally looked at her hand.
"One answer doesn't lead to clarity…"
She placed her cards down.
It was already enough.
"…It leads to questions."
Shirley revealed his. He lost.
No room to argue.
She didn't react, nor celebrate.
Just gathered the cards.
Round Two
The deck shuffled again.
Faster this time.
The man beside her, D2, moved like a machine, the cards flickering through his hands in blurs before settling back into place.
The second round began.
Shirley leaned back slightly, his eyes sharper now.
Watching.
Not just playing.
"You found one clue," she continued calmly, dealing.
"The card."
Her finger tapped lightly against the diamond symbol still resting near her.
"And now you're here."
She slid a card toward him.
Another to herself.
"But look around."
Shirley's eyes flicked briefly to the room.
The quiet conversations, the watching eyes, the power sitting in silence.
"How many things here don't make sense?"
She revealed her hand again.
"You solve one piece…"
Her gaze lifted back to him.
"…and suddenly there are a hundred more."
Shirley placed his cards down.
Another loss.
This time, closer. But still a loss.
His eyes didn't leave hers.
Not anymore.
Round Three
The room felt quieter now. Or maybe Shirley had just tuned everything else out.
The third hand was dealt.
This time, he didn't look at her first.
He looked at the cards.
Thinking.
"…You're starting to get it," she said softly.
There was something different in her tone now.
Something almost… approving.
"This world isn't something you understand all at once."
She adjusted one of her cards slightly.
"It's layers."
Her eyes met his.
"Peel one back…"
She placed her hand down.
"…and you'll realize how deep it really goes."
Shirley exhaled quietly.
Then revealed his hand.
He lost, again.
The cards were gathered. The game was over.
Silence sat between them for a moment.
Then, Shirley pushed his chair back and stood.
This time, his body moved. His control had returned.
"I don't care."
His voice was calm, but firm.
The woman's eyes lifted to him. Shirley's gaze didn't waver.
"I'll figure it out."
He slipped a hand into his pocket, gripping the edge of the card.
"All of it."
A small pause. Then, "I don't care how many questions there are."
The woman smiled.
"…Good," she said quietly.
Her eyes gleamed slightly under the warm light.
"That's exactly the kind of person this world breaks…"
A beat.
Then softer—
"…or makes."
She leaned back in her chair, completely at ease now.
Like the game had already told her everything she needed to know.
11:27 PM — Ascension Gala, First Floor — Entertainment District — Tucker's POV
Tucker grabbed a glass with absolutely no confidence.
Then he reached for a random bottle, paused halfway, and slowly set it back down.
"…Okay," he muttered under his breath, "don't mess this one up."
Across the counter, the man watched him with mild amusement.
He sat relaxed, one arm resting against the bar, posture effortless. His suit was pristine, not a wrinkle out of place, and his presence… quiet, but sharp. The kind of person who didn't need attention to have control of it.
"…You look new," the man said smoothly.
Tucker didn't look up right away.
"…Do I?"
"A little," the man replied. "You're thinking too much."
Tucker snorted lightly.
"…Yeah, that sounds about right."
He grabbed a bottle again, this time committing, and poured something into the glass. It wasn't perfect, but it looked drinkable.
Good enough.
He slid it across.
"…There."
The man picked it up, inspecting it briefly before taking a small sip.
A pause.
Then a faint nod.
"….c'est pas terrible."
Tucker grinned slightly.
"I'll take that."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The noise of the gala filled the space between them, laughter, music, distant conversations, but it felt oddly distant here.
The man swirled his drink slowly.
"…Interesting place, isn't it?" he said.
Tucker leaned against the counter.
"…Yeah. 'Interesting' is one way to put it."
The man's lips curved slightly.
"People here like to pretend it's just a party."
A small pause.
"It's not."
Tucker tilted his head.
"…Oh yeah?"
The man glanced around briefly, then back to him.
"Everyone here is watching someone."
He took another sip.
"Or being watched."
Tucker's eyes flicked, just for a second, toward where the blue suit had been earlier.
"…Sounds exhausting."
The man chuckled quietly.
"C'est vrai."
A beat passed. Then Tucker leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just a bit.
"…So what's the deal with this place?"
The man raised a brow.
"That's a very broad question."
Tucker shrugged.
"…Alright, let me say it again."
He tapped the counter lightly.
"Everyone keeps acting like there's levels to this whole thing."
His eyes narrowed just slightly.
"…What's actually important here?"
The man studied him for a moment.
Longer this time. Like he was deciding how much to say.
"…You're smarter than you look," he said finally.
Tucker blinked.
"…Hey."
The man ignored that.
"The first floor…" he began, gesturing loosely around them, "…is noise."
"Entertainment. Distraction. Chaos."
His finger lifted slightly.
"But the second floor…"
His eyes shifted upward.
"That's where decisions start."
Tucker followed his gaze for a second.
Shirley, unknowingly above him.
"…And the third?" Tucker asked.
The question slipped out more naturally than he expected.
But the moment it did, The man paused.
Just slightly.
The movement was small.
But it was there.
"…Ah," he said quietly.
"So you've heard of it."
Tucker tried to play it off.
"…People talk."
The man let out a soft breath through his nose.
Not quite a laugh.
"…Of course they do."
He leaned back slightly in his chair now, the glass resting loosely in his hand.
"…The third floor…"
He tapped the rim of the glass once.
"…is not something people se mettent d'accord sur."
Tucker's eyes narrowed.
"…What do you mean?"
The man glanced around again.
Slower this time. More careful.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower.
"Some say it's where the real power is."
A pause.
"Others say…"
He hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"…it's where people go when they've learned too much."
Tucker blinked.
"…That sounds… bad."
The man smiled faintly.
"It depends on how much you value your curiosity."
Tucker leaned forward slightly now.
"…And what do you think?"
The man didn't answer immediately.
His gaze shifted upward, toward the higher levels of the plane.
Past the second floor, past what could be seen.
"…I think," he said slowly,
"…that whatever is on the third floor…"
His grip on the glass tightened just slightly.
"…is the reason this entire gala exists."
Tucker's expression shifted. Just a little.
"…Yeah?"
The man looked back at him. His usual calm still there.
But now…
There was something else. Something more serious.
"…And I've heard…"
He began.
Then stopped.
Just for a second.
Like even saying it might be a mistake.
Tucker leaned in.
"…Heard what?"
The man exhaled quietly.
Then—
—