Narrated by Vedek Lira
The past is a deck already shuffled. The future, a hand yet dealt. Humanity sits at the table with broken cards and a pile of debts, still daring to bet against the universe.
Khan is gone — but not gone. His shadow lies across centuries. The Botany Bay drifts in slumber, yet the dreams inside burn hotter than any sun. Earth rebuilds slowly, dangerously — like a gambler who swears the next hand will change his fortune.
And so Qylarin, child of the Q Continuum, stepped down into their dust and ash.
The Courthouse Game
Night fell over a ruined city, the bones of skyscrapers jutting against a bruised sky. Inside a shattered courthouse, a handful of survivors huddled around a makeshift card table. The air smelled of kerosene and smoke. They did not play for money — that was long gone. The stakes were food, medicine, scraps of fuel. Life itself.
The doors creaked. Boots echoed on cracked marble.
A stranger entered — long black coat, silver watch swinging like a pendulum between worlds, grin sharp enough to cut glass.
“Mind if I sit in?”
The players froze. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar across his jaw, studied the newcomer.
“Buy-in’s steep.”
Qylarin dropped a pouch onto the table. Coins shimmered like sunlight that had never touched Earth.
“I reckon I can afford it.”
Cards slid. Bets rose. The night deepened.
The Test
Round after round, Qylarin played flawlessly. Fuel, rations, and medicine drifted toward him. His silver watch ticked — a rhythm only he could hear. Around him, greed grew thick as the smoke.
Vedek Lira’s voice floated through the dust:
The hands they played were not only cards. Each was a choice. Each a mirror of the soul. Qylarin did not gamble to win — he gambled to see how they lost.
At last, the scarred man slammed his hand down — four of a kind — and grinned.
“Looks like the stranger’s luck’s run out.”
But Qylarin only smiled, slow and knowing. Across the table, a thin girl held a small cloth pouch — seeds, her family’s last hope. Her fingers trembled as she looked at her cards.
Qylarin leaned close.
“Tell me, child … do you play to win … or to survive?”
She met his gaze, frightened but unbroken.
“I fold.”
The Fold
The room went silent. Then Qylarin laughed — a deep, echoing laugh that made the lanterns sway.
“Smart one! Knows when to walk away.”
He snapped his fingers. The winnings — food, medicine, fuel — vanished from his pile and reappeared before their rightful owners. The girl’s pouch of seeds spilled open, twice as full as before, kernels glowing like starlight.
Gasps filled the room. The girl stared down, wonder lighting her face.
Vedek Lira whispered:
He gambled not to take, but to tempt. And in one child’s restraint, humanity showed wisdom. One seed of mercy among the ruins — that was enough for hope to root.
Epilogue
Qylarin tipped his hat and walked into the night. The silver watch ticked once more — a sound like thunder over distant stars.
Behind him, in that ruined courthouse, the survivors began to share.
And far away, at the edge of eternity, the Council watched. The gambler had played his hand. The next move belonged to humankind.
TheWRITEaddiction.com 
Leave a comment