"Full house." A man across the table called as he threw down an ace and an eight of clubs. A low murmur passed through the crowd gathered around the table.

  "Fuck me." Joren said under his breath, tossing his ten pair onto the table.

  The dealer gave a sympathetic look to Joren as he pulled the cards in. Coins slid across the table toward the winner, clinking softly as they combined into a pile.

  “Tough run tonight,” the dealer said, pity in his eyes.

  Joren leaned back slightly in his chair, feeling the cool breeze of wind against his skin. Not only had he lost whatever money he had in his pockets at the time, he also bet most of his clothes too.

  Joren glanced down at what he had left.

  Pants.

  “Well,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “I'd like to at least not get arrested, so I'm out."

  A few of the spectators laughed and even the dealer cracked a small grin as he gathered the cards.

  “Wise decision,” the man said.

  Someone was already sliding into Joren’s seat before he turned around, eager to try their luck against the hot shot who just won.

  Joren stepped away from the poker table, the noise of the game fading behind him as he walked away. Joren was usually wise and level-headed, but he sure was a terrible liar.

  The carnival life enveloped him immediately. The packed dirt roads twisted through rows of tents and rides, each corner opening into something louder than the last.

  “Step right up! One throw, one prize!”

  Joren drifted toward the booth out of interest. A man stood behind a counter stacked with glass bottles, each arranged in a pyramid. A handful of players took turns tossing heavy rings, most bouncing harmlessly off the glass.

  “Winner takes the big one!” the game barker shouted, pointing toward a stuffed bear as tall as Joren.

  A ring bounced off the top bottle and fell towards the floor. “Next!”

  Joren watched another player try and fail before pulling out his wallet again.

  Joren considered it briefly.

  Then remembered he had no money.

  “Next time,” he muttered.

  Further along, a huge man rang the bell at the top of a hammer tower with a thunderous clang, sending the watching crowd into cheers.

  Joren smiled and kept walking.

  The carnival seemed even busier than the night before. More booths had opened and performers did strange things trying to draw passersby into their shows, each one requiring a ticket to be purchased, of course.

  For a moment he simply wandered, letting the noise and color carry him along.

  Joren paused long enough to watch the man finish his routine. The performer caught the last torch under his arm and bowed dramatically, hat held out for tips.

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  A few coins dropped into it.

  Joren considered doing some sort of trick to get some money back, yet he had no idea where onlookers would put their tips. His pants pockets? No, that would be absurd.

  Nearby he saw a man sat behind a small table covered in velvet cloth. Strange objects were arranged across its surface: glass spheres, stacks of cards, incense sticks.

  “Fortunes told,” the man called out. “Past, present, and future.”

  Joren slowed just enough for the man to notice him.

  “You look like a traveler,” the fortune teller added, eyeing his lack of clothing with a smile.

  Joren gave a small shrug. “Something like that.”

  The man tapped the deck of cards with a single finger.

  “First reading free.”

  Joren almost laughed, yet had nothing better to do, so he obliged and took a seat.

  “Cut the deck,” the man said.

  Joren did as instructed, splitting the cards roughly in half and sliding one stack aside.

  The fortune teller nodded once and began laying them down in a slow line.

  Three cards, all faced downwards.

  The fortune telller flipped the first card over.

  The Tower.

  Joren leaned over the card, studying the image. A tall, stone tower falling apart as people appeared to be falling towards their death.

  The fortune teller gave a quiet hum.

  “It seems that you didn't plan on becoming a traveler, did you?"

  Joren leaned back in the chair. “I guess so.”

  “The Tower usually appears when life changes suddenly,” he said. “Like a rug pull, if that makes sense."

  Joren gave a faint shrug. “Yeah, something like that.”

  The fortune teller nodded once, confirming the reading. He flipped the next card over, this one reading ‘Judgement’.

  The illustration showed a naked man standing beneath a light, an angel descending towards him.

  “Ah, makes sense,” he murmured.

  Joren raised an eyebrow. “What’s this one mean?”

  "It means you are in a period of awakening or reflection," The man continued. "You may be familiar with the idea that the gods will judge us one day and reflect the lives we lived."

  “What does that mean for me, then?” Joren asked.

  “Hard to say,” the fortune teller replied. “Sometimes you will live the life that you will reflect on in the future, or it could mean that you are being judged by something right now."

  Joren snorted softly. “Seems vague."

  The man flipped the final card, showing the title 'The World'.

  The illustration showed a figure standing inside a circle against a plain black background, the corners of the card marked by strange symbols.

  The fortune teller paused.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked.

  The man leaned back slightly, studying the three cards together.

  “Well,” he said at last, “that’s quite the road.”

  Joren folded his arms loosely. “You keep saying that.”

  "This last card means that your journey will end in enlightenment and peace. That seems like a very good thing." He said joyfully.

  “That seems pretty good to me,” Joren said, leaning forward to look at the card again. “Peace doesn’t sound so bad.”

  The fortune teller gave a small chuckle. "So, would you like to do a more in-depth reading? It's only five silver."

  "Sorry, I don't have any money, so I will have to decline." Joren replied, now getting up from his seat.

  The fortune teller gave a small shrug as he began gathering the cards back into a neat stack.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “ If you change your mind, come on by sometime."

  Joren smiled and walked away.

  The man's fingers caught on the last card, now noticing that two cards were stuck together.

  The fortune teller frowned as he separated them carefully, turning the second one over.

  His faint smile dissipated quickly, discomfort replacing it as he glanced toward the direction Joren had just gone.

  For a moment, he said nothing, just watched as a shirtless boy without any shoes on disappeared. Then he slid the card quietly back into the deck, tapping the edge against the table.

  “I've never seen that future before,” he murmured to himself, a hint of concern slipping out.

  "One Night Only: The Man Who Cannot Sleep," a man called out to the street.

  Joren chuckled at the title.

  “Sounds miserable,” he muttered to himself as he walked past the tent.

  A faint creaking sound drifted through the air somewhere ahead of him. Wood tapping against wood.

  He glanced around, trying to find the source.

  Most of the nearby tents were closed, their flaps tied shut for the night as the performers got their rest. So where was that sound coming from?

  He made his way into the maze of tents, searching for that noise.

  The sound came again.

  Joren slowed his pace. This time he spotted it.

  A small tent sat within all of the others, its flap left slightly open. A faint glow came from within, but Joren could not tell what it was.

  Joren tilted his head slightly, listening.

  Clack.

  “Hello?” he called casually toward the opening.

  No answer came back, just the faint tapping again.

  "I'm coming in." He called into the flap.

  No sound returned, so Joren went inside to investigate.

  The flap fell closed as he entered.