You Already Won

In a Realm of Mist and Steam—tucked between the dreaming bodies of two titanic gods, one of Wrath and the other Rebirth—was a pocket dimension no larger than a penny in the material world.

But inside?

It spanned the size of a floating stadium.

Suspended walkways looped in impossible geometry through columns of swirling light. There were no walls—just gravity-defying bridges, terraces of vaporized stone, and threads of glowing rails twisting through the air. Yet somehow, paintings still hung from the nothingness. Pictures framed in gold, pinned to spaces where walls should have existed, displayed memories only gods dared to recall.

A chariot made of violet clouds and angel wings spiraled down onto a landing platform, carried by silence and reverence.

Its door creaked open.

And Jason Miller stepped out.

His cloak shimmered—jet-black with electric streaks of teal and pink neon, fur-collared and spell-threaded. His eyes, bright cyan with layered concentric rings, scanned the area with practiced disinterest. Dark brown skin and his pink-highlighted hair glowed subtly, pulsing with his ambient magic. Every step he took left faint traces of radiant glyphs under his boots that evaporated seconds later.

Jason Miller Basingal.

Right hand to the Family Head of Basingal.

Outlander turned inner-circle elite. The first foreigner to marry into House Basingal and survive the politics. Some still whispered that his rise was unnatural—but it didn't matter. He had proven himself a hundred times over. Through battle, diplomacy, and one very public duel that ended with a nobleman's teeth embedded in the palace floor.

Neon magic arced gently across his fingers. A pulse of pressure rippled through the bridge under his feet.

Usually, the Fortune Holder event was beneath his concern—an elaborate bloodsport to cull the eager and elevate the worthy. But this year… this year felt wrong.

Supreme Families—multiple—had taken interest. And not just to watch. There were whispered artifacts, famalies making covert moves, and worst of all: Jujisn—the younger selves of gods—scattered like wildcards in the arena.

"Rituain. Vari. What are you two playing at…" he muttered, eyes narrowing beneath the flash of sigil-shaped light passing overhead.

This many power players didn't gather for fun. This wasn't amusement. This was maneuvering. And his Family Head wanted answers.

He approached the ornate doorway floating in midair—its edges trimmed with living roots of starlight. He never understood why this chamber insisted on having a door, given there were no actual walls anywhere in this place.

Still, he reached forward and pressed his palm to the handle.

Jason dropped to one knee without a second thought.

The moment he stepped through the curved frame of the arch-door—his mind understood what his senses could not. This wasn't just a meeting. Two beings sat within the chamberless space, suspended between threads of concept and gravity. Reality itself bent delicately to accommodate their presence.

On the left, B'Raixa Daqui Vari.

She was fair skinned and gold, regality incarnate, her serpents coiled in perfect stillness around her shoulders and hair like strands of moon-thread dipped in gold ink. Her eyes were golden galaxies cut into irises—refined, cruel, and beautiful in their detachment. Her presence did not burn; it strangled gently. Like luxury—expensive, suffocating, and absolute.

To her right, Rhan Xas Rituain.

Less imperial, more dreamlike. Hair that was a darker white. Their robes shimmered with echoes of a billion creatures—beasts, shadows, gods—and their gold eyes reflected the ancient neutrality of the forests, the hunt, and something deeper still. The equilibrium before chaos.

No words had been spoken yet, and Jason could already feel sweat beading beneath his collar.

The Basingal crest on his jacket lit up in subtle recognition, perhaps out of survival instinct more than pride. Jason forced himself to lower his head completely.

"Supreme Ones," he whispered reverently. "I was not told you would be present… I expected your envoys."

Vari's gaze narrowed slightly, her golden lashes blinking like silk razors. Her voice when it came was soft, amused, and entirely predatory.

"If you had been told, would you have come as quickly or at all?"

Jason said nothing. There were no correct answers here.

Rhan's voice followed, drifting like smoke through a forest after rain. "You did well to kneel. Too many gods forget who gave them the sky."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Jason glanced up only briefly, locking eyes with the Hunter God for the span of a heartbeat before looking back down. His own aura recoiled, like a child shamed in front of its parent.

"May I humbly ask, why am I here alone?" His gaze still lowered.

Rhan chuckled lightly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. "We need no audience."

Jason's head lifted slightly, enough to meet their gaze without disrespect. "Then I assume the circumstances are delicate?"

"Correct," Vari said, golden pupils narrowing.

Jason remained still, kneeling not just out of reverence, but now in creeping unease. The silence between the two Supreme Beings had turned from serene to deliberate. Rhan's eyes shifted slightly toward him.

They tilted their head, as though regarding a bird that hadn't learned how to fly.

"You're confused," Rhan said gently, "Understandable. Your Family Head sent you to measure the depth of the ocean using a tea cup."

Jason's throat tightened. He didn't speak.

Rhan continued, "This event… this Fortune Holder… is a test. But not one meant for you. The true nature of it lies beyond your concern."

Jason swallowed hard, feeling the implication rather than fully understanding it.

"Still," Rhan went on, crossing one leg over the other, "out of respect for Jaupenguen and your own potential, we'll offer you this—"

But before they could finish, a voice like golden honey stirred the air.

"The Curtenail Region," Vari said with a smile, as if complimenting a necklace she intended to snap, "has served its purpose."

Jason's heart skipped. He didn't need elaboration. The tone. The words. The smirk.

He knew.

All of Requiem's higher orders did.

B'Raixa Daqui Vari—schemer of centuries, poisoner of pride—never moved without reason, and never destroyed without first offering hope. That was her game. Not conquest through might, but erosion. Whispered victories handed to pantheons, to gods, to regions like Curtenail. Letting them fight back. Letting them "win." Letting them believe.

Only to remind them, in time, that belief was a privilege she could revoke.

It happened every few millennia. A cycle. A pattern. And Jason, for all his power and placement, had always hoped it wouldn't repeat in his era.

Apparently, hope wasn't immune either.

Vari reclined slightly, one of her golden serpents coiled tighter around her as if relishing the dread in Jason's aura.

"You understand, don't you?" she said sweetly.

Jason nodded slowly, fists clenched tight against his knees.

He understood.

Curtenail was done.

Rhan's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, the radiant calm behind them flashing with sudden irritation.

"Rude," they said, casting a sidelong glare at Vari.

Vari raised a delicate hand in mock apology, the smirk still lingering on her golden lips. "Forgive me," she said, clearly not sorry. "I just… really wanted to deliver that line."

Rhan exhaled half laugh, half sigh. "You're as childish as ever."

"I try," Vari replied, brushing a strand of silver hair behind her ear, the snake coiled around her shoulders flicking its tongue with idle menace.

The superior beings bickered like spoiled gods at a dinner party—blind to nothing yet caring for even less—soon, their fascination would birth calamity.

Jason Miller smiled politely, trying his best to seem composed despite the growing pressure in his bones. Even kneeling, even as a god, he could feel the weight of their presence. It wasn't just spiritual—it was mathematical, existential. Their auras had not existed at all until he stepped into the chamber, and now, even in suppression, they were like reality's true scaffolding.

Still, he didn't dare interrupt.

Basingal was not on the friendliest of terms with Vari. The last official meeting between his Family Head and her had resulted in half a realm eroding into dust and silence. There was no declared animosity, no war, no blood feud—but Jason wasn't stupid enough to equate that with safety.

The two Supreme Family Heads chuckled, as if just remembering he was there.

Jason's voice was quiet. "What role does the Basingal family play in this, Supreme Ones?"

There was a pause.

Then Vari smiled, slow and razor-thin.

"That depends," she said, "on how you play your part."

"On the eighth," Rhan said smoothly, "we will offer a path of withdrawal."

"A gesture," Vari added, examining her nails, "so that your family may choose whether to continue participation."

Jason nodded, eyes low. "A courtesy," he said, "since others are getting caught up in your… side plans."

"Correct," Rhan confirmed with a faint, approving hum. "We are nothing if not considerate."

Jason inhaled carefully. "And what of the fallout? From the other pantheons? The gods?"

Both supreme beings chuckled at once.

"They'll adapt," Rhan said.

"They'll survive," Vari chimed in. "That's what they do. Requiem flows forward regardless."

Jason nodded again, noting the absence he'd been afraid to address before.

"The Jafar Empire… they're not present?"

"They are," Vari answered, her voice dipping into something quieter, heavier. "They're simply… content with whatever we choose."

Jason understood. This wasn't grace. This was a reminder. A display of power dressed in diplomacy.

"Thank you," he said. And with a motion from Rhan's finger, he was dismissed.

He bowed and walked backwards five full steps before turning and departing, the echo of his exit swallowed entirely by the ever-shifting space.

Once alone, Rhan leaned back on their translucent seat, gaze distant. "Jaupenguen won't like it, but he'll keep the peace. Still, it was necessary."

"He'll survive," Vari replied. "He's adaptable. Besides, his family didn't have much invested in this event anyway."

There was a quiet moment between them, the space between thoughts louder than any spoken word.

Rhan already knew why she was here.

To test her Jujisn. To see if Destiny could break free of divine causality. Not just another iteration. Not a legacy. A glitch in the pattern. Something the Vantis couldn't trace.

And Vari knew why he watched.

To see what would emerge from fractured beginnings and untrained power. Too see what formations occur from chaos. What bonds shape, what truths fracture.

They understood each other. Their intentions were evident from the moment they knew of Jujisn existence.

"Jafar's intent for his Jujisn," Rhan said at last,"his actions elude me yet again," he murmured, gaze distant. "He could've taken any number of paths. Yet he chose this one."

Vari tapped a gold-ringed finger against her cheek. "It feels like a dare."

"They're us," Rhan said, slowly. "But not. They are affected simply by us existing. That in itself causes many problems for his "experiment"."

"And yet," Vari said, voice soft and gleaming with unease, "the paradox grows thicker with every move he makes."

"A seed," Rhan murmured. "But one buried too deep to reach now."

"Something to worry about later," Vari agreed, her eyes flickering gold.

For now, the eighth day drew near.

But something more immediate crept into view—

They both paused, a weight settling between them.

Vari's lips curved, but not into a smile.

Someone was listening. Not in the usual way. Not with ears. Something older. Watching from the cracks in reality. Attempting to tug at the threads of fate.