The party should have felt safe.
It didn't.
Ezio noticed it the moment he stepped inside—the way the air was too sweet, the way laughter came a heartbeat too late after every joke, the way the musicians' eyes flicked toward the exits more often than toward their strings. The Casanova Ring hummed softly against his ribs, translating the atmosphere into emotional static: pleasure laced with unease, excitement edged with something predatory.
They had chosen a high pavilion overlooking the river, glass walls open to let in the city's golden night. Lanterns floated like drifting stars, casting warm light over silks, skin, and polished crystal. Wine flowed freely. So did smiles.
Rosa stood near the balustrade, a goblet in one hand, watching the guests with a strategist's calm. Kayra laughed beside Ezio, her gray eyes bright, her kitsune tails flicking lazily behind her. She leaned close, her shoulder brushing his arm.
"You did it," she murmured. "They're all terrified of you now."
Ezio didn't answer right away. He was watching the crowd—merchants, minor nobles, sect representatives—all of them pretending to relax while quietly calculating how dangerous he had become.
"They should be," he said at last.
Kayra smiled, half proud, half worried. "That's not comforting."
Lucifer whispered inside his mind, amused."Kiddo, when everyone in the room wants you and fears you, you're standing in the middle of a knife circle."
Rosa joined them. "Enjoy it while it lasts," she said quietly. "Moments like this don't repeat."
Ezio met her gaze. "You sound like you know something I don't."
Rosa's lips curved faintly. "I always do."
Music swelled. Dancers moved. Servants glided between guests with trays of wine and shimmering dishes. The city outside glittered, reflected in the dark river below like a second, upside-down world.
Ezio felt the Machiavelli Ring tighten, cold and alert, as if it were sensing a pattern forming. At the same time, the Casanova Ring warmed, feeding on the attention in the room—the glances, the whispers, the desire curling around him.
Two forces pulling in opposite directions.
He took a sip of wine.
It tasted faintly bitter.
Kayra frowned. "That's strange…"
Before Ezio could answer, the room lurched.
Not violently—subtly. Like a ship catching an unexpected current. Conversations faltered. A few guests swayed. The musicians' notes slipped out of tune.
Rosa's eyes snapped to the servants.
"Poison," she said flatly.
The word cut through the party like ice.
Ezio felt it hit his system a heartbeat later—a cold wave spreading through his veins, dulling sensation, fogging thought. The Casanova Ring flared, fighting to stabilize his emotions, while the Machiavelli Ring constricted, trying to impose clarity.
They collided.
Pain lanced through his skull.
Around them, guests were collapsing, some unconscious, some groaning. Masks of civility shattered into panic.
"Kayra," Ezio said, gripping her arm. "Stay with me."
She nodded, teeth clenched, her tails bristling. "I'm not going anywhere."
Rosa drew a short blade, scanning the exits. "They're coming."
As if summoned by her words, figures moved in the shadows beyond the glass—masked, armored, efficient. Caesar's sigil glinted faintly on their collars.
The trap had sprung.
Ezio's vision blurred. His two Rings pulsed wildly—one flooding him with raw emotion, the other with ruthless calculation. Desire, fear, love, betrayal, strategy—all of it crashing together.
Inside him, something began to crack.
Lucifer's voice grew sharp."Kiddo… your soul can't hold two kings. Something has to give."
Ezio dropped to one knee, breath ragged. He could feel Kayra's hand on his shoulder, Rosa's presence beside him, the approaching footsteps of their enemies.
And in that instant—surrounded by danger, by love, by treachery—his spirit reached a breaking point.
A space opened inside him.
Not empty.
Waiting.
Within that void, two figures took shape: one woven of silk and shadow, smiling with dangerous charm… the other carved from iron and cold logic, eyes sharp with ruthless clarity.
Casanova and Machiavelli.
They sat across from one another at a black chessboard, pieces made of light and blood.
Between them, a single card formed.
A Tarot Card.
It burned with the promise of balance—or ruin.
Ezio gasped as the Card locked into place inside his soul, stabilizing the war between his two paths. The pain eased, replaced by a terrifying calm.
Outside, the doors shattered.
Caesar's agents poured in.
Ezio rose to his feet, eyes burning with a new, strange light.
The game had just become real.