Fortuna is in Corpus. It is still early, and the morning light slides between the buildings in long, quiet streaks. She walks down a shopping street already alive with movement, storefronts gleaming, merchants adjusting the final details with careful precision. She has no fixed itinerary, only one persistent thought circling steadily in her mind: she will buy the most beautiful dress possible. She does not yet know the color or the cut, but she knows she will recognize it at first glance.

  Hunger surfaces gradually. She steps into one of the street’s most reputable restaurants, the kind where tables are generously spaced and the service never falters. She sits, orders something expensive without lingering over the menu, and waits while observing the low-voiced conversations around her.

  The dish arrives. She savors the texture, the exactness of the cooking, the deliberate balance of the sauce, but above all she savors the feeling of being here without constraint. She finishes her plate, settles the bill, and steps back outside with a clearer mind. Now the search truly begins.

  Shops follow one after another. She enters, observes, leaves. The displays are immaculate, fabrics carefully pressed, cuts engineered to flatter any silhouette. Salespeople smile, always ready with compliments that rarely require actual attention. She brushes certain textiles with her fingertips, studies others from a distance. There is craftsmanship. There is elegance. But nothing holds her.

  Then her gaze stops.

  The piece stands alone, slightly set back. A deep gold, without aggressive shine. Tiny diamonds are embedded into the fabric, subtle enough to avoid excess, numerous enough to catch the light at the slightest movement. She steps inside and asks to see it up close. She slips it on without hesitation. In front of the mirror, she adjusts the waist slightly, studies the way the cut follows her silhouette, the way the stones capture and release light.

  She asks the price. She has the required amount. Once the transaction is done, almost nothing will remain. The coming days will be tight, perhaps uncomfortable. She pays. The dress is hers. She steps back into the street dressed like a star. Heads turn. Passersby slow down, some stopping entirely. Fortuna walks straight ahead, chin raised, perfectly at ease under this sudden attention. She is not performing. She is simply where she belongs.

  She moves to the next step of her plan. Make money. Scratch tickets cross her mind for a second. The jackpot would fall effortlessly, and that would almost be disappointing. She dismisses the idea. Her objective is clear. The casino. Two obstacles stand immediately in her way. She is an anomaly, and officially underage. The rules should be enough to stop her. Yet her instinct whispers something else, a calm certainty tinged with amusement. If they want to measure her luck, they will let her in.

  She pushes through the doors. The air inside is cool. At the reception desk, the attendant already has her file open before she reaches the counter.

  “Miss Fortuna. A pleasure. Let me confirm your details… Twenty-two years old. No registered Mots.”

  She looks at him briefly.

  “That is correct.”

  Fortuna enters the gaming floor and sits in front of a machine. She takes everything she has left and wagers it in a single motion. Five syllables. She pulls the lever. The symbols spin. Three stars. Five syllables become one hundred.

  She barely smiles. She stands without haste and moves toward the roulette table. Before placing a bet, she watches. A few rounds pass. Around the table, the players are focused, tense, though their gazes drift more often than they realize. She finally places her bet, careless, almost reckless, everything on 7.

  A murmur spreads. Some smile. Others roll their eyes. To them, it is obvious. A rich fool throwing money away. No one says it out loud, but everyone thinks the same thing.

  The wheel spins. The ball is released. It strikes the separators, rebounds, accelerates, then begins to slow. Fortuna watches without visible tension. Only a calm, almost distracted anticipation. The ball hesitates, makes one last turn, then settles.

  Silence falls for a fraction of a second before breaking into restrained reactions. Held breaths. Disbelieving stares. This time, they are not looking at Fortuna for her beauty. They are looking because something feels wrong. One hundred syllables have become four thousand. A bonus is added automatically for landing on the number of luck. She gathers her winnings. For her, the real game starts now. She exchanges bills for chips and feels their weight shift in her palm. She crosses the room without hurry and chooses a blackjack table. A few glances assess her quickly. Fortuna remains neutral. Under the table, her hand trembles slightly. An impatience she struggles to conceal. Her thumb rubs the edge of a chip again and again to bleed off excess energy. The clicking briefly overtakes the surrounding noise.

  Cameras adjust. Several lenses converge on the same table. The slightest anomaly will trigger intervention. If any suspicious fluctuation of Mots energy is detected, the game will stop immediately.

  “Place your bets.”

  She sets her wager. Fortuna inhales calmly.

  “I play the bonus.”

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  She pushes additional chips forward. The dealer pauses briefly, verifies, then nods.

  “Bonus activated.”

  The shoe slides. The first card appears. Seven of diamonds. She looks at it, lifts her gaze, then surveys the table as if nothing has changed. The second card appears. Seven of diamonds. This time the atmosphere shifts. Nearby players stop focusing on their own hands. The rhythm slows without anyone deciding it should.

  The cameras tighten. Feeds scroll. No signal. No Mots energy usage. No cheating detected.

  Fortuna is last to play. Two players draw before her. Cards slide, decisions fall quickly. Then it is her turn. The dealer meets her eyes, still neutral but more attentive than before.

  “Hit or stand?”

  Fortuna raises her hand and taps the felt twice. No one comments. Every gaze locks on her. The dealer slides a card toward her and turns it over. Seven of diamonds.

  For a fraction of a second, the casino freezes. Screens light up. Numbers climb too quickly to track. Chips vanish, replaced by thick plaques engraved with the casino’s seal. The dealer lowers his voice slightly.

  “Bonus confirmed.”

  Fortuna gathers the plaques. Her hand is steady again. She rises without haste and walks away. The cameras follow her to the edge of the room, tense, ready. But there is nothing. Just a player who announced the bonus and won it. When she disappears into the crowd, the casino exhales. Luck has just proven it can strike without warning.

  Fortuna enters a hotel. Pale marble, controlled silence, flawless lighting. No one stops her. Her name is already registered. The elevator carries her to the top floor. The most expensive suite overlooking Corpius. From this height, the city looks new and luminous. Smooth fa?ades. Clean lines. Constant flow. Everything breathes money and continuity. The jacuzzi waits. The water is perfectly warm. Fortuna slides in, takes the glass resting on the edge, and drinks slowly. Bubbles burst against her palate. Her body relaxes.

  She closes her eyes. The setting shifts. A ruined casino stands before her. The sign above the entrance flickers faintly.

  Chance.

  She pushes the door open. The air is heavy with dust. Machines are gutted. Roulettes cracked. Cards scattered across the floor. Everything appears abandoned except for one table at the center. A poker table intact.

  The broken machines around her vibrate faintly, as if the place is waiting to be rebuilt. Fortuna brushes her fingertips across the table. Her soul definition has not forgotten its past. She opens her eyes. Tomorrow, she will play to gain the advantage.

  The next day, a limousine stops in front of the casino. The red carpet is already laid out. Security closes off the area with efficiency too swift to be spontaneous. Behind barriers, paparazzi press forward, cameras raised, drawn toward an arrival they sense before they can name it. The door opens. Fortuna steps out. Her red dress captures the flashes before her foot even touches the ground. Her heels strike the carpet with steady rhythm. She walks without playing to the cameras, without offering them a pose. Lenses track her anyway, firing relentlessly, trying to capture her. She gives them nothing. Only direction.

  At the entrance, Fortuna stops. The man at reception hesitates. His gaze flicks to his earpiece, then to the discreet screen embedded in the desk. He pales slightly. Fortuna waits, calm intact, impatience held just beneath the surface.

  “Please follow me.”

  They leave the public entrance behind. The VIP area reveals itself. A muted, dense space saturated with understated luxury. Everything here smells of money that no longer needs display. Fortuna walks forward. No one asks for authorization. She takes her seat.

  It was worth spending everything, she thinks.

  The dealer looks up. She speaks before he can.

  “One million.”

  Chips are counted, verified, and pushed toward her. Five other players are already seated. Six in total.

  A massive man with a gray beard. A nervous young player tapping the table. A man too elegant to be honest. A silent figure behind dark glasses. An old regular with tired eyes.

  Chips fall. The table is engaged. Each player receives two face-down cards. Fortuna glances at hers. Nothing exceptional. She calls the minimum bet. Three others do the same. The rest fold immediately. Three cards are placed at the center. The game turns communal. The nervous young man bets too quickly. The elegant one follows without hesitation. The silent player calls after a brief pause. Fortuna waits, then calls. A fourth card appears. The silent player raises heavily, attempting to narrow the field. The young one folds. The elegant man hesitates, then pays. Fortuna studies hands. Breathing. Fingers on chips. She calls. Final card. The table is complete. Nothing more will change. The silent player bets big. He is confident. The elegant man folds instantly. Only two remain. Fortuna and him. Silence settles fully.

  “All in,” he says.

  Fortuna looks at him. Then she calls. The cards are revealed. Her combination is stronger. The dealer announces the result without emotion. Chips flow toward her. Counted. Recounted. Four million.

  Fortuna pushes one million back toward the dealer.

  “Take it.”

  He nods. Three million remain before her. Pure profit. The five others look at her differently now. No one underestimates her anymore.

  Fortuna folds her hands calmly over her chips.

  “We continue.”

  The table has just changed owners.

  After several more rounds, Fortuna stands, ready to exchange her millions in profit. She gathers the plaques without haste and moves toward the exit. A man with a hooked nose steps forward to block her path. Gold suit, visible jewelry, tight smile. He positions himself close enough to impose his presence.

  “I believe the real game begins now.”