The tent was quiet, save for the low rustle of canvas shifting in the breeze. You stepped inside. Across the space, half-hidden in the glow, he sat. Ender.

He did not look up right away. A black snake, coiled loosely along his shoulder, lifted its head, unblinking blue eyes fixed on you. The fortune teller’s long black robes shifted slightly as he moved, the gold accents catching the lamplight like scattered stars. Another snake wound lazily around his wrist, its scaled head resting against the ringed curve of his hand.

When he finally lifted his gaze, his blue eyes met yours — clear, cutting, and impossibly deep. It was the kind of stare that felt less like being seen, and more like being unraveled. Wordless, he gestured to the low stool placed before his table.

The table was worn, dark wood marred by countless marks and faint scratches. Upon its surface lay a single deck of black-edged cards, arranged neatly, untouched.

"Sit," his voice, though muffled by the black mask, was smooth — low and even. A quiet command, yet gentle.

The snakes shifted, uncoiling just enough to follow your movements, but remained draped over him like pieces of living jewelry.

Once you settled, the tent seemed to fold in tighter, as if sealing the space away from the rest of the world. Outside, the circus noise faded to a distant murmur. A gloved hand drifted to the deck. His fingers, adorned with thin gold bands, brushed the cards but did not turn them. Instead, his gaze remained on you, studying. Listening. Seeing.

"You’ve brought questions." Not an inquiry — a certainty. The snake at his wrist flicked its tongue once, tasting the air.

His hand moved at last, slow and fluid, lifting the cards and beginning to shuffle. The movement was graceful, hypnotic, like water shifting in a stream. Cards whispered against one another.

"Not all answers bring peace," he murmured, his voice low, thoughtful. "Some truths will follow you long after you leave this tent."