The Last Card

Joren sat in the dimly lit tavern, his fingers hovering over a single card on the table. His entire fortune—his years of battle, his blood, his sweat—had come down to this moment.

Across from him, a hooded figure grinned. "One more match," the stranger said, his voice like a whisper carried on the wind. "Winner takes all."

Joren had fought in thousands of battles before, but never like this. The air crackled with energy, and as the match began, he realized something was different. The creatures he summoned—ones he had relied on for so long—felt… hesitant. As if they knew something he didn’t.

The hooded figure placed a single card on the table. Darkness spilled from it, twisting through the battlefield like ink in water. Joren’s creatures recoiled, their loyalty shaken.

"You’ve played for power your whole life," the stranger murmured. "But have you ever wondered who is really in control?"

Joren gritted his teeth, summoning his last warrior—a radiant, armored knight infused with the power of the Light Splinter. The knight stood firm, sword gleaming, eyes locked on the darkness.

For a moment, Joren thought he had a chance. But then, the stranger turned over his final card.

A mirror.

Joren's knight faltered. His own reflection stared back at him from the battlefield. And then, in an instant, his warrior was gone—replaced by an identical figure, but this one fought for the other side.

Joren’s breath caught in his throat. The battle was already lost.

The stranger chuckled, gathering the cards as Joren’s vision began to blur. "You played well," he said. "But in the end, Splinterlands isn’t about the strongest hand—it’s about who writes the rules."

The last thing Joren saw before darkness took him was his own card, slowly fading into nothing.