The circular arena with the black glass floor reflected the pulsing colored lights like the surface of a lake from hell.
The Dancers of Joy, including that thing that used to be called Samuel, formed a silent ring of masked spectators. The blank white eyes of their masks stared at us with unsettling stillness.
I could feel Maya's and Rex's gazes on my back—
a mixture of fear, confusion, and perhaps a hint of suppressed disgust at my supposed "stupidity" for challenging this entity.
It doesn't matter, I thought as I walked toward the round table made of polished black stone.
The dice have already been thrown… or rather, the cards will be dealt soon.
The Master of Masks, with his exquisite golden mask and the smile that never left his face, gestured with theatrical elegance toward one of the empty seats.
"Please, little challenger. Our stage is ready, and the cards are waiting to tell their stories."
I sat down, feeling the cold stone beneath my hands. On the table, in front of both me and the Master of Masks, were two sets of cards. Their backs were decorated with an intricate engraving of a smiling mask intertwined with spiraling patterns, all in dull silver against a black background as dark as a moonless night.
The cards themselves emitted a faint aura of unsettling energy, as if they carried within them countless possible destinies.
"The rules of Weaving of Fates," the Master of Masks began in his deep voice dripping with amusement, "are deceptively simple."
He waved his hand, and a group of cards floated from the deck before him and gracefully distributed themselves in front of each of us, face down.
Five cards each.
"We both draw five cards at the beginning," he continued, as if explaining a children's game to a novice. "On your turn, you may play one or more cards to add to the narrative we are building together. Each card, as you will see, carries an essence… an effect… a piece of a story waiting to be told."
He paused briefly before continuing, as though stating something obvious.
"Whatever you play must connect with what has already been played. Otherwise… well, a broken narrative is a fast road to oblivion."
He pointed at the glowing cards before us.
"The goal? To make me admit that your narrative is the stronger, the more convincing… or—what I personally find far more entertaining—to watch your own narrative collapse under the weight of contradictions or absurdity, leaving you nothing more than a forgotten whisper in this carnival."
He smiled widely.
"And of course, if I grow bored of your pathetic attempts… the game ends as well. And not pleasantly for you."
So either I make him admit my narrative is superior, or I cause his narrative to collapse, I summarized the rules in my mind.
The second option sounds far more… ironic. Which makes it much more appealing to me.
"And now," said the Master of Masks, his red eyes gleaming behind the mask, "are you ready to draw the first threads of your fate, boy?"
My hand trembled slightly as I reached toward the five face-down cards in front of me. One by one, I turned them over.
What I saw made my heart sink a little.
The first card was pale blue, showing a drawing of a lone butterfly flying toward a shattered moon.
Beneath the image was written in elegant script:
[Card: Lost Dream]
Effect: Introduces an element of sorrow, loss, or false hope into the narrative. Can weaken the effect of a "Hope" card if played immediately afterward.
Wonderful, I thought sarcastically. What an uplifting start.
The second card was dark green, showing an image of an endless tangled forest.
[Card: The Inner Maze]
Effect: Forces the opponent to confront their inner doubts or confusion. May make their narrative less clear or more hesitant in the next round.
Another maze? As if I hadn't suffered enough mazes today.
The third card was blood-red, depicting a heart dripping with dark liquid.
[Card: Silent Betrayal]
Effect: Can be secretly played alongside another card. At the end of the opponent's next turn, it reveals itself and shifts the loyalty of one "character" or "element" in their narrative to work against them.
Interesting… but dangerous. It requires perfect timing.
The fourth card was pale yellow, showing an empty hourglass.
[Card: Wasted Time]
Effect: Does almost nothing directly, but increases the invisible "time pressure" within the game. If played three times, it may force the opponent to play a random card on their next turn.
Almost useless… unless this turns into a very long game.
And the fifth card…
It was dull gray, depicting a blank, featureless face—eerily similar to the masks worn by the Dancers of Joy.
[Card: Empty Echo]
Effect: Repeats the opponent's last narrative line, but in a hollow or mocking way, reducing its dramatic or logical impact.
I looked at this collection of cards and felt a wave of genuine despair.
There were no obviously strong cards.
Just a set of abstract, melancholic concepts.
"I see fate has not been kind to you in your first draw, little one," said the Master of Masks, who had been watching my changing expressions with an amused smile.
Damn… I forgot myself for a moment.
"Do not worry. Sometimes even the weakest tools can weave the most unexpected structure."
What good is that if all my tools are this weak? How am I supposed to face him with my current strength?
"I will begin, if you don't mind," said the Master of Masks.
With complete confidence, he drew a card from his hand and played it in the center of the table.
It was a glossy black card, depicting a grand, majestic stage. Spotlights illuminated a closed red velvet curtain.
[Card: Carnival Opening]
Effect: Begins a powerful new narrative. Grants the player who used it initial narrative control. All following cards must build upon this "opening."
"In the beginning," the Master of Masks began in his resonant voice, like someone reciting an ancient legend,
"there was nothing but darkness and emptiness."
"Then, from the whisper of a dying star and the longing of a lonely universe… the carnival was born! A place of eternal joy, endless laughter, and masks that reveal the truth!"
What a powerful opening narrative, I thought as pressure mounted inside my chest.
How am I supposed to answer something like that with my miserable cards?
"Your turn, boy," said the Master of Masks, nodding toward me. "Show me how you respond to this invitation."
I looked at my cards. I had to play something. Anything.
Maybe… if I look weak enough, he'll pity me or get bored quickly.
It was a desperate thought, but it was all I had.
With a trembling hand, I selected the pale yellow [Wasted Time] card.
I placed it beside his shining black card. My card looked ridiculous and meaningless next to it, like a child trying to compete with a giant.
"A-and… while the carnival was beginning…" I muttered quietly, barely able to meet his eyes,
"there was… a lot of time… being wasted… for nothing."
A short silence followed.
Maya, watching from behind, released a muffled sigh that seemed to say we're finished.
Rex shook his head. The muscles that had been tense earlier seemed to shrink slightly.
The Master of Masks raised his golden eyebrow.
"'Time being wasted'? Is that truly your answer to my invitation to eternity? What a… disappointingly pale beginning, little one."
"Is that really the best you can do?" His voice dripped with mockery, and I felt my cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Yes. Unfortunately, that's the best I've got, I thought as despair crept into my heart like cold poison.
I shouldn't have challenged him. I was an idiot.
"Well, no matter," said the Master of Masks, as if trying to encourage a foolish child—or perhaps simply enjoying my weakness.
"Perhaps you'll improve with practice."
He drew another card and played it.
It was dark purple, depicting a swirling vortex of laughing and crying faces.
[Card: Symphony of Mixed Emotions]
Effect: Adds emotional complexity to the narrative. Forces the opponent to respond with clear emotions in their next narrative.
"In this carnival," the Master of Masks continued his dramatic narration,
"emotions dance like colors on the canvas of a mad artist! Joy blends with despair, and laughter is born from the womb of tears! Every mask hides a thousand stories, and every story is a song in this grand symphony!"
Clear emotions… how am I supposed to answer that? I thought, cold sweat running down my forehead.
It was my turn.
I chose the pale blue [Lost Dream] card. It suited my mood perfectly.
I placed it on the table, barely able to raise my voice.
"And within this symphony…" I said in a voice that sounded close to tears,
"there was a dream… a dream of returning home… a dream of peace… but it… was lost… forever."
Real tears began gathering at the corners of my eyes.
The Master of Masks sighed theatrically, though a glimmer of amusement shone in his eyes.
"Oh, the drama! The sorrow! A lost dream! Very touching… and incredibly cliché."
He shook his head.
"I'm afraid you'll need more than cheap tears to impress me, little one… or perhaps… that's all you have to offer?"
He's enjoying this, I thought bitterly.
He enjoys watching me fall apart… a sadistic clown.
The game continued like this for several more rounds.
The Master of Masks kept playing powerful cards, building a complex and dramatic narrative about the power of the carnival, the beauty of chaos, and the inevitability of surrendering to the masks.
And I…
I responded with cards that seemed weak—narratives filled with despair, confusion, and genuine sorrow that I no longer bothered trying to hide.
Sometimes I even made mistakes in connecting the cards. Not on purpose—my mind was clouded by fear and pressure.
"Hmm? Is that all?"
Every mistake only encouraged the Master of Masks' mockery and deepened his sense of superiority.
Each time he played a card, I stared at it with unfocused eyes—its color, its illustration, the effect written on it.
I could barely concentrate.
My mind was screaming at me to run, to surrender, to do anything that would end this.
I was like a small mouse trapped in a giant maze. Every attempt to escape only led to another dead end—and quiet laughter from the hunter enjoying the chase.
Slowly, but steadily, I began to feel something inside me breaking.
The small hope I had been clinging to began to fade.
Maybe… maybe losing wouldn't be so bad, I thought in a moment of crushing despair.
I placed the gray [Empty Echo] card on the table, repeating the last sentence the Master of Masks had spoken in a hollow, lifeless voice—making him frown for a moment before bursting into mocking laughter.
Maybe turning into carnival dust would be better than this torture… these cursed mind games.
You love grand endings, don't you, Master of Masks? I whispered in my mind in a defeated voice. Well… it seems my ending is approaching.
I glanced at Maya and Rex. They were still watching the game with tense silence.
In the end…
This was just more proof that I was nothing more than a person thrown into a game.
A game far bigger than me.
A game I was about to lose—tragically.