The Drawing of Fates
804 Words
“A liar?” someone whispered, incredulous. “Who would lie at a time like this?”
“Wait,” the muscular man interjected, his voice cutting through the tension. “Can we strategize together?”
The Suspicious One tilted his head, his mask glinting under the dim light, and said nothing.
“Very well.” The Fallen Mortal of Suspicion nodded. “Before the game begins, you have one minute to discuss strategies. Would you like to use it now… or later?”
“I’ll use it now,” the muscular man declared without hesitation.
“As you wish.”
The Fallen Mortal of Suspicion took a step back, retreating from the table.
The muscular man pressed his lips together, scanning the group. His gaze carefully avoided the headless corpse slumped on the table. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I don’t know who among us might lie later, but this rule feels too harsh. If even one person votes incorrectly, we’ll all die. Even if we vote correctly, the liar will die. Either way, there will be casualties. But I’ve thought of a way for all of us to survive…”
At his words, everyone turned to look at him. Could such a solution even exist?
“It’s simple: no one lies,” he said, revealing his plan. “All nine of us tell the truth. At the end, we write ‘No one is lying’ on our papers. This wouldn’t violate the rules, and we could all walk out alive.”
The man in the lab coat tapped the table thoughtfully before speaking. “Your plan sounds good, but it hinges on one thing: that *you* are not the liar. How can we trust you? If you’re the liar, and we all write ‘No one is lying,’ you’d be the only one left standing.”
“What are you implying?” The muscular man’s face darkened with anger. “If I were the liar, why would I suggest this? I could just focus on saving myself!”
The Fallen Mortal of Suspicion waved a hand, interrupting them. “Your minute is up. Cease discussion.”
Both men exchanged tense glares but fell silent.
“Now, draw your cards,” the Fallen Mortal of Suspicion commanded, pulling a small deck from his pocket. The cards were the size of playing cards, their backs inscribed with the words *Gaia’s Game* in bold lettering.
The muscular man frowned. “What’s this?”
“These are your roles,” the Fallen Mortal of Suspicion said, laughing coldly. “Whoever draws the card marked *Liar* must lie.”
The muscular man gritted his teeth. “You’re playing with us! Why didn’t you mention this earlier?”
“This is your lesson.” The Fallen Mortal of Suspicion smirked. “I hadn’t finished explaining the rules when you demanded to discuss strategies. The wasted minute is on you—not me.”
His face twisted with frustration, but the muscular man swallowed his anger, unwilling to provoke the being that had demonstrated such inhuman power.
One by one, the nine remaining players drew their cards, though none dared to flip them over. Each card felt heavier than its size would suggest. It wasn’t just a role they were drawing—it was life or death.
A young woman’s hands trembled as she held her card. The men’s faces were no less grim.
Locke took a slow, steady breath and casually slid his card toward his face. Carefully, he flipped it over.
The word stared back at him: *LIAR*.
“Liar…” He repeated the word in his mind, confirming his role. With practiced composure, he placed the card face down on the table.
Just a moment ago, he had entertained the notion that everyone could leave alive. But now, the circumstances had changed. He didn’t know the other eight people, but this time, their survival was no longer an option.
“If there are no objections,” the Fallen Mortal of Suspicion began, “remember the rules: there is one and only one liar in this game.” He gestured to the young woman sitting to Adrian’s left. “You will start. We’ll go clockwise.”
“Me?” The woman blinked in surprise, her lips pursing.
Adrian glanced to his left. Starting with her and going clockwise meant he would be the last to speak. The pressure of such a position was a double-edged sword: people tended to remember the first and last speakers the most. Questioning the order now, however, would draw unnecessary attention, so he decided to remain silent.
The young woman furrowed her brow, her large eyes darting nervously. Finally, she sighed and said, “Fine… I’ll start. But I’m terrible at storytelling, so don’t blame me if it’s bad…”
- Writer
