When I opened my eyes, the illusion in the darkness had left me; my hand had fallen to the left side of the bed. I realized silence had never hurt me this much before. Suddenly, I grasped where I was. I hadn't dreamed anything. This was inside a desolate place, a movie theater, beneath a dark ceiling. I tensed up when the heavy door swayed. Another white-suited staff member entered and removed the IV stand attached to my arm. Only then did I feel the needle in my vein. He pressed a cotton ball against my arm with his gloved hands.
"Where am I?" I asked, but he didn't respond. It seemed his job was only to leave my side and walk away.
"No answer?" I said, my voice echoing all around.
Had seeing Ayaz been a hallucination—or a sharp reality?
The door opened again. "You're required to play another session," a clear voice said.
"No," I whispered through my lips. "I don't want to. I-I'm not ready at all."
"Those who aren't ready are pathetic," he said, walking toward me. That's when I noticed he was holding a taser. "If you don't come, your neck's gonna burn," he warned. B-but... was this the place where people fought with desperate effort against their own fate? I didn't want my neck to catch fire. Nor did I wish to faint again.
"I'm coming. Is this next game the same as the last one I played?"
He nodded. "That depends on your choice. Enter the hall and challenge whoever you wish. The trait you lost—you can reclaim it now or in an infinite span of time."
The weight of that word—infinite—tightened in my throat.
Would I face myself again?
Terrified, I followed him. He led me through what felt like a maze woven from the traces of the past. The scent of cold concrete settled in my lungs. We stopped in front of a large, purple door. Countless other entrances stood aligned on either side of it. As if straight from a djinn tale. When the door opened, people could be seen playing at tables set beside metal pillars. A loud noise had filled the room, but suddenly—silence.
My hands trembled. People had gathered around a metallic-colored table. When I saw others—people not myself—I almost smiled. Was this… was this a reward? Was there anything worse on earth than fighting your own self? Shaking yourself by the collar, pushing, pulling yourself? My fear eased. No matter what state I was in, playing against someone else felt less terrifying.
But why… why was the other one me?
I knew deep down I wasn't yet capable of answering that question.
When I looked back obediently, the white-suited man was gone. I stepped forward into the void. No one noticed that a new person had entered the hall. The door let in a breeze. I had no idea where the draft was coming from. The air conditioning had turned the place into a freezer. At one metallic table, a woman had arranged her cards. She was trembling, her eyes unfocused. She was constantly tense—it was obvious she was breaking down inside. Across from her stood a man. The sleeves of his navy-blue shirt were rolled up, and he slowly unfastened the strap of the watch on his wrist.
The girl froze in front of her opponent. I looked at the name of the board game on the table: Find the Person Who Will Be Lost. The cover indicated it was a scenario-based game.
A voice came from the podium. "Shall we begin the probability calculations, or is there anyone willing to sacrifice a trait to swap their card? Three traits can be sacrificed: Strength, Health, Courage."
Time stopped with that question from the announcer. The girl's legs trembled under her short skirt, and it unsettled me too. She pressed her hands against the table, and when she saw the opponent's revealed cards, she cried.
"N-no!" she screamed through sobs. "I don't possess any of those traits!"
The despair in her voice frightened me so deeply that I couldn't breathe for several seconds.
"Then the probabilities are being calculated. Does the opponent want to change their cards? If they possess these three traits."
The person across the table smiled—as if to show that they had those traits. But they feinted. "No," they said clearly. The trembling girl across from them made them look like a gambler. And now, the gambler didn't want to place a bet. Everything was in the hands of chance. I grabbed someone beside me and asked, "Hey, what kind of game is this?"
They didn't hear me, staring at the players as if hypnotized.
I caught a girl by the arm. "What's going on? How do they play this game?"
She looked at me as if I'd asked the strangest question. "They're trying to guess who will disappear, according to the scenario," she said tonelessly.
"Scenario?" I asked, stunned. "What scenario?"
"The game scenario, of course. Both players must read it carefully. Then, they rank the cards from the highest to lowest disappearance probability."
"A terrifying game of fate dodge," I murmured.
The girl had already turned back around.
On the digital panel, the players' card sequences lit up.
I turned to the girl again. "Is there an 'All or Nothing' rule?"
She looked at me dismissively and muttered, "Of course. That's the common rule in every game," she said with a belittling tone.
So—just like in the game I had fallen into before—if they guessed one probability wrong, would they be lost?
My brain started working furiously to figure out how to survive. I hadn't had any dreams. Was it from the stress or the fear? Or because I had fainted and lost consciousness? Or from the shock? If this continued, I wouldn't be able to predict what might happen or understand any of the rules. Another truth I needed to grasp was why I had competed against myself in the first place. The people here were all different from one another. Could it have been because it was the first match?
I had to ask someone who knew. But no one here seemed interested in making friends.
In despair, I looked at the red glowing on the screen. The male player's card arrangement was completely correct.
Everyone screamed and recoiled.
"You lost," the player said, looking at the girl. As she kept trembling, he roughly grabbed her chin in his palm. "You're pathetic," he said. "The most pathetic player I've ever seen." Then he let go of her chin harshly, and her sob froze in midair. Moments later, her nose began to bleed. I watched with my own eyes as the blood dragged downward under the force of gravity. That table… those cruel manipulations… that jaw movement. Everything frightened me.
"Next players: İpek Özay and Liman Tez. Please approach the table for game setup. Spectators, take your seats."
İpek Özay… My name. The moment I heard it, my body went numb. So, it seemed everyone here had to participate in matches one by one.
I quickly walked toward the elevated table on stage. There were two podiums. I had been summoned to the second one. Naturally, part of the crowd from the finished game shifted to the other side. Everyone was curious.
I climbed the steps and stepped onto the platform. There were dozens of candles on the table—maybe 50 or 60. The number unsettled me. I tried to silence my inner voice. Across from me stood a girl with blonde hair and shiny honey-colored eyes. She wore something resembling a cosplay outfit. Who knew what she was here to change about her life? I couldn't help but wonder, looking at her face, her eyes, her outfit—even her cheerful, mocking demeanor.
The announcer began to speak, and the panel lit up. "This game is called Candle Snuffing. There are exactly 63 candles here. The candles are actually part of electrical circuits wired in parallel or in series. In short, 'candles' are a tradition—think of them as bulbs. You will not be ranking the flickering sequence of the 63 candles from least to most likely."
I took a deep breath. This was impossible.
"You will only choose the first candle to go out and the last candle to go out. Place both cards on the glass counter. This game requires not just one step—but seeing multiple steps ahead. If players win, they gain Courage Points. Courage Points allow one to overcome fears and anxieties that infiltrate the human body and to take new leaps forward. Those who gain Courage Points tend to be confident, fulfilled, and often successful in what they desire in life. Are both players ready?"
At that moment, I had no other choice but to be ready.
"I'm ready," I said, though every part of my body disagreed.
Liman narrowed her eyes and looked at the people behind us. Suddenly, she saw someone in the crowd. A glint passed through her eyes. She interlocked her ringed fingers under her chin.
"I'm ready," she said.
"At the 20th second, you will have 10 seconds to choose the first and last candle to go out. Then the game begins. 3-2-1!"With a loud snap, the lights in the hall went out. Now it resembled a desolate theater play. In the twilight of Liman's black eyes, there was something eerie—something crawling. She didn't even look at the candles. For five full seconds, she only watched me. Then shadows gathered under her brows. I sensed her drifting away from the game, into silence. Everything began to blur together.
I had no idea about the candles. I couldn't understand how each was wired. This was entirely left to chance—or at least, it appeared that way.
"Do you understand the game?" Liman asked as the seconds ticked on.
I didn't feel as calm as she did. I didn't answer.
"You're afraid to admit you don't understand a thing," she said, clearly fishing for a reaction.
"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not," I replied—and fixed my gaze on the candles.
"I'm scared too," she murmured.
I reached for the deck of cards, letting my instincts guide me toward two numbers. The candles at the far diagonal corners: 7 and 63. Yes—number 7 would be the first to go out, and 63 the last to lose its glow. I was lost inside the very game I had constructed in my own mind. The thorns were piercing into my own knees—wounding my own dreams.
"Three-two-one to second twenty! Place your cards!" the announcer shouted.
I slid the cards onto the glass slab and stepped back, having aired out my fear, if only slightly, through my inner voice. My hands hadn't quite left the table.
Liman focused on the cards in front of her, then lifted them in the air to show me. The gesture startled me.
"Why are you doing that?" I asked, confused. The announcer's expression hadn't changed—his brows weren't furrowed. That meant showing cards must have been allowed.
"These will be the coronation of my defeat," Liman said with a mad grin.
That's when I noticed a tag on her neck. It read: I've been here for 23 years.
When I fully registered the number, cramps knotted in my stomach. What did that mean? Could a person really stay here for 23 years? Was it just a tattoo? No. It felt like the cruel illusion of a harsh truth.
"Seeing my cards…" she whispered, dragging her fingers across the table. "Must've unsettled you."
It was true—I couldn't move.
"You pathetic little mind!" she said, then laughed maniacally.
I felt like I'd been thrown right into the middle of the game that had just been played. It was terrifying. Was there truly a way to win these games? That boy from earlier—he guessed all his cards right. Now, across from me, stood a girl who claimed she'd lose, yet I felt the complete opposite. She stared at me with a wicked grin.
I brought my thumb and index finger together—a nervous gesture I did when tense.
I looked at the candles. The first one to go out… was number 23."I... lost," I whispered.
I stared at candle 23 with teary eyes. Like a child crying after failing a test—or dreading a beating from their mother."What am I going to do…?"
I sank to my knees.
Her cards… were 23 and 42.
She had guessed 23 correctly.
The remaining candles began to extinguish at random: 5, 11, 28... and finally, one after the other. Tak tak tak. Like the sound of a breaker switch flipping.Candle 42.
T-this... this couldn't be real.
There had to be something they were hiding from me.
Unless someone possessed supernatural powers—how could they know that?
"Ahh!" she exclaimed in surprise, eyes widening. "I won…"There was now a mocking resonance in her voice. Part of her must've always known she would win. Despite pitying her for my own helplessness, I made up my mind:How were these people able to make such decisions?There had to be a trap. I lifted my head, scanning the ceiling, the walls, and the pale shimmering faces around me.Could the word cheating even exist in a place like this?
"The Courage Point is awarded based on probability rates—"
The announcement cut off the moment I stepped down from the stage.
Then it resumed, declaring that Liman had earned the Courage trait.
Just then, I heard my name being called.
"İpek Özay. There's an interesting match in your numbers."
I flinched, avoiding the eyes that turned toward me.I turned my back to the stage. My legs were trembling.
"A match?"
"Seven and sixty-three. These numbers fall under the Rule Status of All or Nothing. In the Candle Game, players who choose 7 and 63 are granted a day off between sessions. From this moment on, proceed to Department X to receive a time barcode that will allow you to track your break."
A special match? A day without playing? That was… incredible.
This way, I could carve out a path for myself. Put things back on track.
Maybe I could even watch the matches, gather insight.
I continued descending the steps from the stage. I rushed past the heads that turned to look at me like a gust of wind and reached the door. My hand reached for the copper handle. A weight seemed to press into my hands. With the creak of the door opening, the icy hands of a dark corridor seeped in. I began walking into that mist, that blackness, that fear. The door closed behind me. The lights came on. They were the color of rusted iron. My feet dragged softly along the ground. Strange numbers were carved into the walls. Random flower pots were scattered on the floor. Beneath brown, four-legged side tables were rows of cacti. Just above them stood small trophy figurines. Posters hung across the walls. I recognized none of them. Black-and-white photographs stared at me. In their gaze, there seemed to be a trace of sorrow.
Even though I reached the end of the hallway, I still hadn't found a door marked with an X. I looked around nervously. Distant sounds started to drift to my ears—like the echo of water, broken and uneven. So were my footsteps. As I lifted my head, I saw a veranda on the floor above. Someone was looking down at me through the railing. My heart started pounding wildly. Him... His stare was sharp—like it could pierce right through me. Yet under that sharpness, a deep mercy seemed to sleep.
"Ayaz," I whispered, my voice echoing endlessly down the empty corridor.
My breath had become too fast. And still, he stood there—like a statue, eyes locked on mine.
His silence felt nothing like the gazes he gave me at school. These were rebellious. Indifferent.
"Why won't you answer me?" I asked."Why did you bring me here?"Even the doubt in my voice felt like static in my own ears.
My hands… all my fingers…
A breeze passed over his head. My vision darkened. Every time I saw him, it felt like I would faint. That's when I noticed the elevator in front of me. Behind a pane of glass. I opened the glass booth and pressed for the upper floor. My heart fluttered with urgency and curiosity. I was sure it was him. Ayaz.
As soon as the elevator stopped, I rushed out.
I looked around both sides of the hallway.
Eventually, I found the veranda with the railing I'd seen. I ran toward the body leaning over it. I couldn't lose him again. The fact that he hadn't moved—as if frozen in place—unnerved me. At last, only a few steps separated us. As I approached, he suddenly turned around. My heart nearly stopped from the shock.
He looked at me with a deep, mysterious intensity."Don't try to save me…" he murmured.
My brow furrowed. I couldn't make sense of his words.
"If you do," he said, pulling his hand from his pocket and extending it toward me, "you won't be able to save yourself."
"I... I don't understand anything you're saying," I replied.My voice faded at the end. I could barely hear myself.
He smiled strangely."If you must save me… saving isn't always the same as keeping someone alive. Don't you remember?"
"Remember what?" I asked, my whole body tensing up.
"That night," he whispered.
That night.The phrase echoed endlessly in my mind. Like a tsunami, it drowned everything I knew inside me. An image flashed across my eyes. A warmth from a certain night. Our fingers intertwined, reaching toward the sky. The warmth… the scent of his skin. Him.
I opened my eyes again, now focused on the metallic resonance in his gaze. I remembered him. Maybe it was in a store. Maybe in a café. Maybe somewhere else.
"I know you remember me," he murmured softly.His voice had no weight—free, feather-light.
"But it's okay if you forget. Only if you forget… can you save yourself."
He turned away slowly. His eyes avoided mine completely.
Just as he was about to walk away, I grabbed his arm.The moment I felt the warmth of his skin, I lifted my head toward the ceiling.
And the moment I saw the star-patterned tiles above, a lightning bolt struck through my mind.
I had been here before."I remember," I gasped, breathless. He froze in place.The coldness on his skin seeped into the heat of my blood.
"You once said, the stars on the ceiling are the entire sky for those who have none."I focused on the rapid flashes of images flaring up in my eyes—each lasting only a split second.I furrowed my brow, digging deeper.
He said… he wanted to buy medicine for his sister. SMA.
"Your… sister. Did she get better?" I whispered."P-please say yes."The words were tangled in my throat. His back was still to me.
The familiarity I felt from him now went beyond my soul, beyond my body. It transcended everything.It felt like the whole world had turned its back on me.And in mere seconds, all the seasons inside me turned to winter.
He started walking away without saying a word.His arm slipped from mine.
No—he wasn't a stranger to me.Traces don't lie.