Chapter 3: Start of the game

**All participants had gathered on Ryujima Island.**

Which sounded almost like *"all the condemned had arrived for execution."* Though honestly, an execution might've felt warmer in this weather.

The game was supposed to begin once the mistress of the mansion appeared before all players.

But as often happens with *"supposed to"* — things didn't go according to plan.

Two had arrived on the island.

Two. Instead of one. Was that normal? Or — and this would be perfectly in keeping with such a game — had the rules already been broken from the start? Or was this *part* of the rules, just ones you hadn't been told? Or… or… or.

And as the four participants stood in an awkward square of bewilderment, the first — of course it was her — to snap to life was Tiamut.

Without warning, without pause, without an internal monologue.

She simply ran.

Straight toward the stranger, who stood grinning beside a guy who looked like a typical anime high schooler — soaked to the bone with an expression like he'd just been given an *F* at life.

— It's you… — Tiamut exhaled, and a torrent of words spilled out. — I never imagined! Well, I *did*, but not *here*! I'm so glad… Why are you here? You… you're playing too?

All in one breath. She clung to him, refusing to let go — neither her hands nor her words. A hug of *"too many feelings to not touch."*

— Shh, — he whispered. — Not now. Not here. And — quiet. We'll talk later, or they'll stare. And… might get the wrong idea.

— Oh! Right! — She jumped back as if suddenly remembering gravity. — I forgot all about them when I saw you!

— And one more thing. Drop the formalities. No need for *"you"* here.

There was no need for anything here except trying to survive. But more on that later.

The two sat on the vacant sofa. The *second* sofa. The one across from the others.

As if preparing for an interrogation. Or a trial.

— Alright, let's start with names, — said one of the seated men. His voice carried something weary yet resolute. — Awkward, you know, staring at someone you've never met. I'll go first. Yahweh.

— Hov, — the second replied curtly.

— Aragi, — said the third, adding almost apologetically: — Pleasure. Though I'm in shock — so many famous faces. Didn't expect that.

— Enua, — the fourth muttered darkly. — Some of you won't need my name. Just as I won't need yours.

Enua's gaze lingered on the new arrival. Long. Heavy. As if he recognized someone. Or *didn't* — and that was worse.

— Kamiki, — the man answered, as if reading his thoughts.

— Tia…

The living room door opened. And then — the fanfare of silence.

Sheryl and Morgana entered. Behind them — a woman with golden hair and a medieval-era dress.

— Participants, attention! — Sheryl boomed. — The Mistress has arrived!

And as if on command — as if someone had pressed a collective *"STAND"* button — everyone rose. Instinctively. Without resistance. Even those who hadn't planned to.

Because *she* stood before them.

With a cane in hand and an expression that said, *"I'm not just the mistress. I'm the witch."*

— Welcome, — she said with a faint smile that promised nothing faint. — As you may have guessed, I am the mistress of this island. Mariana. All six participants are finally assembled. Now — introduce yourselves and tell me why you've come.

And so they spoke.

One by one.

— My name is Yahweh.

I came here to fulfill a wish. One I couldn't in life.

Yes, I died.

No, that didn't stop me from having desires.

And yes — at least one of us here is *definitely* a tragedy fan.

— Hov.

Same reason.

Except my wish isn't just a dream — it's revenge.

Or, more accurately, a desperate attempt to understand why *he* died when he shouldn't have.

Yes, it wasn't life that brought me here — it was death.

Which already sounds like the start of a bad joke. Or a game.

— Enua.

A wish.

Death.

The past.

Same as the others. Just darker. And with less enthusiasm.

He said it like he'd already lost. Even though the game hadn't begun.

— I'm Tiamut! — Her voice contrasted, almost cheerful.

*Too* cheerful.

— And I… don't know why I'm here.

Then, unexpectedly:

— But after *he* appeared, I knew my presence wasn't a mistake. It's fate.

She straightened as if addressing a tribunal.

— And I'll fight for *him*. So *he* can win.

The very air in the room seemed to warp from tension.

— O-ho-ho, — Mariana drawled with a faint, *very* faint smirk. — How intriguing. Fighting not for yourself, but another? In *my* game?

She laughed softly.

— Ehe-he-he. Unusual. Impractical.

She was clearly amused.

— Kamiki, — the next replied.

— I'm here to fulfill a cherished dream. And...

He trailed off. Not for lack of words — but because his eyes locked with hers.

Mariana's. The Mistress. The Witch's.

He didn't look away.

Neither did she.

— My turn, I suppose, — sighed the final participant.

— Aragi.

— You already know why I'm here. Explaining to you would be like explaining a film's plot to its own director.

He shrugged.

— No need for details.

— Splendid, — said the witch.

Her tone was like announcing the apocalypse. Calm. Smooth. Almost ceremonial.

— Then… let us begin.

A pause. Not dramatic. Just… a pause.

— I declare our Grand Game *open*.

She clapped. No lights, no fanfare, no applause. Only her voice.

— Six participants against me, — she began, — the witch of this island.

— Ryujima exists but once in an eternity. Each time — for one purpose.

— If even *one* participant survives six days, the game concludes.

— And the survivor… receives an answer. *One*.

— And the fulfillment of *one* wish. Any wish. From me.

Here, her voice softened. Almost tender.

— Your task, of course, is to survive until the end.

— Or…

— Kill me.

— Yes-yes, it's simple. Slay the witch — and win.

She tilted her head as if telling children a fairy tale.

— In other words… this is a game of death.

Silence. Again.

But this time — not awkward. *Terrifying*.

It sank in.

Six participants. One winner. The rest — extras. Or corpses.

This wasn't a game of survival. It was a game of **everyone else's defeat**.

— And now… — She bowed deeply, as if after a performance. — I bid you farewell.

— The rules are simple: kill each other… or die together.

— Either way, you won't defeat *me* — the great, almighty, divinely cruel witch of Ryujima!

— Ahahaha-hah-haha-gkh!!

She vanished. Or rather, walked out like a normal person.

But the effect was the same.

— Damn it all! — Yahweh was the first to snap.

He clutched his head as if it might fly off.

— I knew something here would be off… but *this*?

"Playing" to the death sounded like either a crude metaphor for life — or a painfully accurate one.

— Forcing us to kill each other, — Hov muttered. — This is madness.

— I won't spill a comrade's blood. Especially not someone I fought alongside —

He cut himself off, because right on cue, someone interjected.

— What about *me*? — A voice, calm and almost elegant.

— I'm the one you fought *against* back then.

— The one you called your greatest enemy. The one who got your allies killed.

Enua.

His words weren't a confession — just a fact filed away in some archive.

— Now's not the time for the past, — Yahweh replied coldly.

— Yes, you were our enemy. Maybe still are.

— But the *witch* wants us to remember. To let it *divide* us.

— Convenient tactic, don't you think?

— So the witch really *will* fight us, — Kamiki said.

He didn't look surprised.

He looked… like someone who'd already read the script.

— There were supposed to be five of us, — Hov noted. — Where'd *you* come from?

He eyed Kamiki like an extra line in a will.

— Yes, — Kamiki replied evenly. — I'm the sixth. Seems the rules changed.

— Or maybe they were never clear to begin with. Who knows?

He shrugged. No challenge in his voice, no fear. Just indifference laced with politeness.

— That's not what matters now, — he continued. — What matters is surviving the night.

And then came the inevitable, yet universally accepted:

**The splitting into groups.**

— Maybe not the best idea… — Hov began.

— But we've got no choice.

— Enua's our enemy. The rest are strangers, — Yahweh added.

— Any one of them could be the killer.

— Especially those who stay too quiet. Or speak too smoothly.

They spoke aloud, but their voices sounded like thoughts.

*"Our plan's simple. We split.

Group One: Me and Hov. We trust each other. That's *something*.

Group Two: Tiamut and Kamiki. She rushed to him like salvation. So she trusts him.

And Group Three… Enua and Aragi. The oddest pair. Strangers to each other. And to us.

That's where things'll get *interesting*. If they do."*

And they *would*. That was the point of the witch's game.

— What about the attendants? — Hov asked, like recalling a forgotten file.

— Gerudo said he's worked here longer than Sheryl or Morgana.

— We can't trust them, — Yahweh replied. — They could be her spies. Or part of the game.

And again — doubt.

Not just among players, but between them and… everything else.

The attendants. The house. The witch.

All suspicious. Even the air. *Especially* the air.

*"They said five participants.

But there are six.

Who's to say the seventh isn't someone in an apron?"*

The clock struck ten.

The living room was still full. No one left.

Not because they didn't want to — but because **they feared being the first to go**.

Sheryl and Morgana remained at their posts.

Yahweh and Hov debated in low tones; the others stayed silent. Or pretended to.

And then — a voice.

— Aragi… right? — Enua addressed him.

— We're in the same group. Might as well talk. Where're you from?

— If I told you, you wouldn't know, — Aragi shrugged.

— I'm not from this time.

— Excuse me?

— I'm from the future, — he said simply.

— One where humanity lost. Where everything's gone.

— All that's left are the X-Entities.

— X-Entities?

— They don't have a name. I made that up.

— They destroyed everything. People, cities, memories.

— I was born *after* the end.

Enua fell silent.

— Then how do you know *us*? — he finally asked.

— You came *after* we disappeared.

— A… friend, — Aragi smiled.

— She knows almost everything. Handy, when you're one of the last survivors.

— I'm not here for me. But for *them*. My friends. My world.

— Why alone?

— Because it's better this way. Because… I don't want to watch them die.

— Hm. Heavy.

— Maybe. But I'm ready. Even if I die — as long as they're saved.

For the first time all evening, Enua looked impressed.

— You're… an interesting one, Aragi.

— Just doing what I must.

*"He's honest.

But…

Honesty here isn't an ally. It's a weakness. Or bait."*