"Let's find out what you've lost," the goddess purrs, her finger still trailing along my jaw.
I jerk back, anger overriding the fear for a moment.
"What are you taking from me?" I demand. "My heart? My brain? What?"
She laughs. It's a light, musical sound that makes my skin crawl.
"Patience, Kaito," she says. "We need to make this official."
"Official?" I repeat. "What the hell does that—"
Before I can finish, something appears in the air between us.
I blink.
One moment there was nothing.
The next, there's a massive wheel floating in the golden light.
It's at least ten feet in diameter, ornate and beautiful, made of what looks like polished gold and silver with intricate designs carved into the frame.
It's mounted on a stand that hovers in mid-air, defying all laws of physics.
The wheel is divided into segments—I count maybe twenty or thirty of them, each one marked with a large question mark.
Bright, colorful question marks in red, blue, green, purple, orange. But no actual information. Just question marks.
"What the fuck is that?" I say.
"The Wheel of Fate," the goddess says, her voice dripping with theatrical drama.
She gestures at it like a game show host presenting a prize. "For this mission, after each death, we spin the wheel to determine what you lose. Isn't it exciting?"
"Exciting?" I stare at her. "You're joking."
"I never joke about games," she says seriously. Then she smiles again. "Well, almost never."
She walks over to the wheel, her hips swaying with each step. Her robes trail behind her, the slits showing off her legs with every movement. She reaches out and touches the wheel, and it begins to glow.
"Each segment represents something different," she explains. "Your senses. Your organs. Your emotions. Your memories. Your abilities. So many possibilities." She runs her hand along the edge. "And you never know what you'll land on until it stops."
"This is insane," I say. "You're insane."
"Perhaps," she says. "But it's my game, so we play by my rules."
She grabs the wheel and pulls it down hard.
The wheel spins.
Fast.
The question marks blur together into a kaleidoscope of colors. The wheel makes a clicking sound as it rotates, each segment passing by with a rhythmic tick-tick-tick-tick.
It's hypnotic, mesmerizing.
I watch, my heart pounding.
Each tick could be something vital. My heart. My lungs. My eyes. My ability to feel emotion. My memories of home.
The wheel begins to slow.
Tick... tick... tick...
Slower.
Tick... tick...
The segments become visible again. Red question mark. Blue question mark. Purple question mark.
Tick...
Green question mark.
The wheel stops.
The segment with the green question mark is directly at the top, aligned with a golden pointer I hadn't noticed before.
I hold my breath.
The goddess reaches up and peels the question mark away like it's a sticker. Underneath is a symbol.
A green circle.
Just a simple green circle. Nothing else. No words. No details. Just solid green.
I stare at it.
"What... what does that mean?" I ask, my voice tight.
The goddess looks at the wheel, then at me. For a moment, I can't read her expression. Then she smiles.
"Well," she says. "This is unexpected."
"What does it mean?" I repeat, louder.
"The green circle," she says, tapping it with her finger, "means a free revival. No penalty. No loss. You get to go back and try again without losing anything."
I blink. "What?"
"You're very lucky, Kaito," she says, though there's something in her tone I don't trust. "Your first death, and you land on the one segment that gives you a free pass. The odds were... quite low."
I look at the wheel again. All the other segments are still covered with question marks.
"Wait," I say, my brain catching up. "What's the point of this? You control the wheel. You control what's under each question mark. You could put anything anywhere. This whole thing is rigged."
Her smile widens.
"Of course it's rigged," she says simply. "It's my wheel. My game. But that doesn't make it any less fun, does it?"
"Fun?" I say. "Fun for who?"
"For me, obviously," she says. She steps closer, her golden eyes gleaming. "And maybe for you, too. After all, you just survived your first death without losing anything. That's good news, isn't it?"
I want to argue. Want to scream at her that this isn't a game, that I'm not her toy, that she can't just—
But she's right. I didn't lose anything. My first death, and I got lucky.
Impossibly, suspiciously lucky.
"I don't trust you," I say.
"Good," she replies. "You shouldn't."
Before I can respond, she reaches out and touches my chest with one finger. Barely any pressure. Just a light touch.
"Time to try again," she says.
And she pushes.