The air in the dining room felt heavy, thick with the warmth of family and the faint sweetness of the birthday cake my mother carried from the kitchen. Twenty candles flickered atop it, their tiny flames casting a soft glow across the faces of the seventeen relatives gathered around the table. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, siblings, and cousins—all here to celebrate me, to share stories, to laugh, to ease the weight of daily life. Another chance for everyone to tighten the bonds of our family. But I sat there, forcing an awkward smile, pretending everything was fine.

  It was evening, around 9 p.m. Through the window, I could see our quiet neighborhood, hear the occasional hum of cars and motorcycles passing by. My eyes caught only two trees—one in our garden, another on the sidewalk. The streetlights glowed faintly. I glanced at the door. Closed. No one else was expected. My mother reached my side, placing the cake with its candles before me. Everyone stood, and my father moved to switch off the light.

  Click…..

  "Happy birthday," a male voice said, unfamiliar and cold. "Aren’t you going to blow out the candles?" My eyes trembled under the pressure, my forehead slick with sweat. The candlelight seemed to fall only on my face, blinding me to everything else. "If you don’t blow them out, I can’t turn the light back on," the voice said again. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and blew with all my strength. For two seconds, everything went dark. I wished silently that this was just a dream, like the one from the night before.

  But then the house lights snapped back on, and the same scene unfolded again.

  The clock read 10 p.m. I was seated at the table, but now only one other person was with me—the man whose voice I’d heard. The seventeen members of my family were scattered across the house, their bodies lifeless, brutally stabbed, some wounds cruelly excessive. Blood stained the floors and walls, everywhere except around my chair and the stranger’s, as if some invisible barrier had shielded us from the carnage. I looked out the window again. Our neighborhood was gone. A dense forest stretched outside, with a single dirt road winding toward a distant peak. There, barely visible, stood a castle under a bright, full moon. The door was open now, just as it had been… yesterday.

  "So, what do you say?" the man asked, his voice calm but laced with menace. "I can make the impossible possible. I can bring your family back to life, restore your world. All I ask is a small favor. Will you do it? Or will this night be the last for all of you?"

  I looked at him, trembling. He was about forty, dressed in a suit with no tie, the top button of his shirt undone. His hair and eyes were pitch black, and he sat backward on his chair, staring at me with a chilling smile.

  This wasn’t the first time. The previous night—or no, it was the same night, replayed—had unfolded exactly like this. I screamed, panic overtaking me as I stumbled from my chair, slipping on the bloodied bodies of my family. The man laughed, a low, mocking sound. He stepped toward me, knelt, and pressed a smooth, clean knife to my throat with terrifying speed. I froze, eyes wide, staring into his.

  "I want to play a game," he said. "Win, and I’ll bring your family back. Lose, and you die with them. I know it’s hard to believe me, so I’ll give you a demonstration. I’ll turn back time, and you’ll relive your birthday from the moment you woke up until the cake is set before you. But this time, I’ll hide letters—in your notebook, the bathroom cabinet, the cereal box, your shoes, the car’s glovebox. You get the idea. Each one will say, ‘Shall we play?’ When we meet again in this moment, I’ll ask you the same question. I’ll wait for your answer."

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  And now, here he was, asking again: "So, shall we play?"

  "Yes," I said, my voice barely steady. "We’ll play."

  He hadn’t told me the rules, the nature of the game, or even his name. His power felt like something beyond reality, unraveling my trust in what I could see and touch. But I had no choice. My mind screamed one thing: save them, if you can.

  He stood and walked out of the house. As his feet touched the dirt road, he called my name. "Come outside Leo. Let’s begin." He turned, looked at me, and smiled again. "We don’t have all the time in the world."

  I rose from my chair, still terrified, and stepped outside slowly, hesitantly. For a moment, I feared touching the dirt, wanting to stay back, but I took the step.

  "And now?" I asked the man beside me. "What’s this game you want me to play?"

  "Do you see that castle on the mountain, under the full moon?"

  "Yes, I see it."

  "I need you to open its door for me because I’m not allowed to touch it. I need someone else. If you succeed, you’ll return, and your family will be alive again, as if nothing happened."

  "No rules? What kind of game is this? It’s just one task, and it sounds absurdly easy. What exactly do you want from me? Where have you brought me?" I snapped, frustrated.

  "Oh, don’t worry, you’ll figure it all out along the way. I can’t tell you more yet, but I’ll guide you partway, at least. The night is long. Let’s begin."

  He gave me no details, no clues, only his cryptic desire. I was playing a game with unknown rules, an unclear goal, and no certainty of where it would lead or if he was even telling the truth.

  Yet it felt real—the smell, the ground beneath my feet. I pinched my hands, hoping pain would wake me, but it didn’t. The man pulled a miniature black horse and chariot from his pocket. With a gentle wave of his hand, they grew and came to life.

  "Come, I’ll guide you as far as I can," he said, gesturing toward the chariot. I glanced back at my house, but it was gone. "Come," he repeated. I approached and sat beside him. He held the reins, and I kept looking back.

  "Stop looking behind you," he said. "What you seek isn’t there anymore."

  He urged the horse forward, and it moved calmly. The dirt road wound through the forest, its many turns obscuring any end. Though the moonlight lit the path, the forest was impenetrably dark. Occasional sounds—animals, I assumed—rustled in the shadows, but none appeared. My guide began whistling carelessly. We didn’t speak for a long while, though I had no watch to track the time.

  Eventually, we reached a bridge over a chasm. No water was visible or audible, nor could I smell it. The bridge looked sturdy, well-built. Just before it, an old man sat against a rock, appearing both beggar and aristocrat. Barefoot, his clothes tattered, he wore a feathered hat from some bygone French nobility. Yet nothing on him was dirty—his feet, his clothes, all pristine, as if newly worn. Beside him lay an elegant cane. He used it to stand and approached us slowly. His beard was long, his mustache regal. As he neared, I saw a blindfold covering his eyes. My guide stopped whistling when the bridge came into view and now neither spoke nor looked at the old man.

  "What brings you here tonight, dear sir?" the old man asked.

  I glanced at my guide, who sat motionless, unperturbed, as if waiting. I turned back to the old man. "Why do you ignore me, sir? I asked, what brings you here, alone, so late in this place?"

  "Alone?" I said loudly. "I’m not alone. Wait—am I the one you’re addressing?"

  "Who else would I speak to, the horse?" he replied.

  My guide remained still, as if time had frozen. Realizing he wouldn’t help, I spoke to the old man. "I need to reach the castle on the mountain and open its door."

  "Ah, another brought by the princes. How long they plan on continuing this farce? When will they learn the rules have changed?" He chuckled softly and gestured for me to continue. He turned and sat back against the rock. My guide stirred, signaled the horse, and resumed whistling as we crossed the bridge.

  "It’s time I introduced myself," he said. "My name is Eftis, and as you’ve gathered, I’m part of a game with princes. We all aim for the castle on the mountain. You’re not the first, and if you fail, another will take your place. This game isn’t easy, but I hope you’ll rise to it. Look ahead—there’s the town. I’ll leave you at its edge. Find lodging, food, and rest. When you’re ready, start toward the mountain. The sooner, the better."