Zici carefully dealt the cards to Iris and Veridius, five each, before she returned to sit where she belonged. She didn’t lean on her lady like Antina but still immersed herself in that radiant aura.

“There’s only one rule,” Veridius said. “We can only play one card per turn.”

Iris stroked a card’s golden rim. “Exquisite.”

“It’s made from the woods of Reveriea, a tree from Dreamscape.”

Iris paused. A smile broke out of her calm expression. She tossed her leftmost card forwards. It gracefully spun, revealing its face of a forest filled with purple trees.

The card disintegrated as colour-shifting sparkles. The guestroom trembled, its floor and walls and ceiling fracturing. Roots and vines penetrated the marble foundation, invaded the glass frames, and overtook the crystal ornaments.

Zici jumped out of her seat. She slipped and fell only to be caught by her lady, who carefully placed her on the sofa. She could only stay still, her pink ears burning with heart-skipping excitement.

That pair of hands, their warmth wrapped around her back.

“What happened?” she said.

A sprawl of leafy branches pervaded the furniture. Rainbow-coloured flowers bloomed around Zici, who stayed nervously still in her resting posture. She pleaded, with her blurry eyes, for her lady’s help.

Iris plucked a flower and ornated it on Zici’s hair. She gave an assuring smile before she returned to her opponent.

While admiring the purple forest, Veridius flicked a card on the table. The torch on its face blazed through the page, manifested as a fiery orb, and floated over the table, over the overgrowth.

Rings of flames rose out of the orb. They reached for the dancing vines and swaying trees, whose scents resembled sour candies. Their entanglement produced paled smoke. Their vapours tasted like milk.

“Zici, will you help me?” Iris said.

Zici, blinking, returned to her lady’s side. “Anything you wish.”

“Pick one.”

“From your hand? Any card at all?”

“Should I decide for you?”

Zici shook her head. She focused on the cards, yet her sight failed to give her their detail. Blurring the pictures was an indescribable layer, a layer of distortion. Only blobs of colours aimlessly drifted between the card frames.

She hesitated, glancing at her lady. An understanding smile calmed her. She took a deep breath and tapped the blue-shaded card.

Despite Zici’s gentle motion, the card slid out of Iris’s grasp, phasing through her hand, and unravelled into a long, winding ribbon containing a fragmentary tempest.

The purple forest cowered while the burning orb howled. An intruding sea of clouds pierced through the bright sky, devouring the environmental airiness.

Darkness engulfed. Cold downpours covered the luminescent forest. Grim clouds rumbled across the great height.

Zici pressed herself closer to her lady. Chilly raindrops soaked her clothes, zapping her energy. She had no more strength to speak, only the strength to keep close, keep warm, keep safe.

“You’ve done well,” Iris said. “Hug me, if my body could ward off your anxiety.”

Zici answered not with her voice but with her stillness.

“This game is marvellous.” Iris patted her guide’s head, gently caressing the wet silky hair. “But I can’t put her in danger.”

A strand of warmth coursed through Zici’s head and down her chest. Her palpitating heart slowed. She stared at her lady, who returned her a tender gaze. She wanted to speak, yet lethargy sank her into tranquility. Her arms, wrapping longingly around her lady, fell on the sofa.

Once Iris laid her guide on the sofa, she gestured at her maid. Antina received the order and took Zici out of the guestroom. Only Iris and Veridius remained in the centre of the purple forest, lit up by a burning orb below the maddening thunderstorm.

“Why did you let her pick?” Veridius said. “Mixed dream is much more difficult to control.”

“I like to experiment.”

“Against your best interest?”

“Have I lost my winning chance?” Iris tapped the grass-covered table. “Show me your dream, Veridius.”

Veridius laughed. “It’s already your turn.”

Iris frowned. The environment was unchanged, but the number of Veridius’s cards was the same as Iris’s. She closed her eyes, her memory rewinding. Haziness overwhelmed her vision, and she gleaned no imagery of her past. Everything twisted and blended and mixed into a rippling puddle, full of chaos and indecipherable acts.

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She opened her eyes, within which crimson rifts spread like a web of blood. Abyssal darkness flickered inside her gaze, blanketed all she observed, and retreated behind her stabilising countenance.

Veridius straightened his back. His hair rustled as if facing a terrible chasm threatening to devour his essence.

A card fell from Iris’s hand. Its sharp edge penetrated the table, fracturing it. Spectral green light shone through the creaks. Tombstones made of bones and dreary metals rose around the broken guestroom.

Watchtowers covered in skulls and pale torches fell from the sky, crushing the nearby purple forest and dispersing the flaming orb. Only dim ghostly light illuminated this world, where even the cold raindrops failed to infiltrate its musty fog.

Hollowed gazes fixated on Veridius. He shielded his mind from its influence, yet his soul still trembled. His wrinkled hands quivered, and his heart raced.

“What kind of experience did you have?” Veridius said. “To envision such a vivid world . . .”

“Dream is endless, life even more so.”

“I’m unconvinced.”

Veridius discarded all his cards except for one: a fragmented pure-white platform hovering in the middle of nowhere. A lady of otherworldly grace stood at its centre, looking up at the void beyond all horizons. In her saintly attire, which bowed to no deity, connected to no world, and accepted no filth, she appeared frozen in all meanings.

Iris could no longer think. She could merely stare at the void beyond all horizons while standing on her lonesome atop the floating island. In her mind, only the end of this infinitude contained her answer.

No reason to move. No reason to feel. No reason to think.

No reason.

She needed no reason.

Iris broke away from her saintly posture. Her glowing dress of curving fabric rippled outward, waving from the centre of the platform to the boundary, where their tails flowed towards the infinite depth. She lost her divine lustre, but she cared not about the superficial aura.

Despite her blindness to her purpose, she turned to look through the boundary between worlds. She failed to meet Veridius’s eyes. She failed to meet anything.

In utter detachment, she mouthed a series of inaudible, incomprehensible words. Azure flames lit up in her palm. Its radiance flooded the ground, overflowing the card and sundering its frame.

Iris returned to her seat, regaining her prior disposition. Her mind cleared up, her distorted memory reclaimed. The spirit of a massive judgment scale hung behind her, with a sphere of mixed wines on one side, a rose-covered pupil on the other.

Although Iris couldn’t feel its presence, she distinctly acknowledged their existence. Her opponent couldn’t.

Veridius was shivering. The omnipresent gazes peered into his secrets and threatened to gouge out his being. He gripped his sofa armrest until his nails shred their covering. His robe, soaked in both damped mist and sweat, constricted his movement.

“I surrendered,” he whispered.

Every imaginary world disintegrated. The guestroom reconstructed its decoration, healing the cracks and cleaning the weather. Cups of steaming tea lay undisturbed on the marble table.

Zici carefully sat beside her lady, who only just opened her eyes, while Antina carefreely admired her mistress’s visage. Veridius too aroused from his slumber, though his clothes remained soaked.

He gradually steadied his panting. His grip on the sofa loosened as the nightmare passed.

“It’s my loss,” he said. “I’ve humiliated myself.”

“You allow me to win.”

“That would be belittling you. This game of dream isn’t the measure of power, but the measure of will.”

“Extraordinary experience doesn’t translate to extraordinary talent.”

“Only if the experience doesn’t have the chance to bloom.” Veridius magically clean his attire. “I’ve learned a lot from you.”

“We’ve learned a lot from each other.”

“Dream is a world we cannot grasp.” Veridius sighed. “The bet must be honoured. What is your question, Iris?”

Iris pondered while staring at her teacup. A breeze blew through the broken window and curved around her figure. Her long loose hair stirred as if gaining life and dancing to a hidden tune.

Nonexistent hands embraced her from behind. Soundless whispers, of teasing affection, haunted her ears. A ray of illusory hope shone upon her heart and set it ablaze.

“Is it possible to regain someone who’s no longer?”

Antina narrowed her eyes. Zici lowered her head.

Silence perfumed this land, its undying domain broken only by Veridius’s periodic tapping. He closed his eyes. Everyone else waited.

The tea cooled beyond warm. He opened his eyes.

“Such a question eclipses my understanding. However, I know of a place that might have the answer.”

Antina moved to Zici’s side and covered her ears. Zici decided to comply after she glimpsed at her lady giving her an apologetic smile.

Veridius cleared his throat. “In my olden day, I came across a series of scrolls detailing an interpretation of a certain text.”

“Is the text on the sixth floor?”

“I’ve never seen the text itself.” Veridius wryly smiled. “Five years. I attempted to decipher its location, but my destiny wasn’t there.”

“It might prove too much for me as well.”

“I’m willing to hope.” Veridius gave Iris an emblem of the Symbrone Family. “The scrolls aren’t with me. I’ll have my people send it to you.”

“Will I have the opportunity to play the game again?”

“I won’t bet anymore.”

“The bet isn’t important.” Iris chuckled. “Let’s meet again soon.”

“I hope you find what you need.”

Iris rose from her seat. Her maid and her guide followed her out of the guestroom. Before she left, she glanced at Veridius, who maintained his gaze upon her back.

“I’d like to know,” he said. “What was that last spell?”

“I too would like to know.”

Out of the central hall, through a dirt road, down spiralling steps, Iris reached an underground complex illuminated by glowing moss and mushrooms. Weary books shelved between sections sunken in the walls, identified by symbols revolving in front of them.

Powered by magic formation permeating it, the maze sprawled countless turns and halls, whose paths changed according to its visitors’ desires.

Antina’s eyes brightened. She bowed at her mistress before following a radiant line and disappearing into the shifting walls. Zici excitedly looked around, but her focus always ended on her lady.

“We’re now without any disturbance,” Iris said. “Shall we continue our previous conversation?”

“Would you listen to me?”

“Your voice pleases me.”

“Will you . . . be coming here often?”

“This won’t be our last.”

“When will you leave?” Zici affirmed her tone. “Once everything is over, will you give me a little of your time?”

“I’ve given you a lot.”

“I want to talk to you not as an employee, but as a person.”

“You’ve never been merely an employee.” Iris leaned closer. “Shall I prove it to you?”

Zici turned away. “Please give me an answer.”

“We can go on a date, but it’ll be on my term.”

“A date?”

“Give me your address, Zici. I’ll deliver a letter to you when the time is right. Prepare well, and you might win an unexpected present.”

Iris left the entranced Zici and headed deeper into the maze. Her guide absentmindedly trailed her, but she paid no attention to that simmering feeling.

Now wasn’t the time.