They stood in silence, watching the ants play.

  Each card was the size of a shield, painted in crude symbols and splattered with what might have been berry juice. Or blood. Or both.

  Leo squinted. “Okay. Serious question. How can they even play cards? Ants don’t have good eyesight. Their vision’s all—what’s the word—mosaic. They can’t possibly tell suits apart.”

  Harlada glanced at him. “So what, you think they shouldn’t be allowed to play because of their biology? Bit racist, don’t you think?”

  “It’s not racist,” Leo said. “It’s factual. They literally can’t see faces or numbers!”

  “Maybe they play by touch,” Harlada mused. “Braille cards. Tactile culture.”

  Leo threw up his hands. “They don’t even have fingers!”

  The Maze pulsed.

  Debate registered: Speciest undertones detected. Recommending sensitivity training.

  Bert ignored them both, eyes wide with excitement. “Look at them! They’re just like us—hanging out, having fun, possibly gambling for their lives!”

  He stepped forward and gave a small wave. “Hello, new friends! May I—uh—join?”

  Three ant heads turned toward him, mandibles clicking in perfect sync. One slid a spare card across the table with a low hiss that could have meant “welcome” or “snack.”

  Bert smiled nervously. “I’ll take that as an invite.”

  He sat down on the dirt beside them, tucking his knees under the table like an oversized child at a family dinner.

  Leo hissed, “Bert, what are you doing?”

  “Cultural exchange!” Bert whispered back. “It’s fine!”

  The Maze pulsed.

  Attempting diplomacy via participation. Outcome: Dubious but entertaining.

  Harlada sighed and floated a few inches closer, watching with morbid curiosity. “I give him five minutes.”

  Leo shook his head. “Two. They’re going to eat him.”

  The ants began clicking faster, dealing Bert a hand of enormous, damp cards.

  Bert smiled, beaming. “See? Totally friendly!”

  The Maze pulsed, ominous and amused.

  Social encounter: Active. Wager: Unclear. Danger level: Increasing.

  ***

  Bert’s smile faltered as the ants began chittering at him—sharp, rhythmic clicks that definitely didn’t sound friendly.

  He held up his cards awkwardly. “Uh… anyone here play small-talk?”

  Harlada floated closer. “You look like you’re losing diplomacy and poker.”

  Leo folded his arms. “Do you even know the rules?”

  “No,” Bert snapped. “But do you have a better idea?”

  That shut them both up.

  For a moment, the only sound was the clicking of mandibles and the faint shuffle of cards the size of small doors.

  The Maze pulsed.

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  Emotional shift detected: Leadership through desperation.

  Bert turned back to the table, sweating. “Okay. I’ll just… match the shapes. Or colors. Or whatever these are.”

  He laid down a card with what might have been confidence.

  The ants hissed. One slammed its claw on the table, sending dust into the air.

  Leo winced. “That’s… probably not good.”

  Harlada crossed her arms. “Maybe he just insulted their queen.”

  “Or declared war,” Leo muttered.

  The Maze pulsed.

  Diplomatic tension escalating. Stakes: Increasing.

  Bert tried again, throwing down another card, this time upside-down. The ants hissed louder. One gestured with its antennae like a judge about to deliver sentencing.

  Leo leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Look at their pattern. One asks, the other checks, then they draw from the pile.”

  Harlada glanced at him. “You’re analyzing?”

  “Yes. It’s… like Go Fish meets poker,” Leo murmured. “But with bluffing. If you think you can get three matching sets—and that they’re the highest—you wager something.”

  “What do they wager?” Harlada asked.

  Leo watched one ant slide forward a glittering gem and hiss through its mandibles. “I think… territorial rights.”

  Bert grinned nervously. “Oh good. I’ll just bet friendship.”

  The Maze pulsed, weary already.

  Rule comprehension: Partial. Danger comprehension: None.

  The ants turned toward Bert, all six eyes narrowing in insect precision. Their antennae tapped once, twice, in unison.

  Harlada sighed. “He’s either about to be eaten or knighted. Hard to tell which.”

  Leo rubbed his temples. “I’m leaning toward eaten.”

  The Maze pulsed again.

  Game phase advanced: Wager round. Player Bert—unprepared.

  ***

  The game dragged on, a blur of incomprehensible rules and escalating tension.

  Cards slapped the stone table. Mandibles clicked like angry metronomes.

  Bert was sweating enough to water crops.

  Leo leaned over his shoulder, whispering. “You’re doing it wrong.”

  “I know I’m doing it wrong!” Bert hissed back. “But I’m winning wrong!”

  Harlada hovered nearby, arms crossed. “That’s how most of your plans go.”

  The Maze pulsed.

  Observation: Luck overriding logic. Probability of disaster: Stable.

  The largest ant placed three matching cards—black spirals painted in berry ink—and let out a low hiss.

  The other two responded with rhythmic clicks that made Bert’s stomach twist.

  Leo whispered, “That’s their wager phase. If they think they’ve got the highest set, they put something up for risk.”

  “Like what?” Bert whispered.

  “Everything.”

  Bert nodded solemnly and placed his only possession of value on the table—the fly swatter.

  Harlada groaned. “You didn’t.”

  “It’s symbolic!” Bert said. “Unity between species!”

  The Maze pulsed.

  Item wager detected: Swatter of Slight Significance. Odds of retrieval: Minimal.

  The ants regarded the offering, antennae twitching. Then, in eerie unison, they placed a small pile of glittering pebbles on the table—currency, maybe. Or trophies.

  Leo muttered, “I can’t tell if they’re amused or hungry.”

  Harlada floated closer. “Why not both?”

  Cards were dealt again—massive, damp slabs of confusion. Bert played at random, heart pounding, barely understanding the clicks around him.

  Then, somehow, impossibly, his hand beat theirs.

  Three of the same suit—whatever that meant.

  The ants froze. The room fell silent.

  The Maze pulsed, incredulous.

  Outcome: Victory? Verification: Unclear.

  Bert blinked. “Did… did I win?”

  The largest ant leaned forward, eyes glinting.

  In a voice like gravel dragged over stone, it spoke clearly for the first time:

  “You won. Congratulations. Now we are going to eat you.”

  Harlada sighed. “At least they’re polite about it.”

  The Maze pulsed, delighted.

  Social encounter complete. Negotiation phase failed. Combat phase loading.

  “Well i did win.” Bert said with his arms crossed. “pay up those pebbles.”