The coin spun across the stone floor, rattling madly as it bounced and clinked from one flagstone to the next. The three adventurers leaned forward together, eyes locked on the glinting copper as if the entire fate of their journey balanced on its edge.

  Finally, it collapsed flat with a hollow clink. The scratched X gleamed up at them.

  For a long, heavy moment, no one moved.

  Harlada jabbed her finger at it. “That’s tails.”

  Bert shook his head immediately, puffing out his chest. “No, that’s heads.”

  “Excuse me?” Harlada snapped. “The scratched side is obviously tails. Blank is heads, fancy is tails. That’s how the gods designed coins.”

  Bert jabbed back with equal intensity. “No, no, no. Fancy side is heads. That’s the whole point. The important side, the noble side. You can’t behead a blank!”

  Leo cleared his throat loudly, stepping between them with the poise of a lecturer silencing unruly students. He tapped the coin once with his quill. “If I may—historically, coins were marked only on one side. That marked side was known as the head. The reverse was blank, hence tails. Therefore—” he gestured with a flourish “—the marked side is heads. Our result is heads.”

  The crystal screen above pulsed, smug text scrolling into view:

  Coin Toss Validated. Result: Heads.

  Harlada groaned and threw her arms up. “Fine! Heads. Whatever. Just tell me that doesn’t mean spiders.”

  “No,” Leo said, adjusting his notes with icy calm. “Heads was assigned to penguins.”

  As if to prove the point, a burst of icy air shot from the penguin-marked doorway. Mist coiled through the chamber, curling cold tendrils around their boots. From somewhere beyond, faint honks echoed—eerily cheerful, like muffled laughter in a graveyard.

  The text shimmered again:

  Path Chosen: Penguins. Good luck.

  Bert groaned louder than the door’s hinges. “I knew we should’ve smashed the coin instead.”

  The penguin door yawned wide. Cold poured in.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  ***

  They stepped through together, boots crunching on ice.

  The tundra stretched vast and merciless around them. Jagged cliffs of frozen blue towered high, catching the pale light like shattered glass. Snow whirled in the gale, stinging their cheeks. Every breath burned their lungs with cold.

  “Cold,” Leo muttered, teeth already chattering. He scribbled furiously, though the ink froze mid-stroke. “Environmentally… unsustainable. Exposure limit: less than one hour.”

  Harlada hugged herself, shivering violently. “Why do I feel like this is already a mistake?”

  Bert squinted through the white haze, cleaver resting on his shoulder. “Look! Penguins!”

  Far ahead, a small flock waddled in neat formation, leaving precise trails across the snow. They looked harmless. Comical, even. Their stubby bodies bobbed side to side as they honked softly at one another. For the briefest moment, hope flickered.

  “See?” Bert said. “Not so bad.”

  He planted his cleaver into a block of ice to hoist himself onto a ledge. The slab gave a long, deep groan.

  “Uh…” Harlada began.

  The iceberg shuddered. Then tipped.

  There was a roar of splitting ice, the thunder of water surging beneath their feet. All three screamed as the ground collapsed. They slid helplessly down the icy slope, arms flailing, cleaver spinning away into the void.

  The sea opened wide. Black water foamed.

  They plunged into the freezing abyss.

  ***

  Agony. Cold fire ripped through their lungs, stabbing deeper with every thrash. Darkness closed in around them, crushing and absolute.

  Then—blackness.

  ***

  Chains rattled. Heat blasted.

  They reappeared in the cages, swaying gently over lava.

  Attempts: 54. Welcome Back.

  The crystal screen pulsed cheerfully as if nothing had happened.

  Bert sneezed. The cage lurched sideways. Metal screeched. Chains snapped.

  All three plummeted.

  Splash. Fire. Screams.

  ***

  Attempts: 55.

  They reappeared coughing smoke. Harlada was still mid-scream from before, voice echoing oddly in the cavern. “I HATE—”

  The cage door creaked. Then popped loose.

  All three dropped again.

  ***

  Attempts: 56.

  The crystal screen pulsed again, smug text glowing brighter this time.

  Leo rubbed his temples, hair still singed at the ends. “We must… stop sneezing. And screaming. And breathing, preferably.”

  Bert groaned, gripping the bars. “I hate coins. I hate penguins. And I hate lava most of all.”

  Harlada slumped against the cage wall, charred hair smoking faintly. “At least the penguins looked cute. Before we drowned.”

  The lava burbled like laughter.