There are games that begin as a simple succession of turns and end up becoming little personal myths.

This was one of those.

Throughout the entire game, I was barely a survivor on the board. I didn't control the rhythm of the game. I had no control over anything. Each turn was an orderly retreat, an elegant way of not dying yet. The cards I needed seemed to exist in another statistical universe, one where my deck didn't exist.

To make matters worse, I made a mistake.

One of those small mistakes that, in a strategy game, act like a crack in a dam. Something that could have tipped the scales in my favor ended up pushing them further toward the abyss.

And the abyss was there, waiting.

Turn 11.

When I looked at the board, the state of the war was clear even to the most optimistic observer:

* Me: **1 life point**.

* My opponent: **30**, unscathed, as if the battle had just begun for him.

* On their side of the board: **three minions**.

* Two of them were **Attack 7 or higher**, creatures that weren't there to negotiate, but to finish the job.

On my side of the board, there was nothing.

No creatures.

No defense.

No visible hope.

It was the kind of moment when most players are already mentally on the losing screen.

But games, like myths, have a strange respect for human stubbornness.

My turn came.

Turn 11.

I looked at the cards in my hand, they were the only pieces of reality available in that small universe of rules and probabilities. And sometimes that's enough.

What happened next wasn't a single brilliant move.

It was a chain. A cascading reaction. Each card feeding the next, each effect opening a small crack in the apparent inevitability of the outcome.

An improbable turn.

Then another.

And another.

The game that seemed over began to warp, as if history itself were reconsidering its ending.

Four turns later, the board told a completely different story.

The predicted defeat had evaporated.

Victory.

Not because the game had been easy, nor even because it had been controlled. It was a victory snatched from the very brink of collapse, when all signs indicated that the game was already decided.

There's an old idea, applicable to magic, card games, and life itself:

Reality is much more flexible than it seems when you're still playing.

That's why it's worth remembering a simple rule:

Never give up.

Not even when everything indicates that you're already defeated.

Especially then.

From Certain Defeat to Victory in Four Turns