The moment Goro pushed open the doors—
heat spilled outward.
Not ordinary heat.
Not the warmth of ovens or crowded bodies.
This felt alive.
Breathing.
Waiting.
Qaritas stepped inside.
And immediately understood why Krsangawi had been smiling.
The Gilded Maw was insane.
The stairs descended far deeper than any building should allow.
Each step carried them downward into crimson light and drifting shadows. Candles lined the walls, wax flowing like blood over black stone. Strange symbols had been carved into the corridor, glowing faintly beneath centuries of smoke.
The deeper they went—
the louder it became.
Drums.
Laughter.
Roars.
Metal striking metal.
And somewhere beneath all of it—
the unmistakable sound of thousands of people cheering for violence.
"Normal restaurant?" Qaritas asked.
"No."
"Good."
The stairs ended.
The world opened.
Qaritas stopped walking.
The chamber was enormous.
Far too enormous.
A cavern stretched beneath the city, its ceiling disappearing into darkness high above. Thousands of suspended candles drifted through the air, casting rivers of crimson and gold across black stone walls.
At the center stood a colossal fighting cage.
Obsidian bars.
Ancient runes.
Something breathing beneath the metal.
Surrounding it were hundreds of tables arranged in rising tiers like a stadium.
Every seat occupied.
Every eye watching.
Every mouth talking.
Eating.
Drinking.
Betting.
Living.
Qaritas stared.
The moment the seven captains entered—
the entire restaurant noticed.
Whispers spread.
Then silence.
Then recognition.
The crowd erupted.
"GORO!"
"FIRST DIVISION!"
"WELCOME HOME!"
The cheers rolled through the cavern like thunder.
Qaritas watched Goro physically wince.
Krsangawi looked delighted.
"Oh he's doing the face."
"I am not."
"That one."
"I am not."
"That exact face."
Vaelrith sipped from a glass someone had handed him without explanation.
"He is."
Their table waited overlooking the arena.
Not a table.
A fortress.
Black wood.
Crimson cushions.
Enough space for giants.
The furniture shifted the moment they approached.
Chairs rose.
Expanded.
Adjusted.
One seat formed into a throne-like structure before Hly'Zouun.
Another became something resembling a coiled nest for Goro.
Qaritas's seat looked suspiciously normal.
That worried him.
The food arrived before anyone ordered.
Qaritas frowned.
"Did anyone—"
"No."
The answer came from Goro.
"They already knew."
"That sounds horrifying."
"It is efficient."
The first thing placed before them was bread.
Or something pretending to be bread.
A massive pull-apart loaf sat upon a black stone platter.
Golden crust.
Crackling exterior.
Soft violet center.
Mineral salt glittered across the surface.
Roasted seed ash dusted the top.
The aroma alone nearly killed Qaritas.
Moonmelt Spread followed.
A glowing whipped butter infused with roasted garlic, smoked citrus, sweet pepper oil, and a faint honeyed heat.
Krsangawi immediately tore off an entire section.
"Mine."
"That's not how sharing works."
"You're new here."
Qaritas spread the glowing butter across the bread.
Took a bite.
Stopped moving.
The table went quiet.
"Qaritas?" Goro asked.
Qaritas slowly looked up.
"..."
"Qaritas?"
"...I understand why wars happen."
Krsangawi burst into laughter.
Then came the appetizers.
Nebula Pods.
Pearl-sized bites bursting with molten cheese, herb cream, and smoky spice.
Voidfrill Crisps.
Black-and-gold wafers topped with pickled ribbons and silver cream.
Plasma Bloom.
Flower-shaped roasted vegetables layered with spiced meat and glowing orange sauce.
Meteor Pearls.
Small savory spheres brushed with dark sweet glaze and crystal salt.
Qaritas was halfway through a second serving before realizing Eon had gone unusually quiet.
Suspiciously quiet.
Then—
More of the bread.
Qaritas froze.
Inside his mind Eon cleared his throat.
The bread.
"What?"
The bread.
"You don't eat."
I did once.
A pause.
The bread.
Qaritas stared at the loaf.
Then pushed it slightly closer.
Eon immediately felt pleased.
Qaritas hated that this somehow made sense.
The announcer stepped into the central arena.
His voice boomed through the cavern.
"GOOD EVENING, VALUED GUESTS!"
Cheers erupted.
"AND WELCOME HOME—LORD GORO!"
The crowd exploded.
Goro sighed.
Krsangawi nearly fell over laughing.
The announcer continued.
"TONIGHT'S ENTERTAINMENT COMES DIRECTLY FROM THE LABYRINTH!"
The cheers became louder.
Much louder.
That wasn't concerning at all.
"THESE PRISONERS ONCE SERVED YZER!"
The crowd immediately started booing.
The announcer began listing crimes.
Genocide.
Murder.
Cannibalism.
Rape.
Torture.
Terrorism.
Slavery.
Arson.
Trafficking.
The atmosphere shifted.
The excitement remained.
But something colder settled over the crowd.
Hatred.
Old hatred.
The kind that survives centuries.
Prisoners entered the cage.
Dozens of them.
Every species imaginable.
Every expression different.
Fear.
Defiance.
Madness.
Regret.
Then the announcer smiled.
"And now..."
His grin widened.
"Their victims."
Qaritas blinked.
The arena doors opened again.
Families entered.
Mothers.
Fathers.
Children.
Brothers.
Sisters.
Friends.
Loved ones.
The crowd went silent.
Then one woman stepped forward.
Looked directly at the man who had murdered her family.
And tore his throat out.
The cavern erupted.
Qaritas watched.
Stunned.
The prisoners regenerated.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each time dragged below through iron gates beneath the arena.
"The Labyrinth?" Qaritas asked.
"The Labyrinth," Goro confirmed.
Beside him—
Eon had gone very still.
For the first time all evening—
neither of them were thinking about food.
Because somewhere beneath The Gilded Maw—
far below the cheering crowds—
lay a place both of them recognized.
A place neither of them had expected to hear about again.
And they had the feeling the night was only beginning.
The arena roared.
The prisoners screamed.
The crowd cheered.
And somehow—
the loudest thing in The Gilded Maw was the sound of ticking.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Qaritas turned.
A figure had entered the private dining level.
Twelve feet tall.
Impossibly thin.
Bronze-black machinery fused into crimson flesh.
Chains hanging from his body.
A halo of gears rotating endlessly behind his head.
And from the cracks in his ancient brass mask—
crimson tears flowed continuously.
Not blood.
Not water.
Memory.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The moment he appeared—
every captain looked toward him.
Goro inclined his head.
Vaelrith stood.
Aslvyr straightened.
Nhalyros became utterly still.
Hly'Zouun lowered his gaze.
Even Krsangawi stopped eating.
Which was perhaps the most impressive thing Qaritas had witnessed all day.
"Iezel," Goro greeted.
The ticking figure stopped.
His head turned.
Slowly.
Toward Qaritas.
The ticking ceased.
Silence.
The entire table felt it.
Even the arena seemed distant.
Iezel stared.
One second.
Two.
Three.
Then the tray he had been carrying slipped from his hands.
It shattered across the stone floor.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The Timekeeper ran.
Qaritas barely had time to blink.
One moment Iezel stood twenty feet away.
The next—
twelve feet of crying mechanical nightmare crashed into him.
Arms wrapped around him.
Chains rattled.
The halo behind his head spun wildly.
"My friend."
His voice cracked.
Layered.
Past.
Present.
Future.
All speaking together.
"My friend."
Qaritas froze.
Completely.
Across the table—
Krsangawi looked delighted.
Vaelrith looked unsurprised.
Aslvyr looked relieved.
Goro sighed.
Eon was silent.
Not quiet.
Silent.
Iezel finally pulled back.
His glowing tears continued spilling from the cracks in his face.
"You came back."
Qaritas blinked.
"I..."
"You actually came back."
The Timekeeper laughed.
Then cried harder.
Then laughed again.
Qaritas looked at Goro.
Then Vaelrith.
Then everyone else.
No one seemed confused.
Only him.
Naturally.
Iezel suddenly narrowed his gaze.
The gears behind him shifted.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Faster.
Then his expression changed.
Confusion.
Concern.
Horror.
He leaned closer.
Far too close.
"Which version are you?"
Qaritas blinked.
"What?"
Iezel stared.
Then pointed.
"You."
A pause.
"You look weak."
Krsangawi immediately burst into laughter.
Qaritas looked offended.
"I beg your pardon?"
"You are weak."
"Excuse me?"
"You are significantly weaker than normal."
"I have fought gods."
"You lost."
"..."
"..."
"...Fair."
Iezel continued staring.
Then realization dawned.
"Oh."
A pause.
"Oh no."
Qaritas did not like that tone.
At all.
"You aren't my Qaritas."
The room went still.
"You haven't done it yet."
Qaritas frowned.
"Done what?"
Iezel pointed at him.
Then pointed dramatically toward the ceiling.
Then toward reality itself.
Then toward absolutely nowhere.
"Everything."
The entire table remained silent.
Krsangawi was laughing too hard to be useful.
Vaelrith pinched the bridge of his nose.
Aslvyr looked resigned.
Apparently this happened often.
Qaritas crossed his arms.
"I assume you know a future version of me."
Iezel nodded.
Immediately.
"One of my closest friends."
That landed.
Hard.
Because Iezel wasn't joking.
He wasn't speaking with reverence.
Or fear.
Or worship.
He sounded happy.
Like he was talking about someone he'd shared thousands of years with.
"You built impossible things together."
Qaritas blinked.
"What?"
"Time machines."
"What?"
"Several."
"What?"
"The fifth one exploded."
"What?"
"The seventh one exploded worse."
"What?"
"The ninth one achieved sentience."
"What?"
"The tenth one attempted tax fraud."
"What?"
"The eleventh one worked."
Silence.
Krsangawi fell out of her chair laughing.
Qaritas looked toward Eon.
Help.
Eon sounded just as confused.
I have absolutely no idea what he's talking about.
That somehow made everything worse.
Iezel finally sat.
The gears behind his head continued turning.
Slowly now.
Steadily.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"You truly don't remember."
"No."
The Timekeeper's expression softened.
For a moment—
he looked tired.
Ancient.
Lonely.
"Oh."
The single word hurt.
Goro slid a fresh platter of Starhide Loaf toward him.
Iezel stared.
Then immediately took three pieces.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
The exchange happened with the ease of something repeated countless times before.
After several moments—
Qaritas finally asked.
"What are you?"
The question hung in the air.
Iezel looked down.
At his hands.
At the bronze fused into flesh.
At the chains.
At the memories leaking from his eyes.
Then he smiled.
Sadly.
"I am a Timekeeper."
The room quieted.
Even the arena noise seemed distant.
"The last Timekeeper."
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
"My people were the original keepers of time."
His voice lowered.
"We watched the flow of history."
The gears behind him turned.
Slowly.
Painfully.
"We remembered."
Qaritas listened.
The captains remained silent.
They had heard this story before.
But they listened anyway.
Because some stories deserved witnesses.
Iezel continued.
"Then Yzer came."
The ticking slowed.
"Yzer gave over one million Timekeepers to Ecayrous."
The entire table stilled.
"To create Rykhan, Ascendant of Time."
Qaritas felt his stomach drop.
One million.
Not volunteers.
Not followers.
Materials.
"My species died screaming."
The ticking slowed further.
"My father died first."
"My world died second."
"And I was forced to watch."
Silence.
The arena below no longer mattered.
Neither did the food.
Or the crowd.
Or the cheering.
Because for the first time—
Qaritas was hearing what Yzer truly was.
And the hatred in the room whenever his name was spoken suddenly made perfect sense.
Iezel looked toward Goro.
Then Krsangawi.
Then the others.
Finally—
toward Qaritas.
And something warmer entered his voice.
"Then Lady Xheavend saved me."
A pause.
"And eventually..."
His gaze settled fully upon Qaritas.
"...you did too."
Qaritas froze.
Eon froze.
Every captain smiled.
And suddenly—
Qaritas had the feeling that whatever happened next—
was going to change everything.