The iron slot hummed with mechanical hunger, its gears clinking like a thousand teeth waiting for flesh. The cult's whispers crawled through the walls:
"Sacrifice, or rot in the maze."
Ayan didn't move immediately. He crouched, studying the mechanism, his eyes tracing every rotation. The gears inside weren't random—they followed a rhythm, a pattern of pause and surge. Whoever designed it wanted the victim to panic, to thrust their hand in blindly.
He exhaled slowly. "So this is your trial…"
Instead of obeying, Ayan reached into his pocket. Among his belongings, he still carried fragments of the earlier broken automaton he had dismantled. From its remains, he pulled out a bent metal rod, thin enough to slide into the slot.
The gears bit into the rod instantly, grinding, sparking. Ayan let it feed the machine, watching carefully. Within moments, the door shuddered, the gears choking on the resistance.
He pressed harder. The machine whined, stuttered, then stopped—jammed.
Silence spread through the labyrinth. Then, with a slow groan, the iron door unlocked and pushed open, revealing a staircase spiraling upward into darkness.
The voice of the cult finally spoke again, but this time quieter, almost amused.
"Clever boy… you refused the terms, yet still moved the hands of fate. But every defiance has a cost."
As Ayan stepped through, he heard the maze behind him shift violently, sealing forever. The door slammed shut, locking him into the path he had chosen—one that would bring him closer to the Watchmaker, but also deeper into his game.
The trial was passed. But the price? Still hidden.