The corridor pressed close around Lira, walls slick with moisture, pulsing faintly as if the labyrinth itself were breathing. Each step echoed softly, yet the sound seemed to carry, stretching unnaturally, reverberating into corners she could not see. The damp air clung to her skin, scented with moss, wet stone, and a faint metallic tang that pulled at something deep within her memory. Every sense was heightened; every heartbeat a drum that seemed to measure her resolve.
A shimmer of light flickered ahead—neither the cool glow of axolotls nor the silver clarity of the Temple, but a quivering, flickering glow like candle flames in water. And then she saw them: faces she had loved, lost, or longed for, forming from the wavering illumination. They floated, impossibly familiar, radiant, smiling—but an undertone hummed beneath their surface, a tension that made her skin prickle.
