The walls pulsed like a living thing red, warm, and veined with molten lines that glowed faintly with Kael's every step. The air in the corridor was thick, not just with heat, but with expectation, like the labyrinth itself was watching them.
Kael tightened his grip on his sword. "It's not stone," he muttered. "It's bone. Burnt bone."
Lira touched the wall gently, her fingers flinching. "It's alive. Or was. This entire place… it feels like a graveyard made to breathe."
Behind them, the Keeper of Flame followed in silence. "The Crimson Labyrinth was never built. It was birthed. Fed by the blood of the first betrayers. Only those of the Burning Line can walk its halls and live."
Kael scoffed. "And what? You expect me to feel honored?"
The Keeper's tone was unbothered. "No. I expect you to survive."
Suddenly, the path split three tunnels, all identical. No markings. No signs.
Kael stepped forward instinctively, but the Keeper raised a hand. "Choose wrong, and the labyrinth will feed."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "There's no logic to this, is there?"
"No," the Keeper said. "Only blood remembers."
As if in response, Kael's mark the flame wreathed in thorns burned faintly on his palm. The heat pulled toward the left passage. Not a signal… a summons.
Kael followed it.
The deeper they went, the more distorted the space became. The walls twisted and shifted, reality bending like heatwaves. Time slowed. Or raced. Neither Kael nor Lira could tell.
Then came the whispers.
At first, they were distant murmurs, like wind through stone. But soon they turned into voices, familiar ones.
Kael's father. His mother. Their screams. Their regrets.
Lira staggered. "Kael, I hear them… my brother… my...."
"It's not real," Kael growled, gripping her wrist. "It's the maze. It's feeding off our pain."
"Pain is truth," the Keeper said from behind. "To inherit the Burning Line, you must walk through every fire that forged your name. Even the ones you tried to forget."
They pressed on.
Until they reached the first trial.
A chamber opened—a perfect circle, its floor covered in ashes. In its center stood a throne made of jagged blades, each one etched with a name. Some were ancient. Some were recent.
One name glowed brightest.
Kael Velharr.
Kael took a step forward.
The Keeper's voice echoed behind him. "To claim your bloodline, you must sit on the throne of your sins."
Kael hesitated. Every blade shimmered with memory. Every one was someone he had failed, hurt, killed or left behind.
Lira touched his shoulder. "You're not that person anymore."
Kael clenched his fists. "But I was. And maybe… maybe I still am."
He walked forward and sat.
The blades pierced him not his flesh, but his memories. They stabbed into every regret, every failure, every betrayal he carried. He saw his brother's blood. His mother's eyes. The flames that consumed his home. The curse that was never his choice.
He did not cry. He did not scream.
He endured.
And the throne burned.
It melted down into molten fire, crawling over Kael's skin like armor, embedding itself in his bones. Branding him.
When the light died down, Kael stood, breathing heavily. His eyes were brighter. His presence heavier.
The Keeper knelt. "The Labyrinth accepts you. The bloodline answers."
Behind them, the corridor reopened leading deeper.
Kael turned to Lira. "Let's finish this."