The transition was not like stepping through a door. It was like being unwritten.
One moment Kaelen was holding Lyra against his chest, her body trembling as the Seed's power nearly split her apart. The next, he felt his bones dissolve into light, his breath scatter into echoes, and his heartbeat stretch into eternity.
Then — darkness.
The First Sight
When vision returned, he stood with Lyra at the center of a vast corridor. The walls weren't walls at all, but towering sheets of liquid light, their surfaces shifting with runes that rearranged themselves like thoughts caught in flux. The ground beneath their feet rippled, crystalline and translucent, carrying them forward even though they hadn't moved.
Lyra pressed her hand to her chest. The Seed glowed like a second heart, pulling at the fabric of the maze.
"It's alive," she whispered. "Not built. Not designed. It's dreaming us."
Kaelen gritted his teeth, scanning their surroundings. Every instinct screamed danger. "Then we wake it carefully."
The Factions' Arrival
All around them, the labyrinth unfolded with brutal impartiality. Admiral Veyric's armada was scattered across chambers vast enough to house entire worlds. His soldiers marched in rigid columns, only to watch corridors collapse and re-form beneath their feet, twisting their formations into chaos.
The Crimson Harrowers fared no better. Their beasts roared in defiance, claws tearing at the shifting ground. But every strike was swallowed, every path leading them deeper, always deeper, until their chants of fire became frantic prayers.
Seer Azhira and her Oracles moved differently. They walked as if guided by invisible hands, their steps weaving through doors that appeared only for them. Azhira's eyes blazed white. She whispered to her disciples:
"This place is not a prison. It is a mirror. Tread lightly, or it will show you more than you wish to see."
And the revenants? They did not stumble. They poured into the labyrinth like water into cracks, their forms dissolving into the walls themselves, whispering to the maze as though it recognized them.
The Architects' Test
From above, three silhouettes appeared once more. The Architects' forms stretched endlessly across the labyrinth sky, their faceless visages shimmering with judgment.
"The Labyrinth does not choose who is strongest. It chooses who endures. Those who falter will be lost in its echo forever."
Their voices shook the corridors, and from every surface came a thousand reflections of every champion, every soldier, every warlord — distorted and shifting, as though the labyrinth were already testing them.
Lyra's Burden
Lyra collapsed to her knees, clutching her head. The reflections of herself weren't still images — they moved, alive, whispering her doubts back at her.
You're not strong enough.
You're only the Seed's vessel, nothing more.
Kaelen will fail you.
You will fail them all.
Kaelen grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him instead of the walls. "Lyra. Look at me. Not them. Me."
Her gaze snapped to his, wide and wet with tears. The reflections hissed, their voices fading into static, unable to compete with the weight of Kaelen's presence.
She drew a shuddering breath. "If this labyrinth feeds on weakness, then every step we take will be against ourselves."
Kaelen's grip tightened on his blade. "Then let's bleed our ghosts before they bleed us."
The First Trial
The corridor ahead shifted, elongating into a vast chamber. A throne of crystal rose from its heart, empty but thrumming with power. The reflections peeled from the walls and took shape—armored phantoms wielding weapons Kaelen had seen in his darkest memories.
Lyra gasped. They weren't just reflections. They were the enemies they feared most, born from the maze itself.
The first trial had begun.