The phantoms advanced.
They were not vague illusions. Each figure carried weight, breath, and the killing intent of the real thing. Kaelen recognized them instantly — not strangers, but shadows of his own past.
The first one wore the insignia of a commander Kaelen had executed during the war, his eyes wide with betrayal. Another bore the face of a child soldier he had failed to save, her small frame wrapped in jagged armor, holding a blade far too heavy for her hands.
Kaelen's mouth went dry. The labyrinth was not merely conjuring enemies — it was weaponizing his guilt.
"Stay behind me," he said through clenched teeth, drawing his blade.
But Lyra shook her head. Her reflections were taking shape too — dozens of them. Some looked like her, innocent and hopeful; others were twisted, their eyes black voids, their mouths whispering venom. You will never be enough. You will lose him. You are only alive because the Seed chose you, not because you earned it.
Lyra's hands trembled, but she raised them anyway. Light pulsed from her chest, forming a barrier between them and the advancing shades.
"Not behind you," she whispered. "With you."
---
Kaelen's Clash
The first phantom struck. Kaelen moved on instinct, his sword ringing as steel met steel. The phantom moved like his old commander — same stance, same fury. Kaelen's blade clashed against memory, each strike threatening to break not just his body but his resolve.
He fought like a man trying to rewrite history with every blow.
But the labyrinth was cruel. For every phantom he cut down, two more rose from the walls, born of moments he wished he could forget.
Blood spattered across the crystalline floor — not his, not Lyra's. It was impossible to tell whose blood the labyrinth used, but it smelled of his nightmares.
---
Lyra's Strain
Lyra's shield faltered under the onslaught of her twisted selves. They clawed at her, not with weapons, but with words, their whispers digging deeper than blades.
"You are nothing without the Seed."
"Kaelen will leave you, as everyone has."
"You cannot protect him. You will be the reason he dies."
Tears streaked down Lyra's cheeks, but her hands glowed brighter. The Seed pulsed in her chest, answering not to her fear, but to her choice.
"I am not your vessel," she said, voice breaking but steady. "I am me."
With that, the shield surged outward, shattering her false reflections into shards of light that dissolved into the labyrinth walls.
---
Elsewhere in the Maze
Far from them, Admiral Veyric's soldiers screamed as their reflections turned into endless lines of themselves — thousands of disciplined men and women facing their own ruthlessness. Their formations collapsed as each soldier realized he was killing an exact mirror, and hesitation bred slaughter.
The Crimson Harrowers raged against beasts that wore their own faces. To kill them was to admit their monstrosity. Some howled and tore at themselves until only ruin remained.
And Seer Azhira? She stood serene at the center of her chamber as her reflections whispered futures she dared not speak aloud. Her disciples fell one by one, unable to face themselves. Yet Azhira smiled faintly, as if she had always known this labyrinth was more truth than trial.
---
The Turning Point
Kaelen's chest heaved as the phantoms pressed harder. His blade grew heavier, his arms numb. He knew he couldn't kill them all — not like this.
Then Lyra touched his back, her palm warm between his shoulders.
"Stop fighting as if you're still that man," she said. "You are not the soldier who killed for orders. You are Kaelen, who fights for me. For us."
The words cut deeper than any blade. His eyes widened — and then, for the first time, he stopped seeing the phantoms as enemies. He saw them as echoes.
He roared and drove his sword into the ground. Energy erupted, not in destruction, but in recognition. The phantoms froze, their eyes softening, their shapes dissolving into the labyrinth's light.
Lyra smiled weakly. "You see? They only wanted you to admit it."
Kaelen knelt beside her, gripping her trembling hand. "Then let's keep admitting it. Together."
The chamber went still. The first trial was over.
But in the distance, the labyrinth stirred again. New corridors formed. New whispers echoed. And the next trial promised to cut even deeper.
---