The labyrinth twisted again, splitting corridors into veins of light and shadow. Kaelen and Lyra pressed forward, but they weren't alone.
On another path, Admiral Veyric's Dominion squad moved like a blade through the dark, their black armor gleaming with faint crimson reflections. Unlike Kaelen and Lyra, they carried no bond, no trust beyond the chain of command. For them, survival meant obedience.
At first, their march was steady, precise — until the chamber opened around them.
The Chamber of Chains
Chains hung from the ceiling like iron serpents, clinking with each breath. They were endless, stretching into the dark, their links etched with glowing runes.
The first soldier reached out to brush one — and screamed. The chain coiled around him, fusing to his armor, whispering in his voice:
"You are nothing without the Dominion."
Another chain lashed out, seizing the next soldier. Soon the chamber was alive with sound — whispers of guilt, shame, loyalty, betrayal. The air grew heavy with the stench of burning metal and scorched flesh.
Veyric stood unmoving at the center, his crimson eyes scanning. His men were thrashing, breaking, their screams echoing like a chorus of the damned.
Veyric's Trial
Then the chains turned on him.
They wrapped around his arms, his throat, dragging him toward the floor. The voice that spoke was not the labyrinth's — it was his own, amplified and merciless:
"You've built an empire of obedience. But when you strip away their fear, will they follow you still?"
The Admiral sneered, though blood streaked his mouth. "Fear is loyalty. And loyalty is survival."
The chains tightened, hissing like serpents. One by one, the voices of his soldiers rose — but this time, not in obedience. They cursed him. They shouted his failures. They begged for freedom.
For a moment, Veyric's mask cracked.
Breaking Point
One soldier ripped free, armor shattering as he fell to his knees. He looked at Veyric with eyes hollow and broken.
"You've led us into a tomb," he rasped. "We are not soldiers. We are your shackles."
The chamber flared. Chains rained down like a storm. Half the squad was dragged screaming into the dark, their bodies vanishing. The rest stood paralyzed, torn between obedience and revolt.
Veyric, gasping against the weight, forced his gauntlet free and drew his blade. With a roar, he slashed through the nearest chain, its runes bursting into embers.
"Then be shackled or be ashes," he growled. "The Dominion survives through me."
The labyrinth trembled — not broken, but amused. The Admiral had survived the trial, but barely. His soldiers were fewer, fractured, their loyalty scarred.
Echoes Converging
Far ahead, Kaelen and Lyra felt the tremor ripple through the labyrinth's walls. Lyra clutched her chest, whispering, "Someone else… passed a trial."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed. "Veyric."
The paths of the Seedbearer and the Admiral were drawing closer — not by choice, but by design.
And in the shadows between them, unseen yet ever-present, the Echo-Lord stirred. Its laughter reverberated faintly, carried through the veins of the labyrinth:
"The more you fight, the more you feed me."