Kaelen's hand pressed against the labyrinth's shifting wall, its surface rippling like liquid light. Lyra moved beside him, her steps steady despite the exhaustion that weighed on both of them. The path had narrowed, funneling them into a chamber unlike any they had yet seen.
The Glass Chamber
They stepped into a hall of mirrors — walls, floor, and ceiling all polished into flawless reflection. Yet the reflections weren't true.
Kaelen looked at himself in the glass, only to see a soldier still bound to the Dominion, crimson insignia on his armor, eyes burning with blind obedience. He recoiled.
Lyra's reflection was worse. She saw herself not as Lyra, but as the Infinity Seed incarnate — a body hollowed into light, a vessel, not a person.
Her breath caught. "It's showing us what we fear becoming."
Before Kaelen could answer, the reflections shifted.
Now the chamber wasn't empty. A circle of hooded figures stood in the glass, their bodies flickering between real and illusion. Their robes shimmered with constellations, and their eyes burned with starfire.
The Seer's Mystics
From the circle, one figure stepped forward. A woman, tall and unbending, her face hidden behind a veil of silver strands. Her voice echoed with layered tones, as though many spoke through her at once.
"Lyra Solenne. Kaelen Veyr. The Seedbearer and the Blade."
Kaelen's hand tightened on his weapon. "And who are you supposed to be?"
"We are the Mystics of Azhira," the woman intoned. "Seekers of the Architect's truth. This labyrinth is not a prison — it is a scripture. A trial for those chosen to inherit the Seed's will."
Lyra's heart skipped. "You mean… you serve the Seed?"
The mystic's gaze burned brighter. "No. We serve its destiny. And if you falter, that destiny passes to another."
The circle closed tighter around them, the mirrored chamber bending so that every reflection showed Kaelen and Lyra surrounded, outnumbered, cornered.
The Test of Faith
The mystics raised their hands. In an instant, Kaelen's blade grew unbearably heavy, dragging toward the floor as though gravity itself had turned against him. Lyra staggered, her chest burning, the Seed inside her reacting violently to their presence.
The silver-veiled woman spoke again:
"Faith is the fire. Doubt is the blade. Which of you is strong enough to bear the Seed's truth?"
Kaelen struggled to lift his weapon. "We don't need your riddles."
Lyra groaned, clutching her head as whispers poured into her mind — visions of herself surrendering the Seed to the mystics, visions of Kaelen walking away, leaving her alone. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
"No!" she cried, voice shaking. "I am not just a vessel. I am not your scripture."
The Seed inside her pulsed, flaring light that shattered several of the mirrored walls. For the first time, the circle of mystics faltered.
The Warning
The silver-veiled woman lowered her hand, voice rippling with amusement. "Strong words. But words do not change destiny."
Her form began to fade, along with the circle. Only her voice remained:
"The labyrinth weaves us together. When next we meet, it will not be as allies. It will be as claimants."
The chamber dissolved, leaving only cracked glass under Kaelen's boots and silence heavy in the air.
Lyra leaned against him, her voice trembling. "They… they believe the Seed belongs to them."
Kaelen steadied her. "Then they'll learn it doesn't."
But deep down, he wondered: what if the labyrinth itself agreed with them?