The cold and merciless metal of shackles bit into the juvenile's raw wrists as their relentless friction burnt with every step. The chains rattled faintly, hitting other similar cuffs around him, echoing in metallic clangs reverberating through the damp stone walls of the dark corridor. A faint torch flickered on the malice-tempered walls, casting distorted shadows that seemed to mock their seemingly forced march.
A labyrinth reeked of despair, its floors strewn with bones and steeped in the copper stench of dried blood. Each step carried them past cells filled with hollow-eyed figures, restrained in the identical shackles, and their gaunt bodies swallowed by the darkness. No light from the outside pierced the depths of the labyrinth; it was a place where even time dared not to trespass.
When the heavy iron doors cried open, the sudden burst of outside struck Kaelis like a slap, though the outside was only marginally brighter than the inside of the labyrinth. He squinted his eyes, shielding them against the sudden burst of cold, ruthless wind. Soon after, an endless stretch of land came into view, filled with carcasses of what resembled dead trees. The land stretched as far as the eye could see; it was devoid of any signs of life and covered in thick snow.
Soon, a deep and distant rumble broke the suffocating silence of the labyrinth. At first, it was no louder than a murmur carried on the howling wind, but with each passing heartbeat, it swelled—growing into a thunder of hooves that echoed throughout the eerie stone walls of the structure.
The keepers of the labyrinth did not so much as flinch. From muscular men wearing heavy armour, hands resting upon large weapons powerful enough to crumble a large boulder to dust, to the frail women wearing black robes—all drifted along the corridors with unhurried grace, as if the storm of hooves belonged here as naturally as the blood-soaked air they breathed. To them, the rumble was no intrusion but an echo that had long since become part of their grim duties—whether they liked them or not.
As the rumble swelled, shapes began to stir within the fog beyond the gates. At first, they were no more than shadows shifting against the mist, but step by step, their outlines hardened. A group of riders emerged as their approach shook the ground in a steady rhythm.
Two dozen or so men were riding in formation, clad in armour that resembled those that guarded this place—though thinner and less imposing—nor did they wield monstrous weapons like the guards. At first glance, the creatures that the newly arrived group used to ride here looked to be polar bears. However, each of them was at least twice the size of even the largest of the polar bears that can be found on the continent. Saber-like fangs extended from the massive jaws that could rip apart a human like a ripe melon. However, the creature's thick fur was its most striking difference from a polar bear. Though predominantly snow-white, it was marked with dark blue stripes reminiscent of the black bands that adorn tigers that lived in warmer climates.
"Are those bears? I never imagined that they could grow this large—or so vicious." One of the frail women beside Kaelis asked. She wore the same black robe as the others. Barely in her early twenties, with short brown hair, she was amongst the youngest of the keepers.
"Is this your first time seeing a beast from the Unknown?" another woman standing beside her replied. She too wore the familiar black robe, though the silver strands in her dark hair and lines carved into her skin betrayed her age. She looked at the first woman with a face etched in terror. "You should be glad that you're only witnessing a Feral of the Unknown. They may be more vicious than anything born on this continent, but they too are nothing more than food for the true horrors that dwell in the Unknown."
Soon enough, the two dozen riders on their monstrous mounts reached the labyrinth's doorsteps. They looked like seasoned warriors, men who had perhaps endured countless battles. Yet one among them stood apart most, broad-shouldered and in his thirties, with a muscular build, short crimson hair, and eyes of the same shade. He seemed to be the leader of the group. But what drew the eye most was the weapon in his hands—a long spear tipped with a gem that glimmered like an emerald, its surface snaring what little sunlight pierced clouds and scattering it in faint sparks.
Every suit of armour also bore an engraving near their chest, letters carved with deliberate care. Only up close could the inscriptions be read clearly—names, carved in the darowian language—the most common language spoken across the eternal continent of Darowia.
It was tradition for warriors not serving on a covert mission to carry their names upon their breastplates, a mark of both identity and influence. The crimson-haired leader's armour bore the name 'Thoralf Rursk.'
Thoralf swiftly dismounted from his beast, the emerald-tipped spear gleaming faintly in his grasp, and strode into the labyrinth. He made his way toward one of the labyrinth's towering guards. Though broad and powerful in his own right, the leader was dwarfed compared to the guard in both stature and presence.
The guard wore the same heavy armour as the others, his bald head gleaming in the dim torchlight, and his eyes—like Thoralf's—burnt with the same crimson hue. The engraving upon his chest bore a single word: Grandmaster. Whether it referred to him as the master of the labyrinth or carried some meaning unrelated to this place, none could say. What was certain, however, was that his true name was meant to remain hidden.
"It's been a while, hasn't it? To think Master would send me here as a reward. He must be desperate to get his hands on that… thing." Thoralf smirked as he addressed the Grandmaster.
At those words, the Grandmaster's expression hardened with annoyance. "You still talk too much. Just finish your duties so I can return to mine."
"Man, you're still not much of a talker, are you? Psst… still going on about duties when we're meeting again after half a decade." Thoralf's smirk faded into a tense expression as he raised a finger to a scar etched across his forehead. The scar ran deep, carved by a sharp object with ruthless force.
"Surely you haven't forgotten this. Or has strutting around as Master's pet and lording over one of countless flower gardens he chained you to filled you with delusions of grandeur?"
The Grandmaster's expression twisted, annoyance turning into a rage. "Just finish your damn business here and leave, you sly bastard."
Thoralf chuckled, tilting his head. "Woah, that's a surprise. I thought you'd hit me with that axe of yours. But it seems even this sewer of the Empire has heard of my promotion to an official knight of Master."
The Grandmaster's glare sharpened. "Anyone who can read your last name will realize that… unless they're a complete idiot."
Thoralf's chuckle turned into laughter. "Ha! I suppose you're not wrong. After all, only the true knights of Master can bear the name Rursk. Consider this my first act of generosity as a Rursk—I'll finish my little business quickly. Now, get the flower baskets loaded, and we'll leave this sewer."
"Tch… fine. I've already ordered my men to prepare the baskets."
Soon after, a few burly men dragged in three carriages. They were built mostly of wood, though three of their walls were made of iron bars resembling the prison cells within the labyrinth. The fourth side was solid wood with its surface etched in strange carvings.
At the centre of the engraving stood a magnificent throne, encircled by twelve seats. One seat, however, had been carved with greater care than the rest—its surface marked with patterns reminiscent of bear-like beasts Thoralf's group had mounted.
The keepers of the labyrinth and Thoralf's warriors remained unfazed by the arrival of the carriages. The shackled humans, however—nearly a hundred in number—reacted in ways that could be divided neatly into three groups. Be it a man, woman, or child, each fell into one of the three.
The first and largest group was consumed by terror. Their fear found voice in frantic cries and sorrowful screams; their bodies trembled at the very sight of the carriages. More than half of the prisoners belonged here.
The second group greeted the sight with unsettling joy. Some faces were lit with smiles, while others swayed in small, almost rhythmic dances, as though the carriages promised salvation. Nearly all who were not terrified belonged among these hopeful few.
The final group was undoubtedly the smallest—and the most disturbing. They showed nothing at all. Their eyes were vacant of any emotion, as though they were stripped of the very ability to react. They simply stared lifelessly at the carriages in silence. Kaelis was among them, alongside four others.
However, everything became irrelevant the moment the Grandmaster raised his hand. His muscular men immediately began forcing the shackled humans into the carriages, paying no heed to how they reacted.
The first group tried resisting the guards, but their frail, malnourished bodies were no match for the men's brute strength. The second group, by contrast, eagerly rushed into the carriage with joy, while Kaelis' group obeyed without hesitation, showing neither defiance nor enthusiasm.
Within moments, all one hundred shackled humans were forced into one of three carriages—whether they willed it or not. Each carriage was attached to a pair of beasts at the front.
Soon after, Thoralf mounted his feral beast. Gripping his emerald-tipped spear, he ordered his group and the three carriages to leave the labyrinth's vicinity and retrace the path they had just come from.
Inside the carriages were people of all kinds, from infants to the elderly, from frail women to emaciated men. Some appeared joyful, while others were seething with rage. A few seemed pitiful, some almost eager, while others remained utterly indifferent.
Yet, the merciless cold beyond the labyrinth cared nothing for these emotions. The moment they passed through its gates, the cold, merciless air struck all without distinction. Unlike the warriors—whose armour was lined with thick fur—the defenceless captives had no protection whatsoever. and soon their bodies began trembling violently in the unforgiving chill.
Some wept in agony, others screamed in pain, while a few endured it in silence. The warriors riding ahead showed no concern either; they carried on with their duties, utterly indifferent to the carriages or those inside of them.
As the caravan advanced, the landscape around them remained unchanged. Stretching as far as the eye could see lay a barren wasteland: thick snow, the skeletal remains of dead trees, heavy clouds that blinded nearly all sunlight, and no sign of life anywhere.
Kaelis stared at the bleak landscape, unmoved by neither the cold nor the suffering of the other captives.
Hours passed without the slightest change. The captives continued to shiver in misery, while the warriors marched on. chatting idly among themselves but never once even glancing at the carriages.
Then at last, the atmosphere shifted. Though the sun was only just beginning to set, the world darkened far quicker than it should have. The wind grew harsher, and the warriors abruptly halted their march.
Moments later, a strange sound echoed across the wasteland. At first it was distant, but it drew closer with every passing heartbeat, closing the gap at alarming speed.
The noise grew sharper until its source was unveiled—a swarm of giant, eagle-shaped creatures. with wings spanning as wide as the caravan they shadowed below, emerged from the thick clouds.
Thoralf immediately stiffened at the sight of the creatures. "Damn it… why did I have to encounter a flock of umbreals on this mission?"