The moment the last foot crossed the blackened threshold, the world behind them vanished, not faded, not dimmed, but erased. The wall of fog thickened, swallowing the entrance. There was no way back.
Then, a voice.
Not loud. Not close. Yet it echoed through their skulls, deep and layered, like it didn't belong to just one creature.
*"Welcome... to the Mouth of the Maze."*
The air dropped ten degrees.
*"Let the Hunt begin. The question is simple: will you be the survivor... or the prey?"*
The ground beneath their feet shifted—stone grinding against stone. Lights flickered from torches embedded in the mossy walls, casting *long, dancing shadows*.
Then they saw people,
But not just any peoples—*strangers with worn eyes*, clothes faded into rags, skin pale as bone. One woman stepped forward, her voice trembling.
"New ones..."she whispered. "They always bring new ones."
A man behind her chuckled—dry, cracked, hollow.
"You're lucky. We've been here since '74. Or was it '84? Time doesn't move here. We don't age... we don't survive."
Their eyes were sunken, not just from hunger but from fear burned deep into their bones.
"Some came from school trips... some from hikes. Others just vanished into thin air."
The silence thickened like fog around their throats as *Starr, Maxwell, Zee, Tari, and Anderson* stood frozen, staring at the ghost-like figures ahead.
Humans—yes. But they didn't look quite… alive.
Their eyes were hollow, their faces gaunt, and yet they breathed. They blinked. Some even smirked bitterly, as if they'd been waiting for this moment.
Before they could speak further, the torches flared brighter, casting blood-red light along the jagged stone walls. A sound like bone grinding against bone echoed through the maze.
Then the voice returned. No longer whispering. It *roared*, ancient and gleeful.
"Ah… my guests have arrived."
"How timely. Today marks my 200th hunt... and what is a celebration without a little step up?"
The ground shook beneath their feet. The older survivors backed away, murmuring prayers, covering their ears.
"For two centuries, I have hunted and hosted, fed and feasted. And now... I invite all my beloved victims—new and old—to play."
A thick mist rolled in, crawling up their ankles, and in the distance, a *gong* sounded. Loud. Final.
"Rules are simple," the voice crooned.
"Win… and live."
"Lose… and your bones will decorate my maze then your blood for painting my maze like the rest."
Somewhere beyond the torchlight, a metallic gate groaned open, revealing multiple narrow paths ahead twisting, silent, and pulsing with shadows. At their feet, five stones lit up with *glowing runes*—each labeled with one of their names.
*Starr whispered,* "It's starting."
And from behind them, one of the old survivors murmured:
"Choose wisely… this maze remembers everything."
The voice returned slower this time, darker, almost savoring its next words.
"This is not a game of strength…" it purred. "Nor of speed."
*"This… is a game of truth."*
The air thickened. Shadows curled tighter.
"Each of you will face what you fear most — not in flesh, but in illusion. Real enough to break you. Real enough to bleed."
A pulse ran through the maze walls — like a heartbeat.
"You may work together. You may choose to walk alone. But the maze… listens. And it remembers what lies in your hearts."
*"What you fear is what you face."*
Suddenly, the ground split beneath them, paths branching out in twisting, spiraling tunnels. Each path pulsed faintly — calling to something *within* each of them.
And then came the final whisper:
"Let the Hunt begin…"