Date: February 21, 543 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored.
The black walls of the labyrinth closed behind them, and the outside world ceased to exist. No more gray sky, no more ashen sand, no distant horizon where oily murk churned. Only stone, silence, and a narrow, winding corridor that stretched ahead, lost in darkness.
Ulvia walked first, her left arm — the living vine — pulsing with a faint silver light, the only source of illumination in this black hell. Datuk followed, his axe at the ready, glancing back from time to time to check if anyone was behind. Rosh and Sobra should have been close by — they had entered together, shoulder to shoulder, but after a few steps Ulvia realized something was wrong.
"Rosh?" she called, turning around.
Silence. Only her voice, echoing off the black walls, traveled deep into the corridor and returned distorted, alien.
"Sobra?" Datuk called, but there was no answer.
They stood alone in the narrow passage, black stone pressing in from all sides. The labyrinth had split them. Not by force — by cunning. At some point the corridor had forked, and without noticing, they had taken different paths.
"Damn," Datuk exhaled, punching the wall. The stone didn't even quiver. "Split us up like puppies."
Ulvia looked ahead, to where the corridor made another turn. And at that moment, the walls before them began to change.
It was subtle — at first Ulvia thought she was imagining it. But no. The black stone, a moment ago so monolithic and impervious, suddenly became… more transparent? Or was it her vine playing tricks? She looked closer.
The corridor, which had been winding through endless turns and dead ends, suddenly straightened. The walls widened, and before them opened a straight, broad passage stretching far ahead. At its end, a faint white light glimmered.
"What's that?" Datuk asked, gripping his axe.
"I don't know," Ulvia answered.
They moved forward. The labyrinth no longer confused them — it guided them. As if it were choosing their path, opening short corridors where moments before there had been solid walls, and closing those that led astray.
"It doesn't like it when we dawdle," said Datuk, glancing back at another vanished turn. "Hurrying us along."
"Or herding us into a trap," Ulvia replied.
She didn't know why the labyrinth was opening the way for them. Perhaps to separate them completely. Or perhaps because it had its own rules, its own goals, its own understanding of how this game should end.
They walked in silence. The corridor widened, and after a few minutes they emerged into a spacious arena.
It was round, about thirty paces in diameter, its walls rising so high that their upper edges were lost in blackness. The smell was different here — not metal and ozone, but something dry, ancient, reminiscent of the dust of ages.
At the far end of the arena, against the opposite wall, stood a figure.
It was white. Tall — slightly taller than a human — with a long, thin spear in its hand. Its body was hidden under flowing white cloth, and no face was visible — only a smooth, featureless surface.
Then the creature raised its head.
It didn't move from its spot — just raised its head, and in that same instant such power emanated from it, such dense, oppressive energy, that Ulvia's breath caught. Her left arm, the living vine, tightened, and the silver veins on it went dark, as if trying to hide from that presence.
Datuk felt it too. His Spirit of the Berserker, usually eager for battle, suddenly fell silent.
"It's…" Ulvia began but stopped.
"The Herald," Datuk finished. "It's the Herald."
"But we saw a different one," Ulvia said, not taking her eyes off the white figure.
"Then there are at least two," Datuk replied. "One with swords. This one — with a spear."
The white figure didn't move. It only looked at them — or pretended to look — and its presence pressed on their minds, made their Vessels contract, their hearts beat faster.
"There are two of us," said Datuk, shifting his axe. "One of him. We can handle it."
"Don't underestimate him," Ulvia replied. "Remember what happened last time?"
She remembered. That fight, when the four of them had nearly died. When the Herald's swords cut through space, and the sphere of slashes almost annihilated them all. Back then there were four of them. Now only two.
But they had changed, too.
Ulvia raised her left arm, and the vine, which had tightened, unfurled again, releasing eight long, flexible whips. The thorns on them glinted silver, and she felt Skopid flow through her legs, ready to launch her forward or sideways at any moment.
Datuk stood beside her. His axe settled heavily on his shoulder, and without taking his eyes off the Herald, he said quietly:
"Well then, time for a warm-up?"
---
Meanwhile, in another part of the labyrinth.
Rosh and Sobra walked along a narrow, dark corridor, and the labyrinth guided them just as it had Ulvia and Datuk — opening shortcuts, closing unnecessary turns, pushing them forward.
Sobra walked ahead, his paws silent, the silver stripes on his fur pulsing anxiously, unevenly. He felt this place — it was hostile, alien, and each step came harder than the last. But he didn't stop.
Rosh brought up the rear, his fingers woven into the pattern, vectors hovering around him, ready to strike at any moment. He didn't know where Ulvia and Datuk were. Didn't know if they were alive. Didn't know if he would see them again. But he didn't let fear cloud his mind.
They emerged into an arena simultaneously — wide, round, just like the one where Ulvia and Datuk had ended up. The same black floor, the same high walls, the same faint white light in the center.
And at the far end — *him*.
The Herald.
The same one they had seen at the labyrinth's entrance. Three meters tall, with two swords hanging motionless at his sides. White clothing, featureless face, emptiness in eyes that didn't see but felt.
Sobra growled — low, guttural — and his fur bristled. Rosh froze, his fingers tensed, and the vectors, which had been hovering calmly, suddenly flared brighter, faster, ready to attack.
"The very same," said Rosh, and there was no fear in his voice. "The one who almost killed us."
Sobra snorted — short, abrupt. He remembered. He remembered everything.
The Herald didn't move. He stood, his swords lowered. But his presence, his aura pressed down on them, made their Vessels contract and their hearts beat faster.
"There are two of us," said Rosh, speaking more to himself than to Sobra. "Just like them. Two Heralds. Two arenas. Two battles."
Sobra growled — louder, more confidently. He was ready.
Rosh raised his hands, and two dozen vectors shot from his fingers, racing toward the Herald.