Before him, the labyrinth split into three paths. There were no portals or inscriptions, just the raw shape of stone forming three distinct openings: one covered by dry moss and ancient dust, another enveloped by a subtle heat emanating from the ground, and the third as dark as pitch, from which a rhythmic breath seemed to come, almost like breathing.
Arien paused. Before the three paths, the air seemed suspended, as if the very environment was waiting for his choice. The blade in his hand vibrated with a gentle frequency, almost like a silent beacon. He closed his eyes for a moment, searching for something beyond sight. That's when the crystal pulsed with clarity, pointing like a second heart that knew the way. It wasn't a voice. It was deeper. As if every fiber of his being understood that the center was not just the right path, but the inevitable one.
He opened his eyes. And took the first step.
The central tunnel of the labyrinth was not made of ordinary stone. The walls pulsed with a faint glow, as if they were made of petrified flesh. With each step, Arien felt the ground vibrate slightly, as if something beneath was still alive.
The corridor seemed to narrow and widen as he advanced, as if testing his presence. At times, the light from his blade cast his distorted shadow on the walls, creating silhouettes of shapes he didn't recognize—fragments of himself or something trying to emerge from the veil of the unconscious.
In the thick silence, Arien heard only the rhythmic sound of his own breathing and the dull echo of his footsteps. But there was something else: a deep vibration from the depths of the labyrinth, like the rumble of something ancient, asleep—and hungry.
He tightened his grip on the blade. He felt that something had awakened within him since he crossed the circle of spirals. Not like a forgotten vision, but like a persistent gaze, made of omens and memories that did not entirely belong to him. He was deeper now—not just in the labyrinth, but in his own essence. And whatever was waiting for him knew he had crossed the point of no return.
The bluish light of his blade reacted to the environment, spreading undulating reflections along the carved reliefs of the walls. The lines trembled with contained energy, revealing shapes and inscriptions that seemed to arise from the silence itself. What he held was not just a weapon: it was a link to the labyrinth, a living key between what was hidden and what insisted on being remembered. And whatever vibrated in response did not do so by accident.
The corridor gradually widened, and the light from the blade revealed figures carved into the walls: men being swallowed by shadows, women with faded eyes, gods with sewn mouths. And among these figures, a constant: the symbol of the spiral.
It didn't take long for Arien to notice the air was different. Less dry. Heavier.
Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet gave way.
He fell several meters, rolling down a narrow slope until he stopped in a hall lit by a greenish light. The blade flew from his hand and struck one of the walls, embedding itself with a snap. Arien got up slowly, feeling dust in his lungs. Before he could take two steps, a voice interrupted him.
????: — "If you were a demon, you'd be eyeless by now."
The voice cut through the silence of the chamber like a blade over old fabric. Arien looked up and saw her: a figure sitting with feline naturalness atop a broken column, outlined by the greenish light filtering from above. She seemed part of the labyrinth itself—steady, organic, awake.
Her skin had the subtle glow of burnt gold in the dimness, and her eyes, green with vertical pupils, watched with a predator's precision. Her hair, braided in intricate patterns, fell to her waist, entwined with silver strands that glinted like fragments of moonlight.
She wore a set of aged leather and light fabric, adorned with strips resembling dry moss. The outfit formed patterns blending into the environment, camouflaging her when still.
Arien: — "And if I were a fool?"
???? (raising an eyebrow with a half-smile): — "Then you wouldn't have survived and made it this far."
With the lightness of someone who knows the ground before stepping, she leapt from the column, landing silently before him. Her steps seemed part of the chamber, shaped to its memory. She stopped a few meters from Arien, head slightly tilted.
????: — "Relax, human. If I wanted to cut you, I'd have done it while you dreamed of the carvings."
Arien: — "Were you watching me?"
????: — "The labyrinth watches everything. But not everything it shows is worth seeing."
(She crosses her arms, observing him with more attention.)
Nyra: — "Nyra. Daughter of the living forest of Nostraïl. Half Zræn, half ancient blood. I hear what's not said—and what's been forgotten for ages."
Arien (nodding, feet steady): — "Arien Varoth. From Mahran. Survivor, perhaps. I seek answers that burn within me like a fire that does not burn."
(She observes him for a moment, then turns and walks to the wall.)
Nyra: — "This path leads deeper. But it doesn't open for those who come only with anger or pain. You helped unlock it. Something in you resonates with what's buried."
Arien: — "And even so, you decided to guide me? Why?" — The question was not mistrustful, but genuine astonishment. There was something in Nyra that didn't fit with the hostility of the labyrinth. — "What do you expect from me?"
(Nyra hesitates. Her eyes narrow briefly, as if reliving something ancient.)
Nyra: — "Because I've seen that same light before." — Her voice now carried weight. — "In the eyes of a man who tried to destroy this place... and nearly succeeded. The labyrinth swallowed him, but not without leaving scars on everything he touched. When I saw you, I thought it was the same cycle starting again. But now... I don't know. Maybe you can still choose a different path."
(Retrieving the blade, the crystal vibrating in response to her words.)
Arien: — "Then come with me. If something is hidden down there, I want to see it. And if I must fall, I won't fall alone."
(Nyra smiles, brief and mournful. She knew there would be no return for either of them.)
Nyra: — "All right, Arien. But let it be clear: if you lose control, I'll be the one to snuff out your flame."
They stood together in silence, before the open passage, like two pilgrims at the edge of a world that did not yet belong to them. The greenish light enveloped them like an ancestral veil, and even there, Nyra seemed to listen to something Arien could not yet hear.
She ran her hand along the entrance, murmuring softly in the language of Nostraïl. The stones responded with a muffled crack, as if recognizing her lineage.
Nyra: — "What lies beyond answers neither to logic nor to time. The pain there... isn't just yours. It feeds on what we try to hide from ourselves."
Arien nodded. His eyes were firm, but inside him, a storm grew. The crystal in his blade seemed to recognize the threshold they were about to cross—and vibrated, as if greeting an old enemy.
Arien: — "If everything we find is made of memories, then I'll face mine. I won't run anymore."
Nyra watched him closely. She saw the spark. The same one that destroys or redeems.
Nyra remained silent, staring at the newly opened entrance as if waiting for it to speak first. The glow of Arien's blade reflected in her eyes, and for a moment neither moved.
Nyra: — "Do you feel it? It's like the air itself is holding its breath. The labyrinth knows we're about to cross."
Arien: — "As if something inside is already waiting... or trying to remind us we can still turn back."
Nyra: — "But you're not going to turn back, are you?"
Arien: — "No. I was made to go forward. Even if I don't return the same."
Nyra nodded gravely. Then, slowly, she knelt at the entrance, tracing an invisible spiral on the ground with her finger. She murmured a short, almost inaudible chant in her ancestral tongue. It was a request, a bargain, or perhaps a warning—but her tone carried a deep respect for what lay beyond.
Arien stood beside her, watching in silence. The environment seemed to hold its breath, as if respecting the ceremony. When Nyra rose, it took her a few seconds to touch the wall of the entrance with her palm.
Nyra: — "Every name that crossed this threshold left something behind. Some, their very soul."
She looked at Arien, her eyes darker under the green light.
Nyra: — "If you have doubts, now is the time. What's beyond does not forgive hesitation."
Arien: — "My doubts stayed in Mahran. Here, I carry only certainties—even if they destroy me."
Nyra nodded again. They took one last look at the space behind them, as if sealing a silent pact. Then they turned to the darkness ahead.
(They cross the newly opened passage. The air thickens around them.)
What awaited them would not be just memories.
They would be choices.
They would be sacrifices.