Page 108 of Labyrinthine
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I fly into the amphitheater.It’s too quiet.
No guards. No voices. No wind through the banners or trees. Even the night larks are silent, as if they too are holding their breath.
The hush feels wrong—like a ritual has been defiled, and the forest itself grieves. The trees loom overhead, unmoving. The night hangs dark and low, expectant, as if the sky has stooped to witness this trespass. My mind hunts for reason and comes up empty, as if the darkness has been combed smooth to hide it.
My feet still. I crouch low in the shadows, breath caught in my throat. Every instinct screams that I’m too late. That I’m too exposed. That whatever was meant to happen here has already begun without me.
My blade is already drawn. I check for my backup—still strapped to my ankle. Good. I might need it.
The iron gates gape open.
There’s no torchlight. No victory flag. The brazier stands cold and unlit. That means the trial is still underway. Darian’s still inside. Which means Mallen could be. Or worse—he could be waiting at the center of the labyrinth, hidden in its silence, ready to strike.
I scan the perimeter again. Still no guards. No scuffle. No signs of retreat.
Whatever is unfolding, it’s unfolding below.
And it’s far from finished.
The silence tears at me.
Another metallic creak slices through the night—soft, slow, like a door left to swing on its hinges. It echoes off the stone and rolls through the empty space.
I inch forward, blade angled, shoulders braced. The gate shouldn’t be open. The tunnel shouldn’t be calling. But it is. And my name rides in the echo.
A scream ruptures the stillness. Human. Agonized. Real.
It echoes up from the depths and slices straight through me. It’s the kind of scream that stains the soul. That leaves a shadow stitched behind the eyes, a silence that never stops screaming. I press a hand to my chest like I can hold myself together through force of will alone.
I think of Darian. Of Mallen. And the creature that prowls below.
It could be anything—feral, old as ash, shaped by years of blood and solitude. Mallen said no one knew what it was.
But that’s a lie.
Someone does.
They always do.
The thought makes my blood burn.
I shouldn’t go in. I know that.
But I also know I can’t stand here and do nothing.
Darian isn’t just a tribute anymore. He’s become part of my story. A choice I made with open eyes.
And Mallen—he’s too dangerous to leave unwatched. Not because I fear he’ll fail, but because I fear what will happen if he wins.
I draw a slow, steady breath and steel myself.
I’ve spent too long being handled, maneuvered, positioned like a token in someone else’s game. That ends now. My future won’t be granted—I’m going to take it.
I run for the gate.
The torch flares in my hand, flames shivering against the dark as I descend. The stone corridor swallows me whole. The air turns damp. Stale. Rank with the reek of buried prayers and things too long sealed. My lungs seize. My eyes water. Still, I press on.
