Page 109 of Labyrinthine
It’s longer than I expected. A slow spiral carved downward, ribbed with rust and carved names. The kind of place no light touches. The kind of place that remembers.
The tunnel ends in a fork—no forward path. Only left or right. Both cloaked in shadow.
I pause. Listening.
There’s no sound. No pull.
Except—
A coil of twine rests in the dust on the left-hand path. Rough. Familiar.
A cord. A tether.
One that binds.
This is how Mallen marks his trail. I pick it up and run it between my fingers. It’s ugly, utilitarian. It shouldn’t matter. But it does. Because it reminds me of him.
Mallen is down here.
I find the rusted ring and lash my thread beside his. Two paths now. Two tethers. Mine loops once. Tighter. Smaller than Mallen’s. But just as sharp.
I move quickly, following his line.
It winds, doubles back, cuts sharp through narrow bends. It’s not designed to be navigated, only endured.
Another scream slices the dark. Lower-pitched this time. Drawn out. A requiem you sing when you know you’re not going to survive.
I swallow hard and keep going. I’m too deep in to turn back.
The floor slickens with moss and veins of rot, pulsing faintly as if the earth itself is diseased. The torch sputters against the cold. The magic here is thick—old blood and older bones.
A crash splits the dark—iron shrieking against marble like a cry ripped from the throat of the labyrinth itself. Then comes shouting. Strained voices. Clashing blades. The rhythm of battle, desperate and wild.
They’re fighting. All of them. Mallen must have reached the others. Unless the monster got there first.
My steps quicken. My heart hammers in my ribs like it’s trying to tear its way free.
The thread tugs me onward, winding toward the chaos. I don’t know what I’ll find. I only know I have to get there. I have to see for myself. Know who’s still breathing.
Another turn. Then another.
The air grows colder. The walls narrower. The screams louder.
My grip on my sword is wrong—too tight. I know better. I should adjust. I don’t. I’m not trained for this. Not really. I was taught to survive, and to fight. But never like this.
Never for real.
The magic surges before I see them. Unbidden. Untethered. My magic is meant to be dormant—contained until the claiming is complete. But it’s rising now, and it doesn’t care about rules.
It’s crackling beneath my skin. Not lightning. Not fire. Still cold and black. It coils through my veins like ink spilled in water—liquid shadow devouring the light. The flesh beneath my skin shimmers with it, black-gold tendrils trying to flicker at my fingertips, alive with a promise I don’t yet understand.
It’s never come this close before. Not this threatening. Not this alive.
It curls under my tongue. Tightens behind my eyes. Coils at the base of my spine and spreads like frost along my nerves.
I shouldn’t want it. But gods help me, I do.
Because this time, it’s not fear that drives it. It’s fury. Purpose. Need.
