We stand before the entrance to the labyrinth — tucked a bit outside town, found thanks to some locals who pointed us the way. And now... we're finally here.
I won't lie — it feels kinda intense standing in front of it.
The entrance is surprisingly elegant, not what I expected at all. Two tall pillars frame the path, and a staircase leads downward into the mountain's shadow. Faint torchlight flickers along the stone steps, casting long shadows that dance against the walls.
Orin steps forward, glancing back at us. His voice is calm, yet carries that quiet authority. "It's time. Let's head in."
With that, we begin descending the stairs — slow and cautious. Althea focuses her mana, scanning for magical traps, while Orin keeps an eye out for physical ones. Even though I doubt there'd be any this early in the labyrinth, I guess it's better to be safe than dead.
The stairs descend slowly, each step we take resounding through the narrow corridor. The walls are lined with torches, their flames flickering gently, casting long shadows that sway with every movement. The air grows colder as we venture deeper, a strange sense of something stirring just out of reach, like the quiet anticipation before a storm.
As we approach the end of the hallway, our path curves sharply to the right. Faint, vibrant lights—almost like shards of color—flicker along the walls, drawing our attention. With each step, the colors grow brighter, more pronounced, as if the very stone is alive with an eerie energy.
We turn the corner, and the space ahead opens up into something vast—like stepping into the heart of a forgotten crypt. The room is massive, the ceiling stretching so high it's swallowed by the shadows above. Torches are scattered across the room, their flames weak but enough to cast pools of dim light that reveal only fragments of the space. The rest remains hidden in darkness, like the room itself is holding its breath.
But it's the crystals that catch my eye—large, radiant formations embedded in the walls, their glow pulsing with an intense, unnatural color. The light they give off spills in sharp beams across the floor, bathing everything in hues of deep blues, purples, and reds. It's a surreal, almost otherworldly sight, as though the room was built to house something far more ancient and powerful than we are.
In all of this, there's a strange sense of familiarity, like a dream that's just out of reach, its edges blurred. Thoughts come and go in flashes, but there's something I know, something buried deep inside, telling me I've seen this before. It's odd, though—while it feels familiar, it's also distant, like it belongs to another lifetime. Or maybe it's the air, heavy and thick, pressing down on my chest, making it harder to breathe. The intensity in my lungs gnaws at me, and I can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Something's waiting.
A whisper of an old memory brushes against the back of my mind—like an invitation I was never meant to receive.
Orin's voice cuts through the quiet, low and commanding. "Sela, light the way for us."
Without a word, Sela raises her hand, her lightning crackling to life. The electric glow bursts from her fingertips, illuminating the path ahead. The light flickers, casting a steady rhythm against the walls as it stretches far down the corridor, a blazing path through the encroaching darkness. The vibrant glow dances like a warning, a heartbeat in the silence.
Ahead, at the end of the room, stands a massive gate—open, but what lies beyond is pure blackness. The gate towers high, ancient and imposing. It looks like it was built to guard something... or to trap it.
Flanking the gate are two stone golem-like figures, statuesque and unmoving, standing tall and proud. Their forms are carved from dark stone, worn smooth by time yet still emanating an unnatural strength. Their faces are expressionless, carved into stern, unyielding masks of stone. The massive heads of their hammers are lowered to the ground, resting against the floor as if in wait. Their hands, though heavy with stone, grip the open hilts of their weapons, poised in a way that suggests they could strike at any moment, despite their stillness. The air around them is charged, as if the very presence of these guardians brings a pressure that pushes against our chests, telling us that crossing this threshold might come with a cost.
Approaching the darkness beneath the gate, the room beyond seems to hold a certain weight. As we move closer, small flying lights begin to flicker into existence around us, drawn to the glow of Sela's magic. Vibrant blues and greens dance in the air, a beautiful sight, almost as if greeting us with a peaceful presence amidst the heavy intensity.
"Magical Whisplumes," Althea says from the rear, her voice calm yet informative. "We can be sure that this labyrinth holds many mana-sensitive creatures."
"They're so pretty..." Sela murmurs, her voice full of awe. Her eyes are wide, staring at the fleeting lights. "It's been so long since I've seen these... truly magnificent creatures."
"For sure, they're something special," Orin says, his tone shifting slightly as he steps forward. "But focus on what's ahead now."
As we approach the gate itself, the sheer size of it brings a heavy, almost oppressive feeling. Walking beneath it feels like the weight of the labyrinth itself presses down on us.
Once through, Sela's lightning illuminates the path ahead, and I realize that there's nothing else to light the room—not a torch, not a crystal—just her flickering lightning and the Whisplumes.
As the room slowly brightens, it reveals a larger corridor, stretching out into the darkness. Then, a low, unsettling skittering sound fills the air, like dozens of legs crawling rapidly across the ground, echoing from all sides. Sela, sensing the shift, increases the range of her lightning, casting a wide, bright light across the room. It's impressive. I didn't realize she had such control over her magic. Or maybe this is just such a simple spell for her that controlling it is no big deal?
The walls of the room light up faintly as, through smaller cracks and tunnels along the sides, spider-like creatures begin to crawl out. Their glowing red eyes lock onto us, long legs tapping against the stone floor with sharp, rapid clicks. Their backs shimmer with strange, glowing patterns—almost magical. And worst of all, they're huge. One of these ugly things has a body bigger than two grown men's fists.
They move fast, spilling out across the floor like a tide of skittering limbs. The sound of their legs echoes all around, tapping, scratching, crawling. Creepy as hell. They don't look all that tough individually… but with this many, yeah—it's dangerous. Really dangerous.
Magic would probably work well here—fire especially. But we probably shouldn't risk that underground. Ice might be safer… freeze them all in place, right?
"Althea, take out as many as you can. We'll handle what's left," Orin says, his voice calm but firm as he drops into a ready stance. Ronan and Farren follow suit, but both of them hang back for now. I guess they're letting Althea nuke the first wave.
"Their numbers might be provoking," Orin adds, "but they're weak, not dangerous, just annoying."
Right after that, Althea got to work without hesitation. With a single, fluid motion, she froze their legs—almost all of them—locking the creatures in place. The ice spread fast, creeping up their bodies like frost on glass. Then, in a sudden, violent burst, the ice shattered. From within it, jagged stone shards erupted outward like spears, tearing through the frozen spiders. Blood sprayed across the stone floor as the creatures were impaled mid-scream, the shards vanishing back into the ground just as quickly as they came.
Without wasting a second in awe at Althea's stunning spellwork, Orin, Ronan, and Farren charged in, slicing through the spiders like it was second nature.
Orin led with a firm stance, his footing steady as he carried his sword with careful precision. He wasn't as polished as Farren or as rawly powerful as Ronan, but he held his own with a technique neither of them used—something different, something quieter. His movement wasn't flashy, but in that moment, he followed up with a smooth, downward strike that flowed right from his previous motion—like the momentum itself guided the blade. Heavy, clean. It looked natural, almost instinctive. The strike wasn't fast, but it carried weight behind it, a rhythm to it—one that felt closer to a greatsword, despite his weapon being fairly standard in size. Not oversized or special like Farren's gleaming twin blades, or as sleek and sharp as Ronan's daggers. But still, his blade moved with intent.
Ronan, of course, just looked like he was showing off. He weaved through the chaos with that usual cocky grace, daggers flashing in both hands, each strike paired with just enough fire magic to light the tips of his blades. He set the spiders ablaze in perfect rhythm, like it was a damn performance. Honestly, it kinda was. Classic Ronan.
Farren—now that's harder to explain. Brutal might be the word... but only if you ignored everything else. He tore through the spiders like a storm, his dual blades cutting through legs, bodies, and even the air itself with effortless precision. His movements were clean—too clean. It looked like he was dancing, his strikes flowing together with a fluid grace that didn't match the violence he brought. Every slash looked deliberate, like it belonged in some elegant sword demonstration rather than a battlefield. But it was brutal. He didn't hold back. He cut fast, sharp, like it didn't matter what was in his way. And yet... even with all that chaos, he moved like someone who respected the blade more than he let on.
He wasn't yelling or spewing nonsense like usual, though. Guess the labyrinth's serious enough to shut even him up.
The insects split in half—blood spraying, gushing—spiders shrieking as they're effortlessly slaughtered… A mistake. A brutal, dumb mistake attacking us. The red, vibrant color of death drips down the blades of the three men.
I just stand there, watching it all in awe, knowing damn well I wouldn't be able to do anything to help. I don't even stand a chance fighting at their level.
One after another, the spiders fall—ripped apart, cut clean, burned alive. Their numbers plummet fast, until the few that remain scatter into the walls, vanishing through the many twisting paths leading deeper into the labyrinth. Disappearing into the shadows where Sela's magic light doesn't reach.
The floor is drenched—soaked in warm, reeking insect blood. The spider corpses aren't just lying there—they're twitching, pulsing, some half-sliced open with guts oozing out, black goo mixing with red ichor. Limbs still spasm now and then, like their nerves don't know they're dead yet. The smell—metallic, wet, wrong—crawls up my throat. I nearly throw up right there.
Orin, Farren, and Ronan finish the job and return to formation, their boots sloshing through the gore. Each step makes a thick, wet squelch, the blood clinging to them like it doesn't want to let go. Pieces of broken shell and spider legs crunch beneath their soles, and for a second, it sounds like something's still alive under there. Like the floor itself is breathing.
"Ugh… Fuck, disgusting pieces of shit… it stinks," Ronan mutters, pinching his nose tight as he throws a quick spin to his daggers, flicking off the thick blood. He tries to shake some off his dread-soaked boots too—less success there.
"Agh, I really hope they don't come back. They better have learned their damn lesson… If they show up again, I'll fuckin' fuck them up," Farren snaps, flicking the blood off his swords with a clean motion, sliding the blades smoothly down the hilt. His face twists into a grimace of pure disgust.
"We can only hope…" Orin says, eyes sweeping back toward the group. "But they'll surely be back later—unless the magic here thickens too much for them to handle. They're magical beasts, after all." His face mirrors the same disgust we're all wearing.
Disturbed by the bloodbath, we press deeper into the labyrinth. There's no need to turn back yet. I imagine we'll be on this path for a while—unless something goes wrong. If anything starts to feel off or dangerous, our best bet would be to retreat, regroup, and rethink our approach. Better to play it safe than get caught off guard.
As we move forward, the corridor opens up into a wide room—what looks like an old library. Dust hangs in the air, thick like fog, and cobwebs stretch across shelves, corners, and even the spines of ancient books.
"Should we take a pause here? Look around a bit?" Althea asks, curiosity shining in her eyes as she scans the room. "We might find something interesting."
I can't say I disagree. A place like this could be filled with useful things—information, hidden paths, maybe even clues about the labyrinth itself.
"If I may," I speak up, "I think it'd be smart to stay for a little while. Not too long—just a quick look around. If we find something worth digging into, we can always come back here on our way out, or during another run."
The issue is… lingering too long in a place like this isn't wise. We don't know what could be hiding in the shadows. Something stronger than those spiders could ambush us. It's best to regroup outside the labyrinth before diving into anything too deep.
"Understandable," Orin nods. "Let's take a short break, look around, and see if anything useful pops up."
I don't think he's just agreeing with me—he probably planned to say the same thing before I spoke.
"I'll start scouting the room," Althea says, already drifting toward the shelves. "I'll go through the books more thoroughly when we come back."
"Farren, Kaito, and I will check the area too," Ronan adds, walking over to me as Farren silently falls in beside him. "We'll look for any suspicious paths or rooms—stuff we should either avoid or keep in mind. Sound good?"
"Sounds good," Orin replies firmly, casting a quick glance over all of us. "Alright. Don't do anything reckless. Stay close, and don't wander off too far. Understood?"
"Yes," we all reply in unison.
Sela doesn't say much, just moves to Althea's side without a word. The room is dimly lit by torches, but to help us see better, she casts a faint field of light.
"Oh—and to make sure we don't get separated," Orin adds, "try not to step outside Sela's light. If you really need to, at least keep a torch with you. Don't go stumbling around in the dark."
With that, we begin to scatter throughout the room. Orin moves toward Althea and Sela. "I'll go with them," he says simply.
With that, we begin scouting the old, dust-filled library.
It's a solid team, honestly. Farren and Ronan are strong—strong enough that even if I can't do much, I feel safe just being near them. Same goes for Orin, Althea, and Sela. Althea's a powerful mage, calm and focused. Orin's both smart and tough. And Sela... while not the strongest, she's fast—dangerously fast. Her lightning abilities could carry her out of trouble in a flash if she ever needed to escape.
Walking through the maze of shelves, it's easy to realize just how massive this place is. Or maybe not massive… just winding. There are so many turns and narrow corridors between the shelves that it feels like we've been walking far longer than we actually have. Despite the dust and cobwebs, the place is… beautiful, in a strange way. Beneath all the dirt, you can tell this library was once built with care. The architecture is detailed, deliberate—full of elegant curves, old runes, and carvings easy to miss if you don't look close. Like the place has stories layered into its bones.
It doesn't feel dangerous exactly… but it does feel strange. Foreign. Like it's holding its breath.
Even Farren and Ronan seem caught off guard. "Damn," Ronan mutters, his eyes trailing along the walls, "this place is cool. The air's kinda thick, like it's soaked in something heavy. Not nerve-wracking, just… refreshing, in a weird way."
I wish I could agree.
But there's something else I feel. Not the library itself—maybe it's the labyrinth, or something deeper inside it—but something crawls beneath my skin. A fear. It isn't loud, it doesn't scream… it just presses. Like a weight on my chest. I hate it. I really hate it.
Still… I get what Ronan means. There is something special about this place.
"For sure," Farren says, staring up at the ceiling. "It's definitely something else. This whole labyrinth… I'd never have guessed it was built like this. Feels more like a buried palace. Like a long-lost crypt that's still alive somehow."
The unease doesn't seem to touch either of them. It's just me, I think. Just me who feels the cold breath of something… watching.
Then, behind the fear, something shifts. Not physically—but inside. It's like a fog begins to rise—not a real one, but in my mind. My head feels lighter, almost floaty. The room around me blurs, not disappearing exactly, but slipping away from understanding. Like we're still standing here… but the world around us is beginning to melt at the edges.
Something's wrong.
"Shit! You two, be ready!" Ronan snaps, his voice sharp. "It's a magical fog—don't panic, and don't fall for their traps!"
His eyes dart across the room, trying to watch everything at once. Farren, me… and something else. Something that might be here. Someone?
What kind of traps is he talking about?
My eyes flicker around the area, trying to spot whatever it is Ronan's looking for.
…
"Farren... it's been a while since we last spoke, hasn't it?"