The Labyrinth shifted.
It didn't roar. It didn't grind. It didn't even glow. No, the walls simply breathed in silence — the subtle way one might rearrange furniture in a familiar room, quietly and without explanation.
Lucien Drex stood alone in a narrow corridor where the tiles curved inward like bowed pages in an ancient tome. He eyed the walls with a soft hum in his throat, a cube of chalk in one hand, his other hand resting in his pocket.
He began to draw.
Lines etched with deceptive laziness — a recursive sigil that would mirror space upon activation, bouncing perception like a hall of mirrors until the subject lost track of forward, backward, or real.
But Lucien left one stroke unfinished.
He stepped back.
"Let's see who finishes the sentence," he muttered.
---
That night, when he returned — the sigil glowed faintly.
Activated.
Lucien narrowed his eyes.
Someone had completed the glyph. But it wasn't his line.
The stroke was too clean. The angle just off.
And then it unfolded — the sigil pulsed once and projected a message across the floor:
> "What walks between traps but never lays one?"
"Who speaks in glyphs they've never drawn?"
A riddle.
Lucien's lips parted slightly.
Not in shock.
In appreciation.
"Someone's playing with me," he said. "Cute."
He crouched, touching the rune lightly. Whoever altered it mimicked his casting style — just enough to fool most inspection spells. But not him.
The magic signature felt like a mocking whisper.
---
Hours later, while mapping false loops using a silver-threaded thread, Lucien heard someone approaching.
Footsteps — but with the sound of time folding beneath them.
Caelum.
He didn't announce himself, just leaned against the distorted corridor like it was a streetlamp in the fog.
"You're angry someone outplayed you."
Lucien didn't look up. "I'm angry they think it was hard."
Caelum's eyes glinted. "It wasn't you then? The riddle."
Lucien stopped tracing. "No. But they know my style."
"Or… it was you. Just not this version of you."
Lucien stood, silent.
"Are you sure you're not just chasing your old self through this maze, Architect?"
---
Three hallways over, reality burped.
Ira Moress popped out of a side wall, humming and chewing through a crumpled bag of lemon snapdust cookies. Her boots skidded slightly on the slick tile.
She blinked, sniffed the air, and looked at her cookie.
"Didn't I already eat you?"
She reached into her bag, pulled out another. Identical.
Crunch.
Lucien emerged from the other end, watching with raised brows.
"Spatial recursion," he offered. "You're caught in a five-second snack loop."
Ira stared blankly.
"Oh! Free calories. Sweet."
"It doesn't work like that."
"Tell that to my stomach."
She held up a small, mirrored shard embedded with runes. It shimmered slightly, pulsing against the loop.
"This thing buzzes whenever I'm stuck. So I just twist it like this—"
She spun it.
Reality corrected.
Lucien narrowed his eyes. That wasn't an academy-issued item. That was his rune pattern.
Ira just shrugged. "Found it. It sang a little. I liked it."
Lucien didn't speak, but made a mental note.
She's not just triggering his traps. She's recognizing them.
Quiet evening. The courtyard behind the academy library glows silver in the snowfall. Renn stands alone, watching the enchanted lights ripple through the icebound trees. Seraphina approaches quietly, coat buttoned high, her expression unreadable.
---
Seraphina (softly):
"You've been following him longer than most. Right?"
Renn (straightens slightly):
"...Lucien? I wouldn't say following. More like… staying nearby. He tends to attract strange things."
Seraphina:
"Which you report. To House Vale. To my brother."
Renn lowers his gaze a bit. He doesn't deny it.
Renn:
"Only what's necessary."
She steps closer.
Seraphina:
"Has he ever mentioned someone? A girl?"
Renn hesitates.
He knows Seraphina doesn't ask idle questions. He doesn't want to overstep, but he can't dodge either.
Renn (carefully):
"...I've never seen him get close to anyone. Not in that way."
She folds her arms, tighter now.
Seraphina (barely audible):
"Then who does he talk to? Who does he trust?"
Renn:
"Mostly Caelum. I don't even think they talk that much — they just… understand each other without saying things."
Her jaw clenches.
Seraphina (quietly):
"That's worse."
She turns away, brushing snow from her coat, but he speaks again — more gently now.
Renn:
"My Lady… if you're worried about him, there are easier ways to—"
Seraphina (cuts him off, voice trembling):
"I'm not worried. I just— I just want to know how to get answers."
Renn (pauses, voice soft):
"Then maybe don't look for his heart. Look for his traps. That's where he hides everything."
There's silence. Then she shifts the topic, still gripping her coat.
Seraphina:
"The Labyrinth. Don't you think it's strange that we all forgot?"
Renn:
"I do. I tried to write about it. Pages came out blank."
"I know something happened. Something sharp. But when I reach for the memory—it's like fog with teeth."
She turns, facing him fully.
Seraphina:
"You think someone removed it?"
Renn (nods slowly):
"Either someone took it… or we gave it up willingly. Maybe it was too much."
Seraphina:
"Or eho would be that powerful to make us forget?."
Renn doesn't reply.
But the look in his eyes says: You're thinking it too, aren't you?
Back in his private foldspace nook, Lucien tugged at the seams of his coat.
A note fell out.
He hadn't placed it there.
Burned at the edges, in delicate, familiar handwriting:
> "The Architect cannot trap what he cannot predict."
– A.
He read it twice.
Then smirked.
"So we're doing riddles now. Good. I was getting bored."
The Labyrinth hummed in the distance.
And someone — somewhere — smiled back.