The corridors were quieter now.
Not the natural quiet of an empty hall, but the careful silence of something listening.
Kael's boots clicked against the uneven stone, the sound sharp in the stillness. The lantern in his hand gave off its faint glow, barely pushing the darkness back. It was enough to see the walls—grey stone, cracked and sweating moisture—but beyond the circle of light, the shadows seemed thicker than before, as if they were pressing closer with every step.
He hadn't seen the cloaked figure since it had vanished in the candlelit chamber, yet the memory of its voice clung to him. You are marked. You will learn. The words repeated themselves in his mind like a warning.
Kael's gaze flicked to his left forearm. The sigil—the Mark—was faint, no more than a ghostly outline under his skin. It looked like a lantern's frame, its glass panes shattered inward. He had tried to ignore it since the moment it appeared, but now, it seemed almost… warm.
He took another step.
The floor sloped downward, so subtly he wouldn't have noticed if the air hadn't changed—heavier now, damp with the scent of stone and something metallic. The sound of dripping water echoed faintly, the only other sign of life in the endless maze.
He thought about turning back. But the thought passed quickly. Back didn't exist in this place. Corridors shifted, staircases bent, and familiar paths ended in walls that hadn't been there moments ago. The Labyrinth didn't allow retreat—only forward, until it decided otherwise.
The slope ended in an archway carved with symbols. Some were jagged, others smooth and curling like smoke. His eyes caught on one in particular: a small, perfect circle surrounded by seven uneven lines. He didn't recognize it, but his Mark pulsed faintly when he looked at it.
Beyond the archway, the light changed.
The space opened into a vast hall, its ceiling lost in shadow. Pale orbs hung suspended in the air like moons, their light cold and steady. Beneath them, rows of empty stone benches faced a raised platform at the far end.
Kael froze. He wasn't alone.
A figure sat on the front bench, hunched over, hands clasped together. For a moment, Kael thought it was another trick of the maze, some statue left to rot in the dark—but then it moved. Slowly, its head turned toward him.
The face that met his eyes was human, though drawn and pale, the skin stretched thin over sharp bones. A woman, perhaps in her late twenties, with short, uneven hair and eyes that looked like they hadn't closed in days. She studied him for a long moment before speaking.
"You're new."
Kael stayed near the archway, the lantern between them. "You could say that."
The woman's lips twitched—not quite a smile. "Still alive, too. That won't last if you keep wandering like prey."
He hesitated, weighing his words. "And you're not prey?"
Her eyes flicked to the lantern in his hand. "Not anymore."
She stood. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world. When she stepped into the pale light, Kael saw a Mark on the side of her neck—a jagged crescent with a hollow center.
"You've got one," she said, tilting her chin toward his arm. "The Hollow Lantern. Haven't seen that in a while."
Kael tightened his grip. "You know what it is?"
"I know what it costs." She stopped a few steps away, her gaze fixed on him. "Every time you use it, it takes something. Memories. Pieces of who you are. And once they're gone…" She let the sentence die, but the silence said enough.
The lantern in his hand pulsed once, as if acknowledging her words. Kael's throat tightened. He thought about the bread market, the tin roof, the sound of rain—details that had already slipped.
"What's yours?" he asked.
The woman touched her Mark. "The Crescent Veil. It hides me. Makes me invisible to some of what hunts in here. But the longer I use it, the more… detached I become. Like my body's here, but my mind's already walking somewhere else."
Kael stared at her, trying to decide if she was warning him, or testing him.
"You survived this long," he said finally. "So you know the way out?"
She almost laughed, but the sound came out dry. "There's no out. Only deeper. And if you're lucky, you find a place where the walls don't move as much. Somewhere you can breathe for a while."
Kael frowned. "And if you're not lucky?"
Her gaze shifted past him, into the shadows beyond the archway. Her hand dropped to a knife at her hip. "Then something finds you first."
The sound came a second later—soft, wet dragging along the stone. Slow, patient. Kael turned toward the archway, but the shadows there had thickened, curling like smoke.
The woman moved toward the benches, her eyes never leaving the darkness. "Whatever it is, don't let your light go out."
The lantern's glow brightened, almost instinctively. The shadows recoiled slightly, but didn't retreat. Kael stepped closer to the woman, his pulse spiking.
A shape emerged. Too tall. Too thin. Its limbs were jointed wrong, bending in ways bones shouldn't. The air around it warped faintly, like heat rising from stone, and its head lolled unnaturally to the side.
It stopped just beyond the lantern's reach.
Kael felt the whisper again, curling up his spine. Feed it.
His hand tightened on the lantern. The glow swelled—hotter, sharper—but with it came a sharp pull in his chest, a sense of something slipping away. He clenched his teeth and held the light steady.
The creature hissed, the sound more like steam escaping a crack than any animal's breath, and then it melted back into the dark.
The woman's knife lowered slowly.
"You kept it," she said, not quite a question.
Kael didn't answer. The lantern's glow dimmed back to its faint, steady pulse, but the hollow feeling inside him lingered.
The woman studied him for another long moment before turning toward the far end of the hall. "If you're staying alive, you'll follow me. But don't expect answers. The Labyrinth doesn't give them. It takes them."
Kael hesitated—then followed. Because in this place, even an untrustworthy shadow was better than walking alone.