They walked in silence for what felt like hours, though time in the Labyrinth was a slippery thing. The pale orbs overhead grew fewer and fewer until they vanished altogether, leaving only the dim glow of Kael's lantern to keep the dark from swallowing them whole.
The woman—she still hadn't given her name—moved with the quiet assurance of someone who had learned the rhythm of this place. Her steps were careful, her hand always brushing the wall as if feeling for a pulse. Kael followed close, keeping the lantern low.
The corridors narrowed until they were little more than cracks in the stone. The air changed—staler, heavier. Kael caught the faint scent of iron, and beneath it, something acrid that stung the back of his throat.
The woman stopped so suddenly he almost walked into her. She raised a finger to her lips. Her eyes were sharp, her gaze fixed ahead.
A faint sound reached Kael's ears. A drop of water falling. Then another. Then another. Slow, steady, rhythmic.
He frowned. "It's just—"
Her hand clamped over his mouth before he could finish.
She leaned close, her voice barely a breath. "No sound. None. Not a word, not a step too hard. Or it hears."
Kael's skin prickled. It?
She pointed ahead. The corridor widened into a cavernous hall. The floor was slick, reflecting the faint shimmer of some unseen light source. Puddles dotted the uneven stone, each sending out tiny ripples with every drop that fell from the ceiling.
Kael's eyes followed the ripples—and froze.
The ripples didn't fade. They moved, slowly, against the direction of the drops, spreading outward like breath across still water.
The woman tapped his arm and motioned forward. They stepped into the hall, their movements painfully slow, deliberate. Kael placed each foot carefully, making no sound, but his heartbeat felt loud enough to draw attention.
They were halfway across when something shifted in the corner of his vision.
A shape rose from one of the larger puddles. No—pulled itself up, as though climbing from beneath the surface. Its form was hard to define, more like a distortion in the air than flesh. The only part Kael could truly see was the mouth. A gaping, jagged hole that seemed to stretch far too wide.
The thing's head tilted, slowly, unnaturally, until the hole of its mouth faced their direction.
Kael froze. His breath felt sharp in his lungs.
The woman didn't look at him—just kept moving. Slow. Silent. Her steps never faltered.
The creature began to drift toward them. Not walking. Not swimming. Just gliding, as though pulled by invisible strings.
Every instinct screamed at Kael to run, but he forced his body to mimic hers. Slow steps. Silent breaths.
They reached the far side of the hall. The corridor beyond was narrow, low-ceilinged, like a crack between slabs of stone. The woman slipped through first. Kael followed—
And then his boot scraped against the rock.
The sound was small, barely more than a whisper, but in the dead stillness of the hall, it might as well have been a shout.
The creature's head snapped toward him.
The air changed. It grew heavier, vibrating faintly, like the moment before a storm breaks. The creature's mouth widened, and from it came a sound Kael could never have imagined—a single note, high and thin, yet so sharp it pierced through bone.
Pain lanced through his skull. His vision blurred. He stumbled forward, the lantern swinging wildly. The woman caught his arm and yanked him down the narrow corridor.
The sound followed them. Louder. Closer.
She shoved him ahead. He ran now, the walls scraping his shoulders, the lantern's light bouncing off stone. The thing's note turned into a low rumble, the kind that made the chest vibrate painfully. The corridor twisted, bent—
They burst into another chamber, this one dry and steeped in shadow. The woman grabbed him by the collar and pulled him behind a tall slab of stone. She snuffed the lantern with a sharp twist of the handle.
Darkness swallowed them whole.
The rumble reached the chamber, but it didn't enter. It lingered at the corridor's mouth, vibrating through the air, as if searching.
Kael held his breath until his chest burned. The woman's hand pressed against his arm, steady, silent.
Minutes passed—maybe hours—before the sound faded.
She lit the lantern again, just enough to see her face. Her eyes were hard, but her breathing was quick.
"That's why you don't speak," she said, voice low but no longer a whisper. "They don't see the way we do. They hear. Even the smallest sound."
Kael swallowed. His hands were shaking, though he tried to hide it. "What… was that?"
"One of the Keepers," she said. "They patrol the old halls. They… keep them quiet."
"Quiet?"
Her gaze flicked toward the corridor. "Because if it gets too loud in the wrong place, the Labyrinth wakes up in ways you don't want to see."
Kael didn't press for more. He didn't need to. The tremor still running through his bones was enough of an answer.
They moved on, keeping their steps soft, their breaths controlled. The corridors beyond felt tighter now, as if the walls had inched closer while they were hiding. Kael couldn't shake the thought that somewhere in the dark, the Keeper was still listening.