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IN THE LABYRINTH

ELYRIA

The narrow, suffocating corridors of the labyrinth were formed from more of the same tightly wound roots and vines as the outer wall. They were just as tall too, the tangled walls reaching the tips of the surrounding trees, towering over Elyria and Kit—an imposing maze.

Heavy, humid air covered them like a blanket, the light filtering in through the treetops overhead muted and overcast. There was no sign of the crisp air or fresh sunshine they’d experienced before crossing the threshold into the labyrinth. It was as if they had traveled to an entirely different place.

Kit at her heels, Elyria turned corner after corner, searching for a flash of blue hair or the glint of silver-white wings— any sign of Cyren. The further they ran, the deeper they went, the more things started to change.

Walls shifted, roots unraveling and reforming in a slow, deliberate dance that altered their route mid-step. More than once, they had to stop and change course as the path they’d been heading down came to an abrupt end.

The ground beneath them grew uneven, dirt giving way to jagged stone. Elyria kept her staff in hand, her eyes continually scanning their disorienting surroundings. She was alert, focused...but she also couldn’t help the sinking feeling of hopelessness that was starting to press on her shoulders. They were already so, so lost.

“I don’t like this,” Kit said, her voice low as she followed close behind Elyria.

“Neither do I. Stay close and be ready for anything.”

They slowed their pace as the ground began to slope downward. The thick walls of root and thorn started to morph as well, soon replaced by long stretches of smooth, solid stone.

Elyria knew they were still technically outside, that the sky was still somewhere overhead. But there was something about the construct of the labyrinth that felt familiar too. It reminded her of the winding hallways she found herself traversing the night before last, when she’d met Cedric in the moonlight.

The narrow pathways widened. The air grew cooler. The ambient light filtering from above dimmed. The walls and pathways continued shifting. If the maze already had them this turned around, they would have no chance of locating Cyren once they were wandering around in the dark.

Thankfully, they wouldn’t have to find out.

Elyria’s breath caught in her throat. Like something out of a dream, the cool stone on either side of the passage began to shimmer, reflecting a kaleidoscope of color.

Whatever stone was used to build this part of the labyrinth, whatever magic it held within, was absolutely breathtaking. Even in the dimming light, a rainbow of hues danced across its iridescent surface.

Luminous.

Otherworldly .

Like the aurora itself had been snatched from the sky and held within.

It was incredibly beautiful. And, for some reason, deeply unsettling.

Kit extended a hand toward the stone, brushing her fingers against its surface, equally transfixed.

The distant sound of rattling rock drew Elyria’s gaze away from the mesmerizing walls. “We have to keep moving.”

Melancholy flashed across Kit’s face, but she nodded all the same.

The maze’s path continued to slope down—gradually at first, then in a steep decline. It made the iridescent stone walls on either side seem like they were growing taller, the treetops and outside world disappearing as the walls curved over their heads, creating a tall, arched ceiling.

A tunnel.

They could very well have been deep underground, the opalescent walls emitting an ambient glow strong enough to light the passage before them. It guided them—whenever they came across a split in the tunnel, whenever a wall shifted or they got turned around, the light would glow, would shimmer, beckon.

The faint noise of clashing steel and shouting drew their attention.

Faster, Elyria thought, exchanging a look with Kit as clangs reverberated off the tunnel walls and the heady scent of magic stung her nose. They chased the sound, rounding a corner and?—

Elyria’s eyes widened at the scene before her. The battle taking place. Not just between Cyren and Belien, who were weaving around each other like dueling serpents, hurling attack after venomous attack, but between the champions and the labyrinth itself, which seemed to have come alive around them.

The walls pulsed with energy. The smooth panels of stone shook and rumbled, vibrating as if irritated with the fight that had unfolded. With this blatant display of disunity—of enmity .

As if the labyrinth—the trial itself—was itching to join the fight.

They were in a dead-ended section of the tunnel, wide and empty. A cavernous room that stretched overhead, moonlight flowing through a perfect circle cut from the stone ceiling.

Had they really been traversing the labyrinth that long? Or was this the Sanctum’s uncanny magic at work again? Elyria couldn’t dwell long on the thought as a blur of blue and silver darted in front of her .

Cyren moved almost too quickly to see, a dagger in his right hand, his left conjuring gusts of wind that boosted him forward, sideways, back, allowing him to dodge Belien’s attacks. An ornate, needle-pointed rapier flew through the air as Belien used his magic to wield it from afar, keeping himself out of the stormbender’s reach.

Kit ran forward, her hands already weaving patterns in the air, calling upon her magic. But before she could reach Cyren, could aid him, the shimmering walls pulsed, a shockwave ripping through the room. Kit stumbled, her magic faltering as she fought to keep her balance—as if the labyrinth was blocking her attempt to interfere.

And where was Leona? Elyria’s eyes darted around the room until they landed on the sorcerer leaning against the wall on one side, clutching her arm. Blood stained her sleeve, Elyria noted with grim satisfaction.

It wasn’t enough to keep her from rejoining the fight though. Leona’s eyes narrowed on Kit, and Elyria found herself moving forward at the same time as the sorcerer. Gripping her staff tightly, Elyria thrust it into Leona’s path, tripping her.

Leona stumbled forward, then whirled on Elyria. “You!”

Elyria wiggled her fingers in greeting. “Me.”

With a furious sneer on her face and a dagger Elyria hadn’t noticed suddenly in her hand, Leona lunged.

Slamming the end of her staff into the ground, Elyria spun herself on the shaft, pivoting her body out of harm’s way and rounding on Leona from behind. With a swift kick, she planted her boot on Leona’s ass and shoved. Leona plummeted toward the nearest wall, crying out as she caught herself with her injured arm.

The air around them crackled with magic, the ground beneath their feet gently rumbling. Leona flipped her dagger to the other hand, releasing her token for a moment. Elyria noted the way the gem at its center looked dull, its light waning. Leona was almost out of mana. Which meant this fight was all but over.

“Enough, Leona.” Magic crackled at Elyria’s fingertips. “This is insane. You have no reason to fight us.”

“You would say that,” Leona snarled. “You truly have no idea, do you? You selfish, spoiled Arcanians. We aren’t the ones fighting! You have all that magic, have centuries upon centuries to learn and grow, to live and let us live , yet you make it your priority to fight, to keep us from that which you don’t even need.

“The crown is our chance to change things, to take back what should be ours. To ensure we no longer live under the shadow of your kind, at the mercy of those like you.” Her voice shook, a crazed look in her eyes. “So, no, Revenant. You do not say when it’s enough. I do.” She lunged forward and levied a vicious swipe at Elyria with the dagger.

Elyria stepped back and swung her staff wide. Leona cried out as the wood connected with her injured arm, the sound reverberating off the labyrinth’s shuddering walls.

“You’re running out of time,” Elyria said, her tone even. “You’re injured, your mana is almost gone. You won’t walk away from this if you keep this up. Stop fighting and work with us. We might still be able to get out of the Crucible alive.”

Leona panted, her ruined arm clutched against her chest, bloody fingers wrapped around her token. The dagger she had been holding moments before hovered threateningly in the air between them.

“What point is there in leaving the Crucible alive without the crown in hand?” Leona’s voice was raw, her eyes wild. With a furious shout and a burst of mana, the dagger went flying.

Elyria sidestepped the attack. The dagger flew into the wall at her back, embedding deep in the stone. Tossing her staff aside, she curled both her hands into fists, grabbing onto the tendrils of shadow she could feel simmering under her skin.

She shot them at Leona.

But these were not the razor-sharp ribbons that had sliced Gael’s wing. They were soft wisps of dark smoke that wrapped around Leona’s ankles and good arm, pinning her in place.

Leona let out a scream of frustration and bellowed Belien’s name, calling for help. But a cursory look to the other side of the cavern showed Elyria that he had more than his hands full.

Belien’s rapier danced through the air as Cyren dodged and parried, his movements a windy blur. From the side, Kit was throwing blockades of ice up between them, attempting to slow Belien down, to keep Cyren obscured from sight .

Face me and fight fair, you winged bitch!

Elyria froze, her eyes shooting to Leona, still pinned in place, lips pressed tightly together. But Elyria could have sworn she heard her speak.

Realization nearly knocked her over. She had heard Leona. She’d heard her the same way she’d heard Brandon Cormac in his final moments back in Castle Lumin.

With sudden clarity, Elyria recalled the moments of seemingly silent communication she’d observed between Leona and Belien. The insufferable knowingness she exuded.

Leona was a mindwielder. She was a fucking sage .

And with what must have been the last dregs of her mana, she unleashed herself on Elyria.

Static filled Elyria’s mind. It blurred her vision, crept into her ears. She couldn’t think, couldn’t hear anything but white, hot noise. The cries of a hundred dying soldiers, the squelching sound of weapons tearing through flesh, the coppery tang of blood, the stench of death. Every life she’d taken as the Revenant, every wound she’d inflicted, every cry of pain and scream of fear.

It overwhelmed her. Warmth trickled from her nose. She stumbled. Nearly lost her grip on the shadows shackling Leona.

But she didn’t.

Elyria held firm, pushing back and focusing her thoughts on cinching those wisps of shadow tighter. A pained whimper slipped from Leona and the static in Elyria’s mind cleared.

With a surge of wild magic, Elyria sent a fracture through the wall behind her, cracking the slab of stone into a hundred pieces, calling each one to her.

Leona pulled on her shadowy restraints, crouching, cowering before the looming barrage—a hail of fractured stone that could easily have crushed her to a pulp.

Elyria held fast, allowing the stone fragments to encircle Leona, twisting around her threateningly. “Stop. Fighting. Us.” Elyria repeated through gritted teeth.

Leona’s breath grew ragged and desperate, and for the first time, Elyria saw something other than fury flicker in her hazel eyes.

She saw fear .

The kind of fear that makes people do crazy things.

Leona screamed—a loud, defiant roar. Hot static filled Elyria’s mind again. Ringing filled her ears. Louder, sharper, more painful than before. It shattered the grasp she had on the shadows that shackled Leona, made the hail of splintered stone fall to the ground.

And it wasn’t just her.

Elyria’s head whipped to the side as she heard Kit’s cry, Belien’s shout, Cyren’s pained bellow. Her bleary eyes sought out the other champions—all three were on the ground, heads clutched in their hands.

Leona was no longer targeting just Elyria. Her psychic magic flooded the entire cavern, bombarding them all.

Elyria fell to her knees, hands pressed against her ears. Leona’s magic pulsed inside her skull, filling the cracks and crevices in her mind, as if it sought to rip her consciousness apart from the inside.

I’ll see you all dead before I let you take it.

Kit let out another high-pitched cry, pain radiating from the sound, and Elyria’s blood began to boil. Leona was going to kill them all.

Elyria couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t let that happen.

Blood dripping from her nose, she dug deep inside herself. She curled her mind’s eye around a thread of her darkness, coiling it like a spring.

But before she could release it, a massive quake rattled the cavern.

It wasn’t her.

She didn’t think it was her.

And it was all Elyria could do to roll to the side as the floor beneath her feet split open. Just like outside the labyrinth, a rift tore through the ground. Only instead of roots and vines erupting from within, the cleft continued to widen, a deep, endless chasm unraveling beneath them.

A despairing noise fell from Elyria’s lips as she watched her staff tumble into the void. She couldn’t dwell on the loss. As if the labyrinth was hunting those who had disturbed its peace, the rift chased Elyria. Still flattened to the ground, she rolled away, over and over, until her back hit a wall and she could roll no further.

The rift didn’t stop.

Elyria gasped as the floor beneath her crumbled away, as she felt that split second of weightlessness.

And then she fell.