Alyc lay on her back, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling above her. Her body ached, her muscles torn and bruised from the last trial, but exhaustion had no hold over her mind. Sleep would not come. Instead, shadows pressed against the edges of her vision, creeping from the corners of the dimly lit chamber where the remaining competitors rested. She was not alone, not truly. The ghosts of her past whispered in the silence. Durk stood before her, his form flickering like candlelight. His gray eyes held the same weight as they had when he was alive stern, unreadable, but always watching. "Weak." The word slipped from his lips, cold and hollow. Alyc clenched her fists. Then the scene shifted. The Seer’s voice wove through the darkness, whispering in a language Alyc could not understand, yet still, the meaning reached her bones. "Your path is hidden, your fate uncertain. Choose wisely, or choose ruin."

  The shadows twisted, reforming into another shape Sammond. But something was wrong. His face was sharper, his eyes unfamiliar, filled with something darker than mischief. He smiled. Then he plunged a dagger into her chest. Alyc gasped and sat up, sweat trailing down her brow. Her breathing was ragged, her pulse hammering against her ribs. She pressed a hand to her chest nothing. No wound, no blood. Only the phantom sensation of betrayal. She exhaled slowly, pushing the dream aside. The world was not real. Not until she had something to carve her blade into.

  Tomorrow, the next trial awaited. She would make sure she was the one left standing.

  The coliseum was different today. The stone floor cracked, shifting beneath their feet, revealing a spiraling abyss of corridors and pathways that seemed to stretch into infinity. Walls of moving glass and twisting iron framed their path, shifting and warping as though they were alive. The Seer stood motionless upon her high platform, her piercing gaze sweeping over the remaining warriors. Above her, the banners of Selenia and Emberfall fluttered, barely holding against the weight of what was to come. The air itself felt strange, thick with an unnatural presence time itself shifting as if alive. "The Labyrinth of Time awaits," she declared, her voice cutting through the unnatural silence like a blade. It did not echo it settled in the mind, a whisper laced with power. A ripple coursed through the arena. The ground trembled. The stone beneath Alyc’s feet split open, revealing a massive abyss that swallowed the floor. Corridors stretched outward in all directions, twisting and shifting, walls of moving glass and dark iron rearranging themselves like breathing entities. It was a maze that refused to remain still, a battlefield where time itself was the enemy. Alyc clenched her fists, the leather of her gloves creaking. She scanned the other competitors. Valen Draymoor stood tall, unmoving, his massive sword strapped across his back. Cassia Rivenholme twirled a dagger between her fingers, her smirk taunting the others. Kaelen Frostveil and Ronan Blackthorne were tense, their eyes darting across the shifting pathways. They all knew this would not be a battle of strength. This was something worse. The Seer raised her hand. The world dropped away. Alyc fell, her stomach twisting as the wind roared past her ears. The fall stretched impossibly long seconds turned to minutes, minutes stretched into eternity. Then Impact. Alyc hit the ground hard, knees bending to absorb the force, but the landing still sent a sharp jolt through her legs. She gritted her teeth, steadying herself as the world around her lurched and twisted. She was standing inside a vast, endless corridor, the walls a swirling mix of dark iron and shifting glass. The ground beneath her boots was smooth black stone, humming faintly with an unnatural pulse. Above her, there was no sky only a churning mist of deep blues and purples, twisting in on itself like a storm caught in an eternal loop.

  Alyc’s breath came slow and measured. She wasn’t alone. The other competitors had landed around her, scattered throughout the maze. The Labyrinth of Time had begun. The Maze Stirs A pulse ran through the air, rippling down the corridor. The walls shuddered. Then they moved. Metal groaned as iron and glass rearranged themselves, sealing some paths and opening others. Alyc watched as a passage ahead twisted into a spiraling staircase, only to collapse a second later. Another corridor stretched and shrank, as though breathing. And then the air changed. Alyc’s limbs dragged, the weight of her body doubling. The Trial is playing with time. She took a step forward, and the world blurred. For a brief moment, she saw herself years older standing in the same corridor, bloodstained and hollow-eyed. Then the vision was gone. A shiver crept down her spine, but she kept moving. She had no time to think. Ahead, Kaelen Frostveil gritted his teeth, pushing through a corridor where time had slowed to a crawl. Every step he took seemed to drag for eternity, his body sluggish against the air. Further away, Valen Draymoor blurred forward unnaturally, his body struggling to keep up with the rapid acceleration forced upon him by the labyrinth’s shifting time distortions. His movements were erratic, forced into a pace faster than his mind could process. His sword arm swung wildly, trying to maintain control, but every step seemed to push him further off balance. Alyc watched from the corner of her eye, her own path twisting beneath her feet. The labyrinth wasn’t just testing their endurance it was pulling them apart, forcing them into extremes. If they weren’t careful, it would break them before they ever found the exit. Somewhere ahead, Cassia Rivenholme moved like a phantom, gliding through the shifting walls with unnatural grace, her twin daggers flashing as she struck at mirage-like illusions. Her confidence never wavered, though Alyc could see her breathing harder, her speed a double-edged sword. And then the Seer’s illusions deepened. The Labyrinth’s True Power

  Alyc felt the shift before she saw it a pull in the air, a strange tightening in her chest. Her next step landed her somewhere else entirely. She was in the Emberfall courtyard. The flames of the Departure Feast crackled in the fire pits, the sound of laughter and clashing tankards filling the air. The scent of spiced meat and ale drifted past her, so real it sent a chill through her bones. Durk stood at the center of it all. He was laughing, his arm draped over the shoulder of another warrior, pride in his eyes. Alyc took a step forward. Durk turned toward her, but his gaze passed through her, as if she wasn’t even there. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the world tilted shifted darkened. Now, she was in Solaria. But not the one she had entered. The temple of the Divine Council was in ruins, its golden pillars shattered, its marble floors stained with blood. Bodies lay broken at her feet. She looked down. She was standing atop a throne. FireFang was buried in a man’s chest beneath her. His hand trembled as it reached for her one last time. Erik Alistar. Her own breath hitched. This isn’t real. But it felt so real. The weight of the hilt in her hand. The sting of fire and steel in the air. The suffocating silence of a world lost to war. Her grip tightened around Firefang’s hilt, her heartbeat pounding against her ribs. She wanted to drop the blade. To step away from the body. But she couldn’t. Her hands wouldn’t move. A scream cut through the silence. She turned Solaria was burning. The towering white spires of the city crumbled into fire and ash, their golden trim melting under the weight of an inferno. Bodies littered the marble streets. Selenians. Solarians. Emberfall warriors. The same competitors who had stood beside her in the Trials lay broken and lifeless. And standing at the center of it all was her. Alyc stared at her own reflection. This version of herself was not a warrior, but a tyrant. She stood atop a pile of corpses, Firefang drenched in blood, her mismatched eyes burning with cold apathy. “This is what you will become," the Seer’s whisper curled in her ear again. Alyc stepped back, shaking her head. No. This wasn’t real. But it felt real. The heat of the fires. The scent of blood. The weight of every soul she had slaughtered. The tyrant Alyc smiled. “You’ve already made your choice.” The world shattered. Back in the Labyrinth, The Struggle Continues Alyc’s vision cleared as the illusion broke, her breath ragged. She was back in the maze. But not everyone was. Across the corridor, Kaelen Frostveil was still trapped in slow motion, his body sluggish as he fought against time itself. His muscles strained, veins in his neck bulging as he tried to force his way forward. Every step took an eternity, his foot barely lifting from the ground before the weight of time itself dragged it back down. His breath was slow, unnaturally so, his chest rising and falling at a fraction of normal speed. Alyc could see the frustration in his eyes the desperate need to move, to fight against the force that held him prisoner. But time was an enemy unlike any other. It didn’t strike. It didn’t falter. It simply swallowed you whole. She tore her gaze away. Nothing could be done. Further down the corridor, Ronan Blackthorne still fought his reflection. His movements were wild, frantic, his saber flashing in the dim light as he struck again and again. But his shadow never faltered. It matched every swing, every step, every breath. A perfect twin. A flawless execution of his every move. It would never tire. It would never break. And Ronan was realizing that too late. His footing wavered. His strikes grew sloppier. And the moment exhaustion caught up to him, the shadow’s blade found his throat. He gasped, a red line splitting across his neck. And then he was gone. Alyc exhaled sharply, steadying herself as the labyrinth twisted again. Walls shifted, corridors stretched into infinity, time bent and snapped at unnatural angles. She had to move. Fast. Ahead, the labyrinth’s golden threshold pulsed like a heartbeat. The exit. Alyc sprinted forward, her legs burning with exhaustion. The exit loomed ahead, pulsing with golden light, calling her forward. Every instinct screamed at her to run to leave the labyrinth behind before it twisted again. But then she felt it.

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  A presence. Cold. Unrelenting. Familiar. She slowed, her boots scraping against the shifting stone. Something stood between her and the threshold. Her breath caught. Durk. No. It wasn’t possible.

  Yet there he was whole, solid, standing tall in the path ahead. His silhouette did not waver. Did not distort like the illusions before. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his broad chest, as if waiting for her to act. Alyc’s breath came sharp and shallow. Her father stood before her. Not a flickering illusion. Not a passing shadow. Real. Solid. Unshaken. Her grip on Firefang tightened until her knuckles turned white. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. His stance was firm, arms crossed over his broad chest, as if waiting for her to act. Her pulse pounded in her ears. It was another trick. Another whisper from the gods. Another test she had to break through. Alyc swallowed hard and forced her feet forward. Durk’s voice stopped her cold. “Turn back.” The words were calm. Even. Just as she remembered them.

  Alyc’s breath hitched. Her resolve cracked. Not because of the voice itself but because it sounded exactly like him. She squared her shoulders, pushing through the tension wrapping around her lungs. “You’re not real.” Durk’s head tilted, his expression unreadable. His blue-gray eyes just as she remembered, held no flicker of deception. “If you step through that door, you are no longer my daughter.” The breath left her lungs. No. That wasn’t real. That wasn’t him. Alyc clenched her jaw, shaking her head. “I’m not falling for this.” Durk’s expression did not change. Then his voice dropped lower, softer worse. “You killed me.” Alyc flinched. Firefang felt heavier in her grip. "You let them take me.” The world around her felt smaller, suffocating. "You will destroy everything.” Alyc’s fingers twitched. Her vision blurred at the edges. This was another game. Another lie. And yet, She had to force her feet forward, had to command herself to breathe. Durk did not move. Her boots scraped against the stone as she stepped closer. Durk’s figure flickered.

  Just for a second. Barely there. Alyc clenched her fists. It was a lie.

  She took another step. Durk’s form unraveled, his body dissolving like smoke on the wind. And then, He was gone. The golden threshold stood before her, pulsing like a heartbeat. Alyc exhaled sharply. She had won. The world around her shifted. The warping walls, the endless pathways, all of it collapsed into nothing. The golden threshold expanded, stretching into a blinding column of light. Alyc shielded her eyes, bracing as the air around her shifted, warping like heat rising from scorched earth. Then, It was over.

  The labyrinth collapsed in on itself, the endless corridors twisting into nothingness. Walls of glass shattered into dust, iron gates melted into the ground. The weight of the trial lifted, leaving only silence. A gust of wind struck Alyc’s face as the world reformed around her. Alyc staggered as her boots met solid stone, the cold weight of reality settling in her chest. The shifting corridors, the illusions, the warping of time all of it had vanished, collapsing like a dying star. In its place was the harsh, unyielding heat of the Coliseum of Valor. The roar of the crowd swelled, a chaotic mix of exhilaration and horror. Thousands of voices rang out, but none of it felt real. The trial had not just tested their endurance, it had taken them. Alyc’s pulse thundered in her ears as she lifted her gaze. The golden sun gleamed against the arena’s towering walls, casting long shadows over the remaining warriors. Four. Her breath was steady, but her hands clenched into fists. Only four of them had made it out. Kaelen Frostveil stood a few paces away, his body rigid, as if he hadn’t fully escaped the labyrinth’s grip. His pale eyes darted toward her, sharp, searching. He knew. They all did. Valen Draymoor adjusted his grip on the massive two-handed sword at his back, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the weight of what they had just endured. He didn’t look at Alyc, nor at the others his focus was locked elsewhere. Alyc followed his gaze. The ones who didn’t make it. She turned her head slightly, scanning the battlefield.

  Lyra Vesswyn was gone. There was no body. No trace. Just an empty space where they had once stood. The Seer’s voice cut through the stadium, the weight of her words settling over them like a funeral shroud. "Lyra Vesswyn, lost to time." A hushed murmur spread through the stands. The Glacial Wind Corps warrior had vanished. Whether she had fallen into a loop of her own memories or simply ceased to exist, none of them would ever know. "Ronan Blackthorne trapped in the illusions of fate." Alyc inhaled sharply. Ronan, the cold strategist, the calculating warrior, was simply gone.

  The labyrinth had taken them. She forced herself to stand taller, to push down the strange hollowness settling in her gut. This was how the Trials worked. The weak fell, the strong survived. The Seer, standing high above the coliseum, lowered her hands, her expression unreadable. “Four remain,” she declared. The crowd erupted, the sound crashing against Alyc’s skull like a tidal wave.

  She barely heard it. Her gaze lifted to the royal platform. Desmond Alistar was watching her. And then he smiled. Not a smirk of amusement. Not the condescending arrogance of a king who had nothing to fear. It was something worse. A knowing smile. Alyc’s fingers twitched against Firefang’s hilt. He knew her. He recognized her. He just wasn’t saying it. She turned away before her anger could betray her, before the inferno burning inside her chest could reach her expression. She had survived this round. But victory meant nothing. Not yet. The labyrinth of time was over. The next day awaited, and with it the next trial.