The Starting

The corridors twisted around them.

Xyro didn't look back. He didn't need to. He could hear it.

Not just the thing that had stolen his face.

Something else.

Something bigger.

The walls around them rippled, reacting to whatever was behind them. The ground beneath Xyro's boots vibrated, pulsing in a rhythm that wasn't natural.

And then—

A scream.

Not human.

Not animal.

Something older.

Zkarn exhaled, not even winded as they ran. "Ah. So the big guy's awake."

Xyro didn't ask. Didn't want to know.

The air was growing heavier, the space ahead of them narrowing, walls closing in. Trapping them.

Zkarn, instead of panicking, laughed.

"Oh, I do love a proper chase."

Xyro gritted his teeth.

The hallway ahead was ending.

A dead end.

No doors. No turns. No way forward.

Behind them, the thing hunting them moved faster.

Xyro skidded to a stop, whipping around, dagger raised. There was no choice. They had to fight.

Zkarn, instead of stopping, kept running.

Xyro's eyes widened.

"Zkarn!"

He didn't even hesitate.

He ran straight at the wall—

And vanished.

Xyro's breath stalled.

No.

No, he didn't vanish.

He had stepped through.

There wasn't a dead end. There was a door.

One that only Zkarn could see.

Behind him, the presence loomed, impossibly close.

Xyro had one second to decide.

Run, or fight.

Xyro ran.

The moment he stepped through the hidden door, his body lurched forward, the sensation like falling without ever hitting the ground.

Then—

Light.

Not the oppressive red glow of the desert. Not the flickering pulses of the living corridors. This was dim, cool, unnatural. Like twilight that had never known a sun.

His boots hit solid ground, and suddenly, he was somewhere new.

A wide, open space stretched before him, carved from smooth black stone. Above, the sky—if it even was a sky—was nothing but a mass of swirling void, endless and shifting. The air was heavy, filled with the same metallic tang that had followed him since the moment he woke in this nightmare.

And he wasn't alone.

Xyro's fingers twitched toward his dagger as he took in the three figures standing ahead of him.

Three strangers.

Or… maybe not.

Something about them felt familiar, yet completely unknown. A paradox that made his mind itch.

Zkarn stood off to the side, arms crossed, his usual smirk plastered on his face as if the last ten minutes of terror had been pure entertainment.

"Well, look at that. We're all here."

Xyro's eyes narrowed. He had only just started wrapping his mind around Zkarn, and now, there were two others. More unknowns. More threats.

One of them, a woman, met his gaze with a calm, unshaken expression.

Dark hair, golden eyes—cold, calculating. The kind of look that measured a person's worth before deciding whether they were useful or disposable.

Xyro's gut twisted.

Veynn.

He knew her name. Somehow. He didn't know how, or why, but the moment he saw her, the name settled in his mind like it had always been there.

She studied him just as he studied her, then—a smirk, slow and deliberate, curved her lips.

"Hmph. Finally, another one with a spine."

Xyro's jaw tightened. There was something about her that put him on edge, something beneath the surface—too smooth, too rehearsed. Like she already knew the game, and she was the one setting the rules.

Then, his gaze flicked to the last member of their little gathering.

A child.

At least, that's what he looked like.

Small frame, pale skin, strange, glass-like eyes. But something was… wrong. Something about him felt too still. Too quiet.

Orris.

Another name that came without effort.

Another name that felt older than it should.

The boy's eyes met Xyro's, and a small, knowing smile touched his lips—like he already knew everything Xyro was thinking.

And just like that, Xyro felt completely, utterly trapped.

This wasn't just a group of survivors.

This was a game.

And none of them were on the same side.

Silence stretched between them.

No one spoke. No one moved.

Each person in the group watched the others carefully, waiting to see who would be the first to break the tension.

It wasn't going to be Xyro.

And it sure as hell wasn't going to be Veynn.

Zkarn, however—he thrived on chaos.

"So," he drawled, glancing around at the group. "Is this the part where we hold hands and talk about our feelings?"

Veynn snorted.

Orris said nothing.

Xyro's eyes stayed locked on the vast, endless void above them.

Something was coming.

The air shifted, humming with a faint energy—not quite sound, not quite touch, but something felt beneath the skin.

Then, the sky split open.

A voice—deep, endless, carrying the weight of something far older than this place—poured into the space around them.

"You have arrived."

Xyro's breath stalled.

Veynn didn't react.

Orris closed his eyes, as if listening to a song only he could hear.

Zkarn… grinned.

The voice continued, its tone neither welcoming nor hostile—just inevitable.

"You do not remember. But you will."

A ripple of sound passed through the ground beneath them, and suddenly—

The space changed.

The stone beneath their feet cracked, shifting, reshaping. The vast emptiness around them took form.

Walls grew from nothing. Hallways stretched outward, twisting into unnatural corridors.

A labyrinth.

Their prison was building itself before their eyes.

Xyro's fingers curled into fists.

"What is this?" he demanded.

The voice didn't answer.

Instead—the sky darkened.

And the ground beneath them began to move.

Orris was the first to speak.

"It's starting."

Xyro turned sharply. "What's starting?"

The boy's glassy eyes shimmered.

"The first trial."

Then—

The walls around them collapsed.

And the world swallowed them whole.