The Manupulation

The sound behind them was too familiar.

Not just a growl. Not just the scrape of claws against stone.

Teeth. Clicking.

Like something was tasting the air.

Xyro's grip tightened around his dagger, his heartbeat pounding in his skull. He could feel it—a presence breathing just beyond the veil of shadows.

Veynn was already moving.

Not running. Walking.

Xyro exhaled sharply, following her lead. Running would be a mistake. Whatever was behind them—it wanted fear.

The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, the walls pressing in. The shifting, unnatural light above them pulsed with every step, like the veins of a living thing.

Then—Veynn spoke.

Soft. Measured. Too calm.

"You're going to have to let go of what you think you know."

Xyro didn't take his eyes off the path ahead. "What?"

She sighed, her voice laced with the kind of patience reserved for someone already in control.

"You're still thinking about things like right and wrong. Trust and betrayal. It won't help you here."

Xyro clenched his jaw. He hated how steady she sounded. Like she had been through this before.

Like she had already won.

"I don't trust you," he said flatly.

A breath of laughter. Amused.

"That's adorable."

Xyro's fingers curled into fists.

Veynn finally turned to look at him, her golden eyes catching the dim glow above them, reflecting something unreadable.

"Tell me something, Xyro." She tilted her head. "What's your first memory?"

Xyro's steps faltered.

His first memory.

His first memory…

A dull, twisting pressure built behind his ribs. The answer should have been obvious. His childhood, his past, something simple.

But nothing came.

A blank space.

A void.

Veynn saw it.

And she smiled.

"Strange, isn't it?"

Xyro didn't respond. He kept walking, kept his focus ahead, but she had already planted the doubt.

Veynn's voice turned gentler now. Almost soothing.

"You're strong, Xyro."

A simple compliment. Meant to lower his defenses.

"Most people would have broken already."

The soft encouragement. The warmth. The sense of belonging.

Then—the shift.

Her voice dropped.

Colder. Sharper.

"But that won't last."

Xyro's shoulders tensed.

"Strength doesn't mean anything if you don't know what you're fighting for."

The first attack. A seed of weakness.

Xyro forced his expression to remain blank. She was testing him. He wouldn't react.

"That's the real reason you don't trust me," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "Because you don't trust yourself."

Xyro's breath was too controlled now.

Veynn smiled. She had hit something.

And now—the Plausible Lie.

She sighed, voice softening again. "You know, the first time we met, you told me the same thing."

Xyro's head snapped toward her, his pulse stuttering.

"What?"

Her eyes gleamed.

Hook.

Veynn exhaled as if it wasn't important. As if this wasn't the single most dangerous thing she could say.

"You don't remember, do you?"

The air between them grew heavier.

Xyro swallowed, his mind turning over itself. Lies. It had to be a lie.

He had never met her before. He would remember. Wouldn't he?

Wouldn't he?

Veynn's expression softened. She stepped closer now, closing the distance between them.

"You told me you wouldn't forget me."

His blood turned cold.

He didn't realize he had stopped walking until Veynn was right in front of him, her golden eyes watching him with something between amusement and pity.

She reached out.

Slow. Deliberate.

Xyro's entire body locked up as she gently pressed her fingers against the center of his chest—right over his heartbeat.

"And yet, here we are."

Xyro's breathing turned sharp.

He stepped back before he could think, before he could stop himself from reacting.

Mistake.

Veynn let her hand drop, but her smirk deepened.

She had won.

She had made him retreat.

And he hated her for it.

But more than that—he hated that he wasn't sure if she was lying.

The doubt was there now. Buried deep. Familiarity where there should have been nothing.

A thought whispered at the edges of his mind.

What if she was telling the truth?

Veynn watched him for a moment longer. Satisfied.

Then, she turned, continuing down the corridor as if the conversation had never happened.

A simple trick.

But Xyro wasn't stupid.

She had planted the first cut.

Now, she would let it fester.

And when the time came… she would twist the knife.

Then, something shifted.

The air thickened, just slightly. Not enough to be obvious. Not enough to be seen. But Xyro felt it—like the weight of unseen eyes pressing into his back.

Veynn paused.

She felt it too.

Xyro's grip on his dagger tightened. The labyrinth had changed.

______________________________________

Zkarn

"Tell me a story."

The voice came again.

Zkarn stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders with a lazy ease.

"You'll have to be more specific, friend."

Silence.

Then—a flicker of movement in the empty seats before him.

Not a figure. Not a person.

Just a slight distortion, like something shifting in and out of sight.

The audience was arriving.

Zkarn smiled. "Ah. There you are."

A pause.

Then, the voice returned. "Tell me about yourself."

Zkarn's grin widened. "Oh, that's the thing, isn't it? You already know who I am.

A whisper of movement.

The air grew heavy.

"Tell Me A Story."

A demand this time.

Zkarn tapped his fingers together, exaggerating the thought.

Then—he smirked.

"Once, there was a man who told too many stories."

Silence.

Then—

The entire theater flickered.

And in the darkness between the empty seat

A thousand watching eyes opened.

And they were all waiting for him to continue.