His scream tore through the air, echoing off the chamber walls, until it sounded as though the whole world was screaming with him.
I stumbled forward, hands outstretched, even as some rational corner of my mind screamed that this wasn’t real. This wasn't how it had happened at all. They had died in front of our home when I was hidden in the forest. And the King's Guard had stabbed my father first, then my mother. That was before I'd ended them all with my fury.
Yet everythinglookedreal—the small scar above Father’s eyebrow, Mother’s crooked finger that had never healed right after she fell off a horse.
The lead guard stepped closer, his breath thick with smoke as he faced me.
“They died cursing your name, witch,” he rasped, a horrible grin splitting his face. “After we showed them what happens to those who shelter magic.” His laugh ground like stone on stone.
My heart stuttered.
I had to tell myself that the Labyrinth drew from fear, from memory. This was simply my mind playing tricks on me.
"Guin," Mother's voice interrupted my thoughts.
Her eyes—gentle, familiar—found mine through the agony, and in that moment Iforgoteverything. I forgot the Labyrinth. I forgot Sir Lioran. I forgot the danger I was in. I was only Guinevere—daughter, terrified girl—watching the people who had loved me suffer for it.
"Mother." My voice cracked like glass as it echoed through the twisted stone corridors. The sound bounced back at me, distorted and hollow, mocking my anguish. "Father."
You must control your emotions,I told myself,or your disguise will slip.I breathed in deeply, centering myself.
"I wasn't able to save you," I continued, the words falling between us like stones into a well, heavy with years of buried guilt. My knees threatened to buckle under the weight of it all—the helplessness, the shame that had followed me from that terrible day when I had hidden in the forest like a coward while they died.
Their faces still hovered before me, suspended in the Labyrinth's cruel theater, carved with pain so vivid I could taste it in the air between us. Every line of suffering was perfectly rendered—the way Father's jaw had clenched when the blade found him, the small gasp Mother had made before the lightleft her eyes. The Labyrinth had pulled these details from the darkest corners of my memory, polished them until they gleamed with terrible clarity.
But beneath the guilt that threatened to drown me, beneath the horror that made my hands shake and my breath come in shallow gasps, I saw the truth clearly for the first time:I couldn't change thepast. I couldn't reach back through time and make different choices, couldn't stand between them and Arthur's soldiers, couldn't trade my life for theirs no matter how desperately I wished I could.
What was more—and this realization cut even deeper—I had survived for a reason. Not by accident, not by cowardice, but because something greater than my fear had kept me breathing when everything I had ever known had turned to ash.
“If I hadn’t made the choice I did,” I whispered, “I’d be dead too, and I wouldn't be able to help right Arthur's wrongs. I wouldn't be able to seek revenge for you both and justice for Logres.”
"You are the reason they perished," the guard said, drawing my attention to him.
I shook my head. I understood now—this guilt was something buried deep inside me, and I had to make peace with it. I had to release it, or it was going to eat me up inside.
"I can't change the past," I said louder now, my voice firm despite the ache in my chest. I turned my attention back to my mother and father. "But I can honor what you gave me—by finishing what I began, by defeating a tyrant, by freeing this land, and by avenging you."
The words rang like iron in the silence. They felttrue, deep and solid—a vow sinking into the bedrock of the person I was, as well as the person I was becoming.
Their expressions changed—not instantly, but gradually, the way a storm breaks into morning. My father’s eyes softened, thepain in his features dissolving into pride. My mother exhaled, her shoulders lowering as though she had been holding her breath all this time. Their hands reached toward me—not in blame, but in blessing.
For one fleeting moment, they were as I remembered them. Not the dying parents of a nightmare, but the vibrant people who had raised me, who had given meeverything, the two people who had loved me the most.
Then, slowly, they dissolved into mist.
Now left alone in the chamber, I realized I had to move forward—I was still stuck inside the Labyrinth, and though I assumed I'd defeated the first of the plagues of my mind, more clearly remained.
Pushing through the corridor, my footsteps echoing against cold stone, I entered another chamber. The walls here were different—older somehow, carved with symbols and runes, their meaning just beyond my comprehension; yet they stirred something deep within me.
The chamber's stone walls shifted and groaned around me, the sound reverberating through my bones like the settling of some massive, sleeping beast. Dust fell from hairline cracks that spread across the ceiling like spider webs, and the air seemed to thicken with anticipation. Then, without warning, the floor fell away beneath me.
But rather than the sickening plunge I expected, rather than the bone-crushing impact against whatever lay below, I found myself suddenly surrounded by water. Cool, crystalline water embraced me. As I watched in wonder and growing unease, the lake from which I'd pulled Excalibur suddenly rose up around me, transforming the chamber.
The familiar weight of that cursed sword seemed to thrum at my side, even here in this mystical space, reminding me of the moment that had changed everything. The water movedwith purpose around me, forming currents that spoke of power far older than kingdoms, far deeper than the petty squabbles of mortal rulers.
Almost immediately, the Lady of the Lake emerged from the deep waters as if woven from the fabric of the depths themselves, her form materializing with the fluid grace of moonlight dancing on waves. Her hair floated like a halo around her perfect features, each strand moving independently in the water's embrace. She was breathtaking and terrible, beautiful beyond mortal comprehension yet the last person I wanted to see, as I knew what she would say.
"Guinevere," the Lady of the Lake spoke, her voice resonating like submerged chimes. "You are denying your destiny."
