“Yes, meet him on his terms, in his space. Show him you’re not afraid.” Astrid adds.
“Then I’ll approach the others. Lord Evander should be easy, we’ve already had a few conversations. Lady Nerida—” I pause. “Honestly, I have no idea how to prepare for someone like her. But she seemed to already know the teams before they were announced, so maybe she’ll guide herself.”
Across the hall, Zevran’s team is standing, preparing to leave. They move as a unit, still talking, still engaged. A team that’s ready.
“You have your work cut out for you tomorrow,” Astrid says.
“I know.”
We stand to leave. The dining hall feels too loud, too full of watching eyes. Ren falls into step behind us, silent and protective.
Two days until the trial.
Tomorrow I meet with each of them.
And somehow, I have to turn three volatile strangers into a team that can survive a maze designed to exploit our deepest fears.
Nothing about this is going to be easy.
The next morning, Ren leads me to a training deck on the far side of the residential wing. I expect a waiting room or conference table – instead, the doors slide open into a chamber full of shifting grey walls and vibrating machinery. The gravity plates adjust in a slow rhythm, enough to make the air feel alive under my boots.
Lord Castor is already inside.
He doesn’t greet me, doesn’t even look up. He’s adjusting the configuration of a holographic maze that flickers above the central platform, its walls sliding and rearranging like it’s alive. He taps a command on the console and the projection tightens into a narrower structure, the light sharpening at the edges.
I take two steps inside and the doors seal behind me.
“Come to give me a pep talk before the big day,Princess?” He smirks, entering codes into the console. “I’m already ready. Jupiter trains for speed,” he says, still without turning. “Strategy won’t mean shit if you can’t act before the maze closes in on you.”
The projection contracts again. A corridor vanishes, another dead end forms.
He finally looks at me. There’s no hostility in his expression – only measurement.
“Show me how quickly you move.”
Before I can respond, the floor panels shift. A low pulse runs through the chamber and the walls begin to reconfigure in slow mechanical sweeps. The simulation is active.
“Lord Castor.” I glance at the nearest panel as it rotates ninety degrees. “I’m not here to spar.”
“Didn’t ask you to fight. Asked you tomove.”
He steps onto the platform and gestures for me to join him. I climb up and the maze projection expands, spreading across the air around us so every corridor floats in layered light. Up close, I can see the bruises from the first trial are starting to heal.
“The Fractured Mirror doesn’t reward patience,” he says. “It punishes it. Grinds it into dust and spits it back at you.”
The projection flashes and a timer ignites along the wall. Thirty seconds. I don’t know what it counts toward.
“Pick a path,” he says.
I study the maze, looking for a logical opening, trying to see how it sets up our entire team. Before I choose, two corridors dissolve into static.
“Too slow.”
He isn’t mocking me. He’s stating a fact.
I choose a route on the left. The projection acknowledges it with a faint glow. Lord Castor tracks my selection without comment and enters a counter-command. Three new obstacles appear instantly along that path.
“This is what the maze does,” he says. “Reacts. Destabilises. Forces you to commit before you’re ready.”
