Borzen steps back, his chest heaving. He grips his arm, voice harsh, “We will.”
My heart rips in half. The boot feels wrong in my hands. A symbol of something lost. The chamber pulses, lights flicker, and I know—this is no longer a game.
This is blood and ghosts.
I lift the boot. Carry it in my arms like a dream that died.
Outside the chamber, somewhere in corridors built to kill, I hear my own name echoed in the wind. The Maze has broken its promise. It’s showing us the dark.
And I have to be ready.
CHAPTER 12
GYON
Itaste the metal in my mouth. Sweat burns my eyes. The corridor ahead flickers with distortion—the Maze greets me with electric menace, as though it’s daring me to cross the threshold.
Walls behind me snap with crackling current. I feel their bite even from ten meters away. Drones spit plasma at my heels—green arcs sizzling through the air, lighting up my path with hellish staccato. The hum of motors, the snap of wires, the hiss of static—it all merges into a fight song.
I sprint.
Because every beat of her breath, every whisper of her pulse, is my only compass now.
The corridors shift crazily beneath my feet. I know the cheat lines now—blind shafts, shifting side doors, hidden ventilation gaps. I exploit them. Duck. Climb. Leap. Slide through panels that realign in my wake. The Maze fights dirty, but I fight smarter.
The plasma bolts sizzle past my shoulder. I don’t slow. I barrel through a half-hidden maintenance tunnel, numb to the sparks and shards that slice my coat. The smell of scorched insulation fills my nostrils.
A ceiling panel gives way. I drop, roll, and emerge into chamber light.
There she is.
It’s a trap-reset chamber, walls gleaming as if scrubbed clean, floor panels soft underfoot. She stumbles in the center, arms braced against the walls, breathing hard. Her eyes are wild. Dirt smudged across her cheeks. Hair plastered to her forehead. She’s real.
She pivots when she hears me—turns. Her eyes widen in that moment, and everything stops.
I seeher.
Jalshagar—my name for her that feels like destiny.
My blood howls. My heart drums in a warbeat. I roar something, but nothing comes out.
She whispers, tensely, “You’re real.”
Gods. Just that. Simple. Truth condensed to two fragile words.
In that instant I’m falling toward her—gravitational pull I never believed in—arms stretching.
But then, Borzen.
He’s behind her in a tortured dance, arm outstretched, dragging her back. A weapon leveled at me. His face contorts with anger, fear, duty. Weapon glows with charge.
“Don’t come closer!” he bellows.
Her breathing catches. She twists, fights the pull of me. The connection writhes between us like a live wire.
I stop. I don’t walk another inch. I should kill Borzen. I should rend the wall and empty the room. But she’s between us.
I dare not.
