Alette is still moving, even though we’d offered to carry her more than a few times. Pale, exhausted, but there’s nothing weak about the way she carries herself.
Ashton’s quiet for once, no smirk, no easy confidence. Just focus. Sylvian and Cassius keep the rear, watching everything, tracking every shadow like they expect the labyrinth to lunge again at any second.
So do I. It’s never this quiet without a reason.
Ahead, the hedges open. I slow without meaning to. The others do the same.Is this another meadow like the one where we were caught by the cyclops? Another trap?I can’t tell.
The hedges fall away into something wide and open, a stretch of land so bright it almost hurts to look at after days of shadow and mud. Golden grass rolls out in every direction, tall and soft, bending under a light breeze that shouldn’t exist here. Water still clings to the blades, catching the sunlight as it finally breaks through the clouds.
Real sunlight.
For the first time in what feels like forever, the sky is clear. Blue. Endless. No storm. No gray. Just light.
I step forward once, slow, my boots sinking into softer ground as we cross the threshold. It doesn’t…feellike the labyrinth. That’s the problem.
The air smells different here. Clean. Warm. Not rot and damp and decay, but something alive. Wildflowers drift through the grass in scattered bursts of color, pale gold, soft violet, deep green. There’s no damage. No ruin. No sign that anything has ever been wrong in this place.
It’s untouched. Perfect. Too perfect.
“A meadow?” Sylvian says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.
I don’t answer.
My grip tightens on my sword as I scan the horizon, every instinct in me screaming that this isn’t right. The labyrinth doesn’t give gifts. It doesn’t offer relief.
It tests you until you break.
The breeze shifts, warm against my skin, brushing through the grass in slow waves. The light hits Alette, catches in her hair, her skin, and she looks like she belongs here. Like she was meant to walk into something like this.
I don’t trust it.
Not for a second.
“Stay together,” I say, my voice rough, cutting through the quiet. “Weapons ready.”
They don’t argue. None of us lower our guard. Because whatever this is… it can’t be over.
I shift my grip on my sword, ignoring the pull in my shoulder. Sylvian’s movements are too careful. Ashton’s breathing isn’t as easy as he wants us to believe. Cassius keeps flexing his fingers like he’s checking they still work. And Alette stands at the center of us, pale, exhausted, her hair still damp, her sword hanging loosely at her side. She should be broken after everything we’ve been through.
She isn’t. She’s watching the meadow like she’s trying to understand it. Like she wants to believe it.
The air shifts. It’s subtle at first. A pressure, like the moment before lightning strikes. The breeze dies. The grass stills. Even the light feels… sharper.
Alette moves closer to me without thinking. “No,” she whispers. “Please don’t let this be another trial.”
I don’t answer. I don’t know how.
The voice comes from everywhere. “You’ve made it… at last.”
Every muscle in my body locks.
Ashton swears under his breath. Cassius turns, searching for something that isn’t there. Sylvian’s hand drops toward the ground, ready to pull power if he has to. Whatever the voice is… it drips of power. Of danger. This could be the worst thing we’ve faced yet.
“It’s Varua,” Alette whispers, realization suddenly dawning on her.
Of course it’s her. The goddess whose curse started all of this to begin with.
“You have reached the end of the labyrinth,” she says, her voice echoing around us, eerie and unsettling.
