Chapter 15
LIORA
We stop just past where Borzen fell. I don’t want to look, but I can’t pretend it’s not there.
The corridor is too quiet all of a sudden—like the air is holding its breath.
His body lies twisted, face to the ground, copper-red blood pooling in slow circles beneath him.
The smell is hot and bitter, rising in waves.
Dravven steps forward, voice husky. “We can’t leave him here.” But his words are half broken. He’s balancing something between grief and dread. I swallow. My tongue is thick.
I force myself past Borzen. I touch his shoulder lightly. His armor is scorched. There’s a piece of metal embedded in his ribcage. He doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t gasp. Just… silence.
I press my fingers to his neck. Nothing but warmth draining away.
Dravven’s voice cracks. “He died a heroic death. But it still feels….empty. ”
I flinch at his tone. But I can’t argue. Not now.
The Maze moves. Walls hum. The floor vibrates beneath my boots.
We find a side chamber. It’s dim, the lights flickering. The air smells wrong. Stale, rank like unexposed meat. The drywall on one side is scorched. There’s drip stains that look like burned ichor.
Callan is already slumped in a corner. He rocks, murmuring. “The Maze… it... it’s alive. It talks. Don’t blink.”
His voice is hollow. His eyes unfocused. Blood trickles down his chin. One of his hands claws the panel by his side. The wall has scratches—like he’s trying to carve symbols in the metal.
I step closer. “Callan,” I say gently. “Hey.”
He lifts his head. His eyes flick to me. They go wild.
“Go away,” he snarls, voice snapping.
I hover. “You don’t have to—”
He lunges. Teeth first.
Pain lances across my arm. I scream, stagger back. There’s a taste of copper, sweat in the air. My skin burns.
Dravven spins, weapon drawn.
“Don’t move!” he shouts.
Callan’s teeth clamp deeper. He whimpers, claws digging into my flesh.
Dravven’s face flickers with regret and necessity. In a breath, he fires. A single shot. Callan drops. Silence.
I lean, gasping, crumpled to my knees. My arm throbs. The wound seeps.
“He was sick—he wasn’t a monster!” I scream, body trembling.
Dravven doesn’t flinch. He lowers the weapon slowly, then rests it at his side. “Same thing in here,” he says quietly.
I look up at him. Between the two of us, a tremor of understanding passes—too late, too scarred.
The mute boy stands, expression blank. He watches Callan’s body like he’s reading something etched in the metal.
I press my fingers to the wound. Warm, sticky. I taste iron. I whisper, “I’m sorry,” to no one—Borzen, Callan, the Maze. All of them.
My vision blurs. The walls spin faintly. The hum is louder. A low vibration beneath the floor.
Dravven steps forward and lifts me by the shoulder. “We can’t stay. We’ve got to move.” His voice is firm.
I nod. My trembling legs carry me forward.
But before I leave, I glance back at Borzen’s corpse. I whisper, “I’ll finish this. For you.”
The Maze purrs. The corridors ahead twist. The path is long. My arm throbs. My heart is raw.
But I stand.
Because even dead weight can carry memory.