VII
One moment, the stone passage was wide enough for two, its walls etched with spirals and broken sigils and golden veins; the next, it constricted into a long throat of shadow without warning.
The ceiling pressed low on Corin, and the air turned damp and warm at a moment’s notice; it nearly choked him with the thickness.
The veined light dimmed in a way that did not extinguish it fully, but muffled it, as if the Labyrinth itself were holding its breath.
Ariadne slowed, and Corin could have sworn she swore under her breath.
“This way?” He asked, keeping his voice low.
She didn’t answer at first. Her brow furrowed, eyes tracking the curve of the corridor as though she were reading something written beneath the stone.
Her hand lifted, hovering just above the wall without touching it.
She glanced behind them then and she seemed to count the stones from their last few steps, trying to figure out something that just wasn’t quite right.
Corin took a hesitant step forward, past her, but her hand reached out firmly, pressing against his chest to stop him. “Stop.”
He blinked. “What’s going on?”
“This should not be here yet,” she murmured.
Corin’s pulse kicked up. “What shouldn’t?”
She jumped and looked to Corin, as if she didn’t realize she had said the words out loud. She paused before swallowing and gesturing ahead. “This passage. This turn.” Her fingers tensed against Corin’s chest before they fell to her side. “The Labyrinth is… early.”
Before he could ask what that meant, the air shifted once again. It rushed past him as if running towards where the pair had just come from.
A sound rolled toward them from the dark ahead—slow, wet, and heavy. It was not a roar; it was worse than that, more threatening than Corin had ever heard before. A breath, dragged deep into a massive chest, followed by the scrape of something enormous moving against stone.
“We… we should turn around,” Ariadne suggested. She nodded once. “Yes, we can turn back.”
With the limited space in the hall, there was nowhere for Ariadne to go now that Corin was near her side. He would have to back up or she would have to move forward, neither of which seemed to be happening as Corin was frozen solid.
There was something in her tone that raced down Corin’s spine. She was scared of something, and that something was ahead of them. Whatever it was, he would protect her, make sure she wouldn’t be afraid anymore.
His hand went instinctively to his sword.
He took a single step forward, butting against Ariadne.
“C–” she stopped herself and cursed. “Heir, we should turn around. Please, let us turn back.”
Corin looked down at her. Ariadne was not a short woman by any means, but in this moment, she seemed to turn in on herself and cower away as if haunted by whatever was in the chamber ahead.
He gulped and straightened his spine, nearly hitting his head on the stone above them.
“What is ahead?” he asked instead of moving again.
She shook her head quickly. “It is nothing. Shall we move now?” She shifted to the side, pressing tightly against the stone to shuffle around Corin. “Come now, heir!”
He knew he should listen to her, should move out of the way so that she could lead the way once again, back to where they journeyed from, but there was something in him telling him to keep moving forward.
Maybe it was to protect Ariadne. Maybe it was the Labyrinth talking to him. Maybe it was the thought of escaping the maze.
Whatever it was had him moving forward instead of following his companion. There were only a few steps between him and an opening in the hall; he could just make out the open chamber in front of him. Only a couple steps…
The stench of it hit Corin first. Iron and sweat and old blood. The smell of something that had lived too long in darkness and chaos.
“Please–”
Corin didn’t get to hear the rest of Ariadne’s plea when a beast stepped into the light.
It was taller than any man Corin had ever seen, its bulk would occupy the entire hall he was standing in.
Its body was a grotesque union of man and beast: a powerful human torso corded with bulging muscle, scarred and old, set atop thick and furred legs ending in cracked hooves that rang dully against the floor as it moved.
Its head was that of a bull—massive and crowned with sweeping horns, one chipped near the tip and the other stained dark with something long dried.
The Minotaur.
Its eyes caught sight of Corin, and he gulped at the intense stare pushing down on him. Its eyes caught the glow of the open chamber illuminated by torchlight and reflected it back—deep, molten gold. It was too aware to be animal but much too ancient to be human.
He could barely hear Ariadne’s swear over the huffing of the beast in front of him.
The Minotaur snorted, a cloud of steam billowing from its nostrils, and lowered its head. The stone beneath its hooves cracked as it shifted its weight, muscles rolling beneath its hide.
Corin stepped forward the final step before entering the chamber fully and placed his body protectively in front of the passageway entrance, blocking the Minotaur’s view of Ariadne.
This is it, he thought, heart hammering so loud it felt like the Labyrinth could hear it. This is how they did it. This is how I do it.
He knew that this could do it for him, let him escape the maze. He’d fought beasts just nearly as large before. He could fight the Minotaur. Kill it. Take its psyche. Win. And the Labyrinth would open its path for him. The stone would yield. The doors would part.
It would be his escape. Bought with blood.
Corin would still have to wait the mandatory three days and nights before he could leave, but at least he knew he would be able to leave this cold, dark place. He could survive the rest of his mandatory time.
He could almost smile at the realization were it not for the beast he was preparing to face.
His grip tightened on his sword.
Behind him, Ariadne inhaled sharply. “Please. Don’t–”
“I know,” he said. “Stay behind me. I’ll protect you.”
“Protect–?” she scoffed. “You heroes… You do not know what you think you do, heir. I beg of you! Let’s turn around!”
The Minotaur pawed at the ground, its breath coming out faster now. It was watching him—not knowing whether to charge or wait longer. It was just assessing. Waiting.
If I kill it, Corin thought, I can leave.
The idea lodged itself in his chest like a splinter. It was so easy, he thought. And the Labyrinth had practically handed him the opportunity. He wondered briefly if the maze had always walked the heirs into a situation such as this. No wonder most heirs made it out of the trial.
He could see it already: daylight. Stone opening. The weight of the Labyrinth lifting from his bones. His uncle’s gold-drenched smile. Mirelle’s steady gaze. His people’s cheers of joy.
Freedom.
And this creature—myth, monster, beast—was standing between him and the exit.
And the Labyrinth was waiting to see what he would do.
The Minotaur bellowed then, as if demanding his attention. The sound tore through the corridor, vibrating through Corin’s ribs. The Labyrinth seemed to respond then with a low groan, walls shuddering as if in recognition and acceptance. Almost identical to how it seemed to accept Ariadne.
But he couldn’t think of that now. Corin raised his blade. He shifted in waiting, stepping forward just slightly.
It only took another harsh breath and a shift in sword from Corin before the Minotaur charged.
Stone shattered beneath its hooves as it surged forward, a large wall of muscle and horn and fury rushing towards the young heir.
Corin barely had time to brace before instinct took over.
He rolled to the side as one horn carved through the space where his chest had been only seconds before, the wind of it passing stealing his breath.
“No–wait!” Ariadne cried.
He didn’t listen.
He came up on one knee and slashed at the creature’s flank, blade biting deep into fur and flesh.
He swung his sword downward, slicing through the fur and muscle on the beast’s thigh.
The Minotaur roared, the sound so close it rattled Corin’s skull, and backhanded him with a forearm the size of a tree trunk.
Corin flew, hitting the wall hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, and tasted blood.
The beast did not give him time to recover.
It swung for him again. Corin raised his sword just in time for steel to meet bone with a shriek that rang down the corridor. A loud grunt escaped him as the force of the hit wrenched the weapon from his grip.
His sword skidded across the stone room and vanished into shadow with a sharp clang.
His heart lurched.
The Minotaur lowered its head and charged again.
Corin drove forward, rolling beneath the arc of its horns. Pain flared as one horn clipped his arm, tearing through fabric and flesh. Instantly, he felt the warmth of blood run down to his fingers.
He nearly cried out in pain but steeled himself with a clench of his teeth. He refused to show any signs of weakness to the beast. He had to succeed—he needed this monster’s psyche. He needed to get out.
He rose from behind the monster, already reaching for the dagger at his hip, and thanked the gods in that moment that he chose two weapons.
The Minotaur twisted faster than he expected.
A massive hand closed around Corin’s injured arm and squeezed.
White-hot pain exploded through his shoulder, and this time, he couldn’t stop the scream that escaped him.
His other hand came up on instinct to drive the dagger into the creature’s wrist—once, twice—until it released him with a bellow of rage.
It shot backwards, steam escaping through its nostrils.
Corin could see a stream of dark red blood drip down from the monster onto the stone that lay before them, and he imagined his own growing pool of blood looked similar.
They circled each other then, both bleeding but not willing to give in to the other.
Corin’s chest heaved. His arm burned something fierce and was slick with blood. It was more painful than any injury he had faced before.
The Minotaur was stomping and snorting, one eye half-lidded, as blood started to matte the fur along its side. It was limping slightly—just enough. Enough for Corin to move in.
This is it, Corin thought once again. This is how I leave.
When the beast lunged again, Corin met it head-on with a renewed sense of determination.
He ducked beneath the swing of its horns and leapt, grabbing onto coarse fur and muscle as he hauled himself up its back. The Minotaur thrashed and bellowed a loud groan.
The world became constant motion and heat and the smell of blood, but Corin drove his knees into its spine and clung on as it bucked.
“Corin!” Ariadne shouted, panic cracking her voice. “Stop! Please, stop!”
He didn’t notice the shaking of the walls around him in anger and warning.
He raised the dagger.
The back of the Minotaur’s skull filled his vision, the perfect place. One strike. One clean thrust. He could feel it already—the rush, the release, the Labyrinth opening its jaws to let him go.
Ariadne’s voice broke. “Please! Please, don’t!”
Those were the words that broke through to him. The pain seeping into her voice shocked Corin into freezing. The emotion, he realized, wasn’t quite fear.
No. It was devastation.
For whatever reason, Corin hesitated. He paused in his strike, the dagger remaining over his head with a clear path to release the Minotaur’s psyche.
He froze for just a heartbeat, but it was enough.
The Minotaur twisted violently, slamming itself into the wall. Corin lost his grip immediately and was thrown hard across the corridor. He hit the ground hard and skidded across the floor, pain detonating through his ribs and bloodied arm as his back spasmed and his dagger clattered from his hand.
The Minotaur staggered, shook its massive head, and looked at Ariadne.
Corin tried to get up, wanting to protect her from this beast, but his body refused to move.
“Go,” she whispered, voice half broken.
Corin groaned, but the words didn’t seem to be directed at him.
The Minotaur huffed.
“Please.”
Something passed between them then—something Corin couldn’t yet name.
Then the beast turned and ran, hooves pounding as it disappeared into the twisting dark, leaving behind blood, broken stone, and a silence that rang louder than any roar.