XIX
Nothing in the Labyrinth was ever truly bright except for Ariadne’s chamber, but it was a bit brighter in this portion of the hall.
The air felt thinner. Less oppressive. The walls became smoother, too, the more they walked. The stone was clearly worn down by centuries of passage as opposed to teeth and claws, but other walls had felt rough and pieced together.
They were moving quickly, too quickly for Corin to stop and think about the passages they were moving through.
The corridor opened into a space that tugged at something deep in Corin’s memory. Something that felt strange, and he couldn’t quite get a handle on what it was.
He slowed.
“What are you doing?” Ariadne asked sharply, grabbing his wrist. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”
But he couldn’t. Memories had started to rush over him.
His gaze lifted, tracing the familiar curve of the archway, the subtle fracture in the stone to the left, the faint indentation in the floor where countless feet had crossed the same threshold.
He swallowed. “This is–” His breath caught. “This is where I came in.”
Understanding flickered across Ariadne's face, followed immediately by alarm. “Yes. And we cannot stay here.”
The growl behind them surged, louder now that Corin had paused, no longer a distant hum tracking them. It scraped along the corridors like a living thing dragging its hunger forward. The stone beneath Corin’s boots vibrated faintly with each sound.
But Corin barely heard it. Barely felt it.
This was it.
The entrance.
The beginning and the end.
He pulled free of Ariadne’s grasp and took a few slow steps forward, eyes unfocused as his thoughts spiraled inward. If killing the Minotaur wasn’t the answer, if strength and blood meant nothing, then what did the maze want from him?
A sacrifice. He nearly scoffed.
Not his death. Not his flesh. Though he supposed the Labyrinth may actually want to take that.
But truly, it demanded something else from him.
But what?
Pride? No, his uncle had paid that price, and he refused to be his uncle.
Fear? He was drowning in it. Had been since he entered the threshold.
He blinked a few times, trying and failing to understand the Labyrinth. What did it want from him?
His future? His crown? His life beyond these walls?
The growl roared. It was a deep thunderous sound that made his heart stutter. The sound was close enough now that he could feel it in his chest.
Still, he did not move. He couldn’t.
“Heir,” Ariadne hissed, panic bleeding into her tone. “You need to move. We need to move. Now!”
But he was still, staring at the threshold, at the memory of stepping forward willingly and believing survival was something that could be earned through violence alone.
Maybe the Labyrinth didn’t want to take something.
Maybe it wanted him to leave something behind.
A sharp crack rang out. Pain bloomed across his cheek, bright and sudden, snapping his head to the side. Corin gasped, stunned, as his thoughts scattered like startled birds.
Ariadne stood in front of him, her hand still raised and eyes blazing.
“Think later,” she demanded. “Run now.”
The growl exploded into a full-throated roar, so close it felt like breath at his back.
That did it.
Corin didn’t argue. He turned and ran, following Ariadne as they bolted down the familiar hallways. Stone and shadow blurred around them. Whatever was hunting them down thundered forward in their wake, the Labyrinth howling in answer as if thrilled by the chase.
They ran like their lives depended on it, and Corin supposed they did. Whatever this monster was could very well kill them—or at the very least, harm them severely.
They tore around a corner just as the corridor ahead yawned open, stone peeling back when the Labyrinth itself had decided—at the last possible moment—to allow them passage. Corin barely had time to register the shift before the wall behind them slammed shut.
The sound was deafening.
Stone crashed against stone with a finality that made his bones ache. Dust rained down, stinging his eyes, and the growling roar was cut short into a furious muffled bellow.
The two pressed themselves against the far wall as the sound of heavy footfalls thundered past on the other side. The monster charged the path they had just taken, completely unaware the world had sealed it against them.
The sound slowly faded. One set of footsteps. Then none.
Silence crept back in around them, thick and ringing.
Corin bent over, hands bracing on his knees as he dragged air into his lungs. His chest burned. His legs were trembling in the aftermath of the threat. Ariadne stood a few paces away, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her breath uneven.
She was the first to break the quiet. “What,” she said tightly, “was that?”
Corin stiffened his spine, still catching his breath. “I–” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I think it was something old. Big. It didn’t sound like anything I’ve run into before. Here or above.”
Her eyes flashed. “You think?” She took a sharp step toward him.
“I know every monster in this Labyrinth, whether it be large or small. I was not asking you about what monster just nearly tried to kill us.” She scoffed and shook her head.
“You stopped. You stood there while it was hunting us. What was that?”
“I was thinking,” he shot back, heat rising in his chest.
“Thinking,” she echoed with a scoff.
“Yes, thinking.”
“What could you possibly have been thinking about when we were being chased by a monster?”
“I just–” he stopped himself. He blinked a few times. How could he put his thoughts into words that she could understand? “I just needed to think.”
“Thinking gets you killed here.”
He bristled. “I wasn’t helpless. If it had reached us, I could’ve fought it off.”
Ariadne laughed once—short and sharp, without any humor. “You have an unpracticed blade. You were exhausted and halfway lost inside your own head. And I was supposed to know you could fight off that monster?”
“I’ve fought worse,” Corin insisted, though the words felt hollow. “I fought your brother.”
Her eyes rolled. “That was different, and you know that.”
They stared at each other, the air between them tight with frustration. Corin opened his mouth to argue again, then stopped.
Her hands were shaking. Not with anger. Not with lingering tiredness of the chaos they encountered. Not with fear of what chased them.
With him.
The realization hit him harder than the slap had. Ariadne wasn’t pale because of the monster. She wasn’t breathing fast because she’d nearly been caught. Those facts likely didn’t help, but she had probably faced every single monster in the Labyrinth over the years and lived.
She had been afraid for him.
Corin’s voice softened when he spoke again. “You thought I was going to die.”
She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze slid away, jaw tightening, as if she’d shared too much already by saying nothing at all.
“I have watched enough heirs,” she replied quietly, “to know how quickly confidence turns into a body the Labyrinth forgets.”
Something in her tone—old, tired, and sharp with memory—made his chest ache even more.
“I was not scared of the creature,” she admitted. “I was scared you would stand still long enough to let it decide for you.”
Corin swallowed. The argument drained out of him, leaving something much heavier behind. “I won’t do it again,” he said.
Not as a promise to survive, but as a promise to her.
Ariadne studied him for a long moment, as if weighing whether or not to believe him. Then she exhaled, slow and unsteady, and turned back down the new corridor.
He could have sworn he saw something in her eyes—something like pain or longing—but before he could focus too much on it, she had turned away from him.
“Come on,” she muttered. “Before the Labyrinth changes its mind.”
As he began to follow her, his thoughts sharpened with sudden clarity.
He knew what he needed to sacrifice.
But he also knew it would nearly kill him.