XXV #2
And somehow, from wherever she was, he knew—he knew she would feel it too.
The opening yawned in the stone like a held breath as its cold air spilled steadily into the Hall of Due. No light followed. No figures. Just silence. Thick. Expectant.
Uneasy.
Corin stood at the edge of the threshold for several moments. He knew she wouldn’t be waiting for him; she had no reason to do so. But he was hopeful she would find her way to him quickly. Otherwise, he was poised to enter once again.
Then, finally, from far below, a roar echoed through the opening.
It was deep and animalistic, reverberating through the stone that surrounded them. Several nobles cried out. He could hear someone falling back and stumbling into a crowd of people.
Faintly, he heard his uncle suggest maybe they close the entrance again. A priest agreed and began to speak urgently, voice shaking as he argued this was proof the maze should never have been disturbed outside of a trial.
Corin paid them little mind. He did not move.
Another sound followed: hooves striking against stone. A distant bellow. The unmistakable presence of something vast and alive. He hoped it was the Minotaur and not a monster seeking out the entrance to be released into the world.
Minutes passed.
The tension began to sag under its own weight. Murmurs spread. Some people looked away. Others whispered that perhaps nothing more would come of it—that maybe the king had only opened a wound that would quietly seal itself again.
Corin took some deep breaths to calm his erratic heart. He tried to count the seconds, but that was only causing further worry to settle into him.
Then, a small twinge caught his eye.
It was hardly noticeable, so thin that anyone could have looked past it. But there was a bit of golden thread tied to an outstretched piece of stone in the walls.
Thread that was being pulled.
He traced the line as far as he could into the darkness of the Labyrinth. He couldn’t see it too far, but it was there. It was being tugged on. Someone was using the thread to find the entrance.
He wasn’t sure how this thread had become tied to the stone. He didn’t want to question it. It had happened—whether that was fate, the Labyrinth, or Ariadne—and it was surely leading her to him.
The veins flared.
And Corin grinned.
The veins were not faint. Not gradual. Not anymore.
Gold erupted through the stone like lightning frozen in place.
The veins all ignited at once, racing outward from the opening and across the floor, up the pillars and along the walls.
Reaching places Corin didn’t even know they could.
The hall was quickly filled with the warm, living light of the Labyrinth.
His people were bathed in the light, just as he had been inside of the maze.
And from the darkness, a figure emerged.
She moved slowly, hesitantly, as though the ground was warning it might betray her. Gold weaved over her hair and skin alike, veins of light tracing her form just as they traced the maze. Her expression was wary, disbelieving—and rightfully so. She seemed caught somewhere between hope and fear.
The sight of her sent shockwaves through Corin. Joy and hope released from his chest, and a rush of air released from his lips. A breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Seeing her so close again sent him reeling.
She was magnificent. She was wary, of course, and he couldn’t blame her, but behind the hesitation on her face was the face of who he knew. Of who he cared deeply for.
Behind her, as if guarding her emotions, came the Minotaur. It followed its sister, the massive body carefully keeping step with her.
A collective gasp swept the hall, and he wasn’t sure if the sound was from the sight of Ariadne, the Minotaur, or both of them.
“You heard,” Corin breathed as soon as she came close enough to hear him.
She stopped at the threshold, eyes locking onto him. The distance between them was only a few steps now, yet it might as well have been a chasm.
His fingers itched. He wanted to reach out to touch her so badly. It wouldn’t take many steps to do so. But he stopped himself. She had to accept this just as he had.
Ariadne glanced behind Corin to see all the people gathered to watch them. “This is not…” she began, then faltered. She cast her gaze back to the new king. “It does not do this.”
“I know.”
She blinked. “I thought… maybe you… maybe you died. And there was a new heir.”
Corin was sure, if her feelings for him were as strong as his for her, that the idea he was dead would have been crushing. He couldn’t imagine what she had felt, what she was feeling at that realization.
“I’m here,” Corin said, confidence and hope seeping into his voice.
She hesitated, watching him closely as neither of them spoke for a long moment.
So Corin took a step closer, careful not to cross the boundary yet. “It will stay open. I swear it.”
Ariadne blinked. “It will?”
“I came back for you—just like I said I would.”
Her gaze flickered past him, to the expectant crowd behind him. To the priests. To the world she hadn’t been allowed to touch in centuries. “So you did.”
Corin smiled softly. “So come with me.”
She paused again, pulling at her fingers a few times. “I do not know if I can,” she admitted with a whisper.
“I do,” he said. “And I won’t leave without you.”
Once again, she hesitated, anguish written plainly across her face.
Corin thought for a second, just a small second, that this was right. That this was his choice. That he wasn’t choosing her over the crown, but that this was him choosing her. The crown was going to be there for him no matter what.
Before anyone could stop him, Corin stepped forward. Once again stepping into the Labyrinth.
Shouts erupted behind him. Someone—a priest, likely, grabbed at his sleeve and missed. Warnings rang out, sharp and panicked.
The Minotaur growled. It wasn’t as deep as he was used to hearing from the beast, but a warning all the same. Corin cast his eyes towards the monster and offered it a shaky grin. “I do not wish to harm you.” Then his eyes met Ariadne again. “Either of you.”
“What are you doing?” Ariadne rushed out. She was staring at him with wide eyes.
He tilted his head as his grin widened. It was a soft grin, but one full of certainty. “I am ending it.”
The maze hummed around them then, alive and watchful. Corin drew in a steady breath and spoke clearly, deliberately.
“Ariadne.”
The sound of her name ripped through the Labyrinth like a stone dropped into still water. Light surged through the veins, brighter than before, but there was no recoil. No rumbling of stone. No sense of warning or punishment or fury.
Only acceptance.
She gasped, a hand flying to her chest. The maze did not resist her. It did not tighten or close or rage.
It let her be.
Her eyes filled with tears. “It did not–”
“I know.”
She swallowed, voice trembling as she spoke for the first time without fear. “Corin.”
The sound of his name—spoken by her—hit him harder than any blade ever had. He laughed once, breathless, as joy and relief came crashing through him all at once.
Finally she had been able to say his name, to accept him, without rage. And his heart was so ecstatic that he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out.
She hesitated only a fraction of a moment before placing her hand in his.
And together, they stepped forward—out of the Labyrinth. Out of her prison.
The golden veins dimmed behind them. They weren’t extinguished, but a sense of calm came over them. Whole. The stone did not close. It did not chase them.
It simply watched them go.
And for the first time in centuries, the Labyrinth let its heart walk free.