Chapter 37 #2
A mawless barrels toward me, mid-strike. I duck, pivot, and thrust my conjured blade straight through its chest. The creature bursts apart in a cloud of ash that scatters like smoke in the wind.
Pain sears across my back before I can turn. A cry rips out of me as hot blood runs down my spine. The second mawless is already pulling back for another strike. Snarling, I spin, driving both weapons into its body. Light flares, blinding, and then it too bursts into ash.
I gasp for breath. My back burns. My hands tremble. I’m faster and stronger than before, yes, but I only survived because these things were weaker than the first one I fought. If they hadn’t been, I have no doubt I’d be dead.
I force myself onward, each step heavy. The Labyrinth twists again, leading me to five more dead ends, each one gnawing at what little strength I have left. But then, the air shifts. The path ahead opens. I can feel that the end is close.
Still, no Serenya.
My stomach sinks. I’d hoped to find her, to shield her from whatever this cursed trial throws at us. But she’s not here. She’s somewhere else, fighting her own horrors that I can’t protect her from. I close my eyes for the briefest moment and whisper a prayer through dry lips.
“Please, Phynnera, let her be safe.”
The portal glows ahead of me, no more than twenty feet. Relief floods me. I push forward—
And stop dead when someone steps into my path.
My eyes widen. Kallan.
Not the Kallan from my dreams. Not the one who speaks in shadows, offering fragments of his memory. No, this one is different. His expression twists with something darker. His smile is like a blade.
“You think you can protect her?” His voice drips with mockery. “You think you can take my place at her side?” His grin is sinister. “Prove it.”
He lunges.
I raise my blade—my magic coating the steel in light—catching his strike with a clang that rattles my bones. He laughs, and it sounds so wrong it makes my skin crawl.
“Even stealing my fighting tactics,” he sneers, his own blade igniting with fire.
We clash. The sound of steel becomes relentless music, echoing in the narrow stone corridors. Neither of us lands a true blow. His movements mirror mine exactly, every step, every strike, every twist.
Realization hits me—cold and crushing.
He’s copying me. A perfect reflection. A mirror I cannot outfight.
My muscles burn. My breath grows ragged. He does not tire. He doesn’t falter. The fight is endless.
Desperation drives me. On the next clash, I hold the lock. My sword presses against his, sparks raining between us. My free hand shoots out, seizing his wrist. His fingers close around mine at the same instant, identical.
I grit my teeth, pouring my magic into him. It surges—hot, white fire racing down my arms, burning everything in its path.
The marks on my skin blaze. Too bright. I can barely see. It feels like I’m coming apart—burning from the inside out. Still, I push harder. Harder than I should. My chest’s about to split open. Ash coats my tongue. When I’m certain I’ll be torn apart by my own power, he bursts into ash.
I collapse to the ground, trembling, gasping for air that tastes of smoke.
I used too much magic. Every muscle shakes.
I drag myself upright with the help of the wall, legs unsteady but unwilling to fail me.
The portal glows ahead, a beacon. I stagger toward it, slow but determined, and step through.
The courtyard blazes with light as I reemerge. The orb, the one I had all but forgotten, drifts from my side and into Queen Zephyra’s waiting hands as she watches from the balcony above.
My legs threaten to buckle. My body screams for rest. But I lock my knees and hold. I won’t collapse. Not here. Not again. I’m stronger than I was during the second trial, and I want them to see it.
Torin strides up, grinning as he claps me on the shoulder. “You did it. Stage one of trial three, finished. You’re close to the end, my friend.”
All I can manage is a grunt.
“Let’s get you to a healer.”
“No.”
His brows lift in surprise. “What? You need a healer.”
“Is she back?” My voice is raw, low.
Torin hesitates. “…No. Not yet.”
“Then I’ll wait.” I take slow, dragging steps toward a stone bench at the edge of the courtyard and lower myself onto it.
“Koen.” He frowns, exasperated. “She’ll make it back. But what good will it do if you’re half-dead when she does?”
I don’t answer. I’m not worried about myself. I can’t be. My only thought is of her. If she doesn’t come back, then I’ll go back in.
Torin studies me, then exhales hard and shakes his head. Finally, he sits beside me.
And together, we wait.
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Serenya
I’m still crumpled over Koen’s lifeless body, my tears soaking into his tunic, when I hear footsteps. At first, I think the Labyrinth is playing tricks on me again—another cruelty meant to break me. Slowly, I lift my head.
Lioran.
For a heartbeat, I don’t breathe. His caramel curls are mussed, falling across his brow, and though he looks a little shaken, he’s still wearing that same unshakable, boyish brightness. It feels wrong to see something so familiar and alive in this place.
He isn’t looking at me. His eyes wander the ballroom like he’s walking into a dream he doesn’t trust. Finally, they land on me.
He falters, just as unsure as I am. His green eyes flicker with exhaustion, relief, then disbelief.
For a strange, fragile moment, I wonder if he thinks I’m another illusion too.
His presence pulls me back from the edge. It’s a relief to see something real, or at least something that feels real, after being forced to watch both the men I love die.
“…Ren…” His voice cracks slightly, and I can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips.
“It’s me,” he says, as if afraid I’ll vanish.
I study him warily, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “But how do I know you’re you?”
His mouth quirks into a grin. “How ‘bout this. We’ll say our favorite candy at the same time. Since we share a favorite and all.”
The ridiculousness of it makes me laugh softly, but I nod anyway. “Alright. One…two…three—”
“Sea salt vanilla caramels!” we blurt in unison, and the sound of our laughter echoes in the ballroom. Just like that, we’re just friends again, and not pawns in a Labyrinth that wants us dead.
He reaches down and helps me stand. His hand is warm and grounding. “I’m relieved to see you’re ok—” He cuts himself off, his gaze catching on my swollen, red-rimmed eyes. His expression softens. “Are you… Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I answer quickly, forcing steadiness into my voice. “Thanks to you. I just had a moment, or two, of weakness. I’m fine now.” I manage a soft smile, though I don’t think it convinces either of us.
Before I can say more, the ballroom dissolves.
Stone walls rise around us, cold and towering, and in the blink of an eye, we’re standing in a narrow hallway. Two doors materialize. One in front of him, one in front of me.
“I don’t think it wants us together,” he mutters, eyebrows lifting.
“Then we will split up. Better not to test its temper.”
We exchange one last look.
“Lioran…thank you. You were exactly what I needed just now.”
He grins widely and nods, small but steady, and I return it before turning to my door.
The moment I step through, the world shifts again.
I’m in a vast stone maze, walls stretching endlessly upward. The sky overhead is dark and heavy, soft rain clings to my hair and lashes. Behind me, the door disappears. Because of course it does.
This is what I had expected the Labyrinth to be. Endless, bleak, and suffocating.
The sound of my boots echoes against wet stone as I turn corner after corner, stumbling into dead ends, backtracking, searching. Hours could pass here, and I’d never know.
I turn a corner and halt, stomach turning to ice.
Vampires .
Not just any vampires, but faces I know, faces burned into me. The ones who attacked that day. Leading them is the warlord—the one who struck the killing blow to Kallan.
My body doesn’t tremble. My knees don’t buckle. I don’t cry.
Instead, rage pours through me, clouding my vision until there’s only red. My shadows unfurl hungrily around me and form daggers in each of my hands. I prefer a sword, but for this, speed will serve me better.
I’m not afraid. Not even a little.
A sharp smile tugs at my lips. Now this, I understand. Emotions destroy me, but battle steadies me.
I send my shadows lashing forward. They tear into the seven soldiers behind the warlord, devouring them whole until nothing but drifting ash remains. It’s over too quickly, and disappointment cuts through me.
I launch forward. Shadow meets steel as the warlord parries me, blow for blow, but my fury drives me harder. I’m not fighting the real vampire who stole half my soul that day, but the Labyrinth has given me his face. And that’s enough.
Every strike is fueled by twenty-eight years of grief and loss. I see Kallan’s face, terrified as he pushed me away to save me. I see him lying in his own blood. I see myself performing the Luminara, watching his body dissolve into stardust as my shadows wept beside me.
The warlord stumbles, and I can finish him. But I don’t. Not yet. I let the fight drag on, savoring every slash, every scream of my muscles. This is release. This is catharsis. Maybe this is the last thing I need to finally let him go.
When I feel the weight begin to lift, when the rage has bled into something lighter, I grin, wide and wild. And I release my shadows.
They surge with a vengeance, so violent even I flinch. The warlord doesn’t stand a chance. He bursts apart, ash scattered, and still my shadows devour even the dust until nothing is left. No trace that he ever existed.
They swirl back to me, wrapping around me like dark arms, triumphant. Comforting.
I laugh, soft, shaky, but real.
I move forward. This time, the maze bends more easily, fewer dead ends blocking my path. Soon, the exit portal looms ahead.
I hesitate, not from fear, but because portals are always awful. They are sticky and cold and wrong. But I’m not allowed to vaelshad, so I step through.
Darkness greets me—the night sky above Syltheriel. My orb darts ahead, reappearing on my parents’ balcony where my mother stands. Her eyes, full of warmth, catch mine, and she gives the smallest nod.
“Serenya.”
I turn at the sound of my name. Torin sits on a bench, and beside him—
Koen. Unconscious.
I rush to him, knees dropping to the ground hard enough to bruise. I don’t ask questions, don’t even breathe. My fingers work frantically to open his jacket, tearing his shirt to expose his chest.
Torin silently helps me remove his jacket and shirt the rest of the way and roll him, exposing only bruises and a deep gash across his back—not nearly enough to explain why he isn’t waking.
I hold my hand over the wound, letting my shadowlight flow into him. The wound closes, leaving only a scar. Still, he doesn’t stir.
My shadows curl around him tenderly, brushing his skin lovingly.
I glance at Torin.
“You’re relieved.” My voice is firm.
He hesitates. “But—”
I don’t let him finish. Shadows surge around Koen and me , swallowing us whole until the world falls away.
When it clears, we’re in my chambers.
He lies sprawled on the floor. My gaze flicks to my bed, then back at him.
“Shadows,” I murmur, “help me move him.”
They obey immediately, cradling his head and shoulders.
I roll my eyes at their eagerness. They like him far too much.
I grab his legs, and together we heave him onto the mattress.
Even with their help, his sheer size—six-five, muscled, unyielding—makes it a struggle.
I’m still not sure how I managed to drag him so far from the mawless .
At last, he rests on my bed.
After I wash up and put on a nightdress, I pull his boots off. Then I fetch a damp cloth, wiping away the blood and dirt streaking his face and arms. He’s still bare-chested when I draw the duvet over him.
Lying next to him feels far too intimate, even though we’ve already slept next to each other during the second trial. I tell myself that was just for survival. Circumstance. This feels different. Dangerous, somehow. My pulse races at the thought.
I’ll just use my reading chair. Yeah, I’ll curl up there with a blanket and sleep.
But when I glance at it, the pain in my bones protests. I went through that trial too. I fought; I endured. I deserve the comfort of my own bed. Why should I exile myself to the corner of my own chambers?
Still, my feet can’t carry me there. Instead, I pace, chewing the inside of my cheek, arms folded tightly across my chest.
Maybe I should have taken him to his own chambers.
That would’ve been safer. But bringing him here felt right, in a way I can’t explain. Instinctive, almost.
I stop pacing and look at the bed. At him. My bed is wide enough. If I stay on the opposite side, there will be space. Distance. No risk.
Yet, the thought of that distance feels emptier than it should.
I hesitate one last heartbeat before sighing and climbing in with careful movements. I settle on the farthest edge from him, blankets drawn tight around me.
The space between us doesn’t feel like a wall.
It feels like a thread, invisible and pulling, as if the air itself bends toward him.
My eyes stray despite my best effort, tracing the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way sleep smooths his features into peace.
He looks unburdened, almost gentle. Gods, something in me aches at the sight. Something dangerous and hopeful.
I force myself to keep still, to respect the distance I’ve drawn. The longer I watch him, the lighter my chest feels. As though for the first time in years, the weight pressing down has shifted just slightly off my heart.
Eventually, my lids grow heavy. My last thought before sleep claims me is not of fear, or pain, or even guilt. It’s how safe he looks lying there. And how safe I feel lying here beside him.