Chapter 21 — Trials

  There were four of them: Nikolai, Livi, Azila, and a warrior whose name Nikolai didn’t know. For long seconds after the maze had slammed shut around them, nothing happened. No echoes, no shifting walls—just silence.

  Then they all began breathing again, and the sound was deafening against the stillness. Nikolai looked around. The walls were sheer, smooth, without cracks or markings—pure marble without a single imperfection.

  Azila growled, “Fucking traps…”

  She was still holding the orb, glaring down at it. Nikolai wanted to say, Well, that’s what you get, idiot, but keeping that to himself seemed wise. Much as he hated her, she was still far stronger than he was—and here, strength was law.

  Livi placed a hand to the wall. “It’s nullstone… all of it. Nullstone! How did someone find this much? And in slabs this size…?”

  Nikolai didn’t know what nullstone was, but judging from her shaking voice, he guessed it resisted magic. The warrior experimentally drew a knife and scraped it along the surface. Not even the tiniest mark remained.

  “That isn’t good,” he muttered.

  Azila straightened. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a trap, but it’s also a puzzle. We have the orb. We reach the end, and the maze will likely drop.”

  The others nodded. Nikolai didn’t trust that answer, it sounded too easy—and seconds later, he was, much to his regret, proven right. A bubbling mass of black ooze began seeping from the floor.

  Livi’s eyes widened. “Acid! Move!”

  No one needed convincing. They broke into a jog down the narrow corridor. At the first junction Azila hesitated, then pointed right. Another junction—left this time—and then a dead end.

  She cursed, and they backtracked. Another dead end. More cursing. And then they reached what Nikolai thought was the original junction… the ooze was now a wall, completely messing with his sense of physics.

  It rose to the ceiling and began rolling towards them at a steady pace.

  They went straight this time, and thus began a frantic, disorienting rush through the maze. There were no landmarks, no patterned floors, no cracks—just grey stone. They couldn’t mark anything, and every dead end forced them closer to the advancing acid wall as they had to backtrack.

  Nikolai wondered how the acid didn’t simply flow like water, but the answer became obvious when they had to backtrack for the sixth time. The acid was close enough for him to see that it wasn’t fluid at all—more like a thick gel. And, of course, magic was at play, because what else could cause something like that.

  He nearly ran into the warrior when the group halted. They had reached a square chamber, its walls riddled with small holes.

  Azila hissed. “Trap room. Shit.” She tossed a small pouch into the center. A moment later, fast-moving projectiles shot from every wall in a perfect, deadly sequence.

  “We have to map the pattern!” Livi gasped, breathless.

  Nikolai glanced back. There was absolutely no time for that. He tapped the warrior’s shoulder. The man looked over—and his eyes went wide.

  “Shit. Azila, we have to move. Now!”

  Azila looked and cursed louder than ever. She took a step forward, stopped, and growled in frustration. “We won’t get through without injuries. At the very least.”

  Nikolai didn’t want to speak, but being melted alive was not high on his wish list. He stepped past the warrior and looked at Livi. “You have a barrier spell?”

  Livi glared. “Of course I do, but—”

  “Shut up, no time. I have one too. We cover opposite sides and run. No other choice.”

  Azila spun on him. “You’re stage two. Your barrier is useless here, brat!”

  “Better a few cuts than being dissolved,” Nikolai shot back. “You want to argue about my shortcomings, or move?” He gestured toward the rapidly approaching ooze.

  The warrior growled, “damnit Azila, we go. Now!”

  Azila hissed but gestured for Livi to listen to Nikolai. Livi took up the rear, Nikolai the front. Azila positioned herself to protect them with her armor but was definitely close to Livi, while the warrior’s shield covered the right.

  Nikolai sucked in a breath and summoned a domed barrier covering the front. Livi did the same behind.

  “Go!” he shouted.

  They sprinted through. Projectiles hammered them immediately, the barriers flickering under the constant assault. Nikolai felt his mana drain at terrifying speed. Almost there. Almost—

  A hole punched through his barrier, striking the warrior’s shield. Another. And another. Livi’s barrier fared no better; the sheer volume of flying metal was overwhelming.

  Nikolai felt something slam into his shoulder—passing right through him. Another hit his leg.

  He burst from the trap room and rolled across the floor, ending in a bleeding heap. The others staggered out after him, battered but alive.

  His leg throbbed with white-hot pain, and blood soaked through ripped cloth. Livi looked worse than him—only the armored two had avoided serious damage.

  Azila knelt beside Livi, pouring a potion over her wounds. They began to knit closed. Then Azila looked at Nikolai, held his gaze, and poured the rest of the potion over a tiny scratch on her cheek. She didn’t smirk. She just watched him bleed.

  Nikolai looked inward—he still had mana. Enough for the leg, at least. He healed it, the flesh knitting painfully. His shoulder though, he could only stop from bleeding. He pushed himself upright, smirked at Azila, and leaned on the wall.

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  The warrior stepped over, helped steady him, then squeezed his shoulder lightly. “Good job.”

  They had a moment to rest, but the wall of gel-like acid was still coming.

  They moved again—slower but no less tense. The panic was controlled, but it simmered beneath every breath. Nikolai kept a low burn of soothe running, which was probably the only reason he wasn’t falling apart himself.

  He healed a little at a time as they moved, and managed to close his shoulder wound, but phantom pain lingered. Adrenaline helped.

  The corridors stretched impossibly long, far greater than the chamber they had initially entered. Nikolai wasn’t even convinced they were in the same physical space anymore.

  Azila called a halt. Livi was panting hard, the warrior winded, and Nikolai felt like vomiting.

  They’d gained distance from the acid, but now faced another square room—another obvious trap.

  This one was bare except for a large stone door on the far side, glowing inscriptions carved into it.

  They entered slowly. Nothing triggered. No blades, no arrows. No water filling the chamber. Nikolai’s anxiety peaked anyway, he just knew something was about to pop out anytime.

  They reached the door, and Livi squinted at the script. Nikolai didn’t recognize it, and even with Polyglot, he couldn’t parse it.

  “It’s a poem,” Livi breathed.

  “A poem?” Azila frowned. “You sure? What does it say?”

  Livi murmured through the lines, then recited:

  “When darkness surged and kingdoms broke,

  And hope lay drowning in smoke,

  They rose—not gods, nor born to reign,

  But hearts that dared to stand through oncoming flame.

  Three paths they walked, but one they swore:

  To guard the weak, to heal the sore,

  To burn with will the tide of night—

  And bear the weight without respite.

  The blade, the balm, the blazing soul,

  Each bound to one unyielding goal.

  Not glory called, nor golden prize,

  But those who wept with frightened eyes.

  And so they stood, and so they fell—

  As towers rang the final knell.

  Yet still their oath may bar the gate,

  For only those who bear their weight.”

  Nikolai had no context but guessed this referred to the Fifty-Two for which the place was named. Whatever they were. Something to research later—assuming he survived at all. A thought he forcefully threw to the back of his mind.

  Livi smiled faintly. “It’s them. The three factions within the Order of Final Light.”

  Azila frowned. “What factions?”

  Livi pointed at the lines. “Guardians, healers, mages.”

  Before she could elaborate, the warrior spoke. “There’s more.”

  Text had appeared on one wall—three smaller poems. Livi read each aloud:

  “Not mine the wound, yet still I bleed,

  Not mine the need, yet still I give.

  My strength, a balm for those who fall,

  My light, a torch against the pall.

  Let flesh be torn, let spirit wane—

  I hold the line through pain and strain.”

  “I speak, and chaos stills its breath.

  I reach, and flame bends back from death.

  Not born to serve, but to command—

  The storm obeys my outstretched hand.

  No shackle binds, no force compels—

  My will alone the silence quells.”

  “Let wrath descend and darkness fall—

  I am the shield, the final wall.

  My bones may break, my blood may spill,

  Yet still I stand, unbent in will.

  No blade shall pass, no terror shake—

  I guard the path for honor’s sake.”

  As the last words faded, the room shifted. A section of floor opened beside Nikolai. Something rose from below—a stone figure laid on a stone table. Near Livi, a pedestal emerged with a polished black top. And slits opened in one wall, weapons hovering out: swords, spears, axes.

  They stared. Livi alone seemed to make sense of it.

  “Three things,” she murmured. “Three factions… one purpose.”

  She pointed. “The doll is cracked—something the healer must mend. The weapons must be the warrior’s task. But the pedestal… what does—”

  The ceiling began to descend.

  Everything erupted at once. The weapons shot to life, flying toward Azila and the warrior. Azila shouted, “We’ll handle them! Figure the puzzle out!”

  Livi spun to Nikolai. “Heal it!”

  He rushed to the stone figure and laid a hand on it. To his shock, it felt alive—or something close. He sensed the damage running through it.

  “That’s… a lot,” he muttered.

  “Just do it!” Livi snapped.

  He poured healing into it. The magic took well—almost more efficiently than normal, though he didn’t question why.

  Livi touched the pedestal, hesitated—and gasped as the ceiling froze mid-descent and began to retreat. She lifted her hand. It started falling again. She slammed her palm back down.

  “To burn away the will of the night…” she whispered. “Mages—the power to hold back the world itself. I’m… holding up the sky.”

  She looked over her shoulder at Nikolai, desperation clear. “Hurry up damn it, I won’t last long.”