The labyrinth had gone silent.
When the great gate closed, the tremors that had once shaken the world faded into nothing. The echoes vanished. The oppressive hum of the labyrinth's living walls retreated, leaving only the hollow quiet of stone and shadow. It was as if the place had fallen asleep its endless whispers buried beneath the weight of stillness.
Outside, beneath an open sky filled with stars, three figures sat surrounded by mist.
The world beyond the labyrinth felt neither alive nor dead. The air carried no sound of night creatures, no rustle of wind or grass. Only the quiet breath of the mist lingered soft, slow, and unending. The three sat within that pale shroud as if the world itself had forgotten them.
A fire burned at their center, flickering gently, its glow a faint defiance against the endless gray.
The first figure was a woman. Her hair was long and black, strands falling like liquid shadow across her shoulders. Her eyes—greenish, faintly luminous—reflected the shifting light of the fire. She held a thin stick in her hand, turning a strip of meat slowly above the flame, the scent of smoke and charred fat filling the air. Her expression was calm, almost indifferent, as if the world's silence did not touch her at all.
Beside her sat a man, perhaps in his twenties, his face half-lit by the glow. His black hair was unkempt, his clothes torn and faded by travel, the edges stained with dust and dried blood. The fatigue in his features told of days without rest. He stared at the fire, eyes unfocused, the shadows deep beneath them.
The third figure sat slightly apart from the others. He was younger though how young, none could say. His presence was quiet, nearly unreal, as though he might dissolve into the mist at any moment. A katana rested against his back, its hilt wrapped in worn black cloth. One of his eyes was hidden beneath a lock of hair that fell across his face; the other gleamed faintly in the dim light, unreadable. His clothes were dark, pristine compared to the others an unnatural contrast that only deepened his silence.
For a long while, none of them spoke. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire.
Then the man in his twenties exhaled and spoke first, his voice low and uncertain.
"Do you think he'll make it?"
The question hung in the mist for a while, unanswered. The man continued, his gaze still on the fire.
"I mean… it's the Trial of the Gods. They call it that for a reason, right? No one who's entered that place has ever come out the same. If they came out at all."
The woman didn't look up. She turned the stick slowly, watching the firelight dance across the meat. "You talk too much," she said finally, her tone dry, disinterested.
The younger one didn't move. He sat motionless, gaze locked on the flames, his thoughts hidden behind that calm, distant face. The mist curled faintly around him, swallowing his outline, making him look more like a shadow than a person.
The man sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You both could at least pretend to care," he muttered, half to himself. "We've come this far, nearly died in that damned forest, and the least you could do is—"
"Worry?" the woman interrupted, her tone sharp enough to cut through the quiet. She tore off a piece of the roasted meat, chewed slowly, and swallowed before continuing. "He knew what he was doing when he went in. You did too. None of us are children, are we?"
The man frowned, his gaze flicking toward her. The firelight revealed the faint scars across his knuckles, the worn look in his eyes.
"Maybe not," he said. "But calling that thing a trial feels like an insult. The labyrinth nearly killed us before we even reached the gate. If we hadn't stumbled on that ridge when we did—"
"Luck," the woman said simply. "That's all it was."
The younger one shifted slightly then, his voice calm, almost whisper-like. "Luck or not… we're still here."
The man gave a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, barely."
He stared into the fire again, its soft glow reflecting in his eyes. The flames twisted and cracked, sending sparks spiraling upward into the mist, where they vanished without trace.
"It's strange," he said after a moment. "That forest, the labyrinth… it didn't feel natural. The air was thick, like it was alive. Breathing. Watching. I swear I heard something whisper my name."
The woman said nothing, only tore another bite from the meat. The sound of her chewing was steady, unhurried.
Finally, she spoke, her tone softer this time. "Places like this don't forget the dead. The world holds memory, especially where too much blood has been spilled. Maybe what you heard wasn't calling to you. Maybe it was remembering someone else."
The man's jaw tightened. "I don't need ghosts remembering me," he muttered.
"Then you shouldn't have come," she replied simply.
He gave a quiet scoff. "Easy for you to say."
Another long silence passed between them. The fire popped once, scattering faint embers across the ground.
Then, as if the question had been sitting too long inside him, the man looked up and asked, "Why are we really here?"
The woman blinked, finally looking up at him.
"I mean it," he continued. "You said we were here to find a Key of Blasphemy, right? But why this one? Why now? You both said everything was gone, that there was nothing left to find. So why drag us through the edge of the world chasing something that probably doesn't exist?"
The woman exhaled, a soft sound that might have been a sigh. She tossed the half-eaten stick aside and leaned back slightly, eyes glinting faintly in the firelight.
"I told you already," she said. "We're looking for this key because it holds something we need. The truth. The truth about what happened that day."
Her voice faded near the end, as if the words themselves weighed too much to speak. She stared into the fire, her pupils reflecting the glow, and for a moment, her calm mask wavered.
The man frowned, sensing the shift. "You mean the War?"
The woman nodded once. "The day the sky burned. The day the shard fell down into the earth. The day everything changed."
The younger one spoke then, his tone as soft as before. "You were there."
It wasn't a question.
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't deny it. "I saw enough."
The man leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his voice low. "And him?"
Her gaze flicked toward the labyrinth, the faint outline of its entrance barely visible through the mist. "He saw more than anyone should."
The younger one's expression didn't change. The mist seemed to thicken around him, hiding half his face.
The man looked down at the fire again, his thoughts darkening. "So, this is about revenge then?"
"Not revenge," the woman replied. "Understanding."
"Understanding doesn't bring the dead back."
"No," she said quietly. "But it keeps them from being forgotten."
The man fell silent. His hand moved unconsciously toward the small charm tied around his wrist a dull metal ring engraved with faint runes. He turned it once, watching it catch the light.
"I don't really understand you," he said at last.
"You don't have to," she answered.
The quiet returned then, heavier than before. The stars above them shimmered faintly through the mist, distant and uncaring. Somewhere far off, the faint echo of wind whispered through unseen trees, though the air around them remained still.
The woman leaned back, closing her eyes. The younger one continued to stare into the flames, lost in thought. The man looked from one to the other, as though trying to find something an answer, perhaps, or just comfort.
He found neither.
After a while, he muttered, "You really think he'll make it?"
No one answered this time.
The fire burned low. The mist thickened.
And above them, the stars flickered faintly, their light distorted by the shifting veil of fog, as if the heavens themselves were unsure whether they should watch.
The man lifted his gaze, staring into that endless gray sky. Somewhere deep in the labyrinth behind them, he thought he heard something a sound like a breath, a pulse, or perhaps the distant echo of the gate.
But it faded quickly, leaving only the soft rhythm of the fire.
He sighed and leaned back, whispering to no one in particular.
"I just hope whatever he's looking for… it's worth it."
No one replied. The mist swallowed his words, carrying them into the still night.
The flames burned on.