Morning came the way it always did—thin light sliding through blinds, dust motes drifting, the quiet insistence of a new day.
Evan lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling like it might offer patch notes. His room looked like a staging area instead of a bedroom: half-unpacked boxes, a folded blanket that hadn't made it to a closet, a duffel bag slumped in the corner like it had given up.
He'd slept. Really slept. The kind of sleep you earned after hauling furniture and pretending your arms didn't ache.
And yet the air felt wrong—too charged, too expectant—like the pause before a boss fight.
A soft shimmer of light hovered at the edge of his vision.
Evan blinked. It didn't go away.
A pale interface, clean and otherworldly, assembled itself in front of him as if it had been waiting for his eyelids to open.
[Time Remaining: 12:03:17]
So it hadn't been a dream. Not the voice. Not the egg. Not the choice he'd made half asleep because "delay" had sounded like "later," and "later" had sounded like "not my problem."
He sat up, rubbing his face with both hands until his palms dragged his cheeks down. A reflexive attempt to wake himself from a reality that refused to blink out. Evan swung his legs off the bed, stood, and felt the familiar pull of exhaustion in his shoulders. Then he looked down—and the second difference slammed into him.
The egg. It wasn't shimmering anymore.
It sat on his dresser like a piece of carved night, ostrich-sized, heavy and silent. The everchanging iridescence was gone, replaced by a dull, stone-like surface that swallowed the morning light instead of reflecting it. Like something had fossilized in an instant.
Evan stared at it for too long, the way you stared at a cracked mirror hoping it would un-crack if you apologized. He had the vague, sick memory of the chime. Of the word ALONE.
The stone egg didn't respond, but the bond did—an invisible tether behind his sternum that reminded him it was still his. Still bound. Still not going anywhere.
Evan exhaled slowly, forcing his mind to do what it did best when things got weird: pick a next step.
Elara.
If anyone in this house had turned panic into a checklist, it was his sister.
He pulled on a hoodie, stepped into the hall, and followed the scent of coffee that hadn't existed in the house yesterday.
Elara was on the couch like she'd been there all night—which, judging by the shadows beneath her eyes and the rigid steadiness of her posture, she probably had.
The television was on, volume low. The news anchor wore the kind of strained expression people wore when they'd been trying to sound calm for too many hours. A rotating banner at the bottom of the screen flashed half-coherent updates and cautionary advice.
She looked poised, her snow-white hair was tied back in a ponytail. Her gaze flicked between the TV and the laptop on the coffee table, with multiple tabs open.
And sitting on the kitchen table behind her, was an egg that continued shimmering like living opal.
Evan stopped in the doorway.
Elara glanced over. "You're up."
Evan shuffled forward, squinting at the laptop screen. "You stayed up?"
Elara's shoulders lifted a fraction. Not a shrug. More like an admission she didn't want to hand over.
Evan sat on the other end of the couch, letting it swallow him. He looked at the TV, where footage played of crowded streets, police lines, and people holding identical eggs in trembling arms. A reporter spoke quickly into a microphone while, behind her, a man shouted something incoherent at the sky.
The interface in Evan's vision pulsed softly.
[Time Remaining: 12:01:44]
He swallowed.
Elara noticed. She always noticed.
"Timer?" she asked.
Evan nodded.
Elara leaned back, eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see the same numbers. "Twelve hours," she said, more to herself than to him.
He tried to keep his tone light. "So… what's the plan, Captain?"
Elara's gaze slid to him. "The plan," she said, "depends on what you did."
Evan blinked innocently. "What I did?"
Elara didn't move. Didn't raise her voice. She simply stared at him, expression flat and unyielding.
He leaned his head back against the couch, feigning confusion with the casual ease of someone who'd been annoying his sister since they could talk. "What do you mean?"
Evan lasted three seconds.
"Okay," he said. "Right." He held up both hands in surrender. "I… may have clicked something."
Elara's eyes sharpened. "May."
"I was half asleep."
"Spill," she said.
Evan inhaled. He could joke around the edges of fear, but he couldn't joke it away.
"I delayed," he said.
Elara's jaw flexed once. Her gaze dropped, briefly, to his hands—as if expecting to see the egg there. Then she looked toward the kitchen table, where her egg shimmered calmly.
"Of course you did," she said, voice controlled enough to be dangerous.
Evan winced. "In my defense—"
"You were asleep."
"Yes," Evan said quickly. "Exactly. I was asleep. My thumb acted on instinct."
Elara's stare didn't soften. "Your instinct is to postpone the apocalypse."
Evan's mouth quirked despite himself. "I mean… if you put it like that, I sound responsible."
"Elara," Evan added, quieter, "I didn't understand. It felt like a dream. I thought—"
"I know," she cut in. Not kind, but not cruel. Just… factual.
Evan rubbed the back of his neck. "So you're not mad?"
She exhaled through her nose, then tapped her laptop trackpad, bringing up a forum thread. "Here," she said. "This is why I didn't choose yet." Avoiding the question.
Evan leaned forward.
On the screen, a chaotic flood of posts scrolled past. Some were pure panic. Some were memes—because humanity could meme at the end of the world if given the chance. Some were incoherent claims about angels, demons, aliens, or governments.
But a few posts were structured. They mimicked the notice interface—except the information was new, filled with categories and data he had not seen.
Elara clicked one. Information filled the screen:
[BEAST TAMING SYSTEM — ACTIVATED]
[Contract Holder: (Name Redacted)]
[Beast: ???]
[Talent: BRONZE]
[Strength: BLACK IRON (-)]
[Description: …]
Evan's eyebrows rose. "So… once you hatch, you get access to this."
"Yes," Elara said. "People are claiming it appears immediately after hatching. Only the individual can see it so we don't have proof its real. Apparently, it gives a summary of the beast's talent rank—how far it can grow naturally." She pointed at BLACK IRON (-). "And then some background information—sometimes generic, sometimes…"
She clicked another screenshot.
This one had a beast name—still blurred by whoever posted it, but the description text was visible:
[Description: This beast bears a dormant lineage not of this era…When the moon drinks the sea's reflection, its blood remembers.]
Evan read it twice. "That's not… helpful."
Elara's gaze was sharp. "It's a hint."
"It's poetry," Evan said.
"It's information," Elara corrected, like she was correcting a teammate's footwork. "And it suggests something."
Evan's gamer brain latched onto it instantly. He'd spent years chasing hidden evolutions and obscure mechanics. "So, the egg could hatch a normal wolf," he murmured, "or something that becomes abnormal."
Evan's eyes flicked to her egg. It shimmered in slow, hypnotic waves.
Then his thoughts slid, unwillingly, to his own.
Stone.
He swallowed. "Do the forums say anything about delaying?"
Elara hesitated—just enough for Evan to feel his stomach sink.
Then she clicked another tab.
A thread titled: DELAYERS — WHAT CHANGED?
Evan leaned in.
Post after post described the same thing in different words:
My egg turned dull like rock.
Color went away. Feels heavier.
Prompt says "Delay Confirmed."
Some people say it's 'sealed' until you earn a reward.
Someone claims you can "refine" it in the Labyrinth.
Another says delaying means you start without a beast.
Evan's mouth went dry. "So my egg turning to stone is… normal."
Elara's expression tightened. "Normal for a terrible decision, yes."
Evan let out a breath. "Awesome."
Elara looked at him, eyes steady. "How do you feel?"
Evan blinked at the sudden question. "What?"
"You're making jokes," Elara said. "That means you're avoiding answering."
Evan opened his mouth, then closed it. He stared at his hands.
The bond behind his sternum pulsed faintly, like a reminder.
He forced honesty, because Elara deserved it.
"I feel," he said carefully, "like I clicked 'hard mode' by accident."
Elara's gaze softened—just slightly, just enough that Evan could see the warmth she reserved for people she trusted. "Okay," she said. "Then we prepare like it's hard mode."
Evan swallowed, nodding once.
On the TV, the anchor's voice rose and fell in controlled urgency. Evan's attention drifted briefly to the scrolling ticker.
…STAY INDOORS… AVOID APPROACHING HATCHED BEASTS… GOVERNMENTS COORDINATING…
The world was trying to pretend it had authority over something it didn't understand.
Elara's laptop chimed softly—an incoming notification.
She clicked, and her posture shifted. "It's Mom," she said.
Evan sat up straighter. "They're okay?"
Elara's eyes scanned the message fast. "Yeah." She read aloud, voice steady.
Mom: Screens went out here too. We didn't receive eggs—age limit confirms we're outside eligibility. We're safe. Staying put until we know more. Don't rush decisions.
Dad: We're gathering info. Stay together.
Evan let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Their parents were traveling—retired from military life but still restless, still moving like they'd never learned how to stay in one place.
Elara typed quickly, her fingers precise even through exhaustion.
Elara: We're safe. Eggs manifested. I haven't chosen yet. Evan… chose delay while half asleep. We're gathering info and preparing supplies. Will update.
Evan watched her send it, feeling a strange mix of comfort and guilt. Comfort that their parents were safe. Guilt that his status update included the words chose delay while half asleep.
Elara set the laptop down and leaned back, finally letting her head rest against the couch for a second. Her eyes looked darker than usual, shadowed by sleeplessness.
"You should sleep," Evan said before he could overthink it.
Elara's gaze slid to him. "I will."
"You've been up since…"
"Since the announcement," she admitted.
Evan's voice softened. "You didn't press anything."
"No," Elara said. "I wanted information first."
Evan glanced at the interface floating at the edge of his vision—11:42:06 now, ticking down relentlessly. "We don't have much time."
Elara's eyes flicked toward her egg on the kitchen table, shimmering like nothing in the world had changed. "I know."
Evan hesitated. "So… what are you leaning toward?"
Elara's expression turned inward—calculating, balancing risk. "Having a beast is better than not," she said finally. "Based on what we know."
Evan's stomach tightened. "Even if it's random?"
"Especially because it's random," Elara replied. "Random means you can't plan around the outcome. So, you plan around the need. The Labyrinth is a trial. Trials don't reward being under-equipped."
Evan nodded slowly. "Okay. So, you hatch. I… enter alone."
Elara's gaze sharpened. "No."
Evan blinked. "No?"
"I'm not letting you walk into something unknown with nothing," she said. Her voice didn't rise, but the statement carried the same energy she'd had as a kid when she stepped between him and bullies.
Evan held her gaze. "You can't enter for me."
"I can prepare you," Elara corrected.
Evan opened his mouth, then closed it. He knew this version of Elara. The one who tried to turn fear into control.
Elara stood, moving toward the kitchen. Evan followed her with his eyes as she approached the table. Her egg shimmered quietly, its colors shifting like a slow aurora trapped in shell.
Evan's stone egg—he'd carried it out earlier and set it on the opposite end of the table—sat there like a mute accusation. Dull, heavy, and dark, as if it had absorbed all the color his sister's egg was still wearing.
Side by side, they looked like two versions of fate: one alive with possibility, one sealed in consequence.
Elara stared at them for a long moment. Then she turned, decision settling over her posture like armor.
"We pack a bag," she said. "Hiking gear. Camping gear. Water. First aid. Layers." Elara ticked the list off on her fingers. "Whatever the Labyrinth is, it's still going to involve movement, endurance, and survival. We don't know if it's an arena, a dungeon, a wilderness, a city… But being prepared physically is never a bad move."
He nodded. "Okay. That makes sense."
Elara grabbed a notepad from one of the moving boxes—because of course she'd already found a notepad—and began writing.
"Food?" Evan asked.
"Non-perishables," Elara said. "Energy bars. Jerky. Anything you can carry." Her eyes flicked to his face. "You're not going to argue, are you?"
Evan raised his hands. "I'm a team player."
Elara's gaze lingered. "You delayed," she reminded him.
Evan winced. "I'm learning."
"Good," she said. "Start by not dying."
Evan snorted. "Love the encouragement."
Elara didn't smile, but her eyes softened for a heartbeat. "It's motivational."
Evan pushed himself off the couch. "Okay. I'll start opening boxes and pulling gear."
Elara nodded once. "In the closets. The garage. Wherever we shoved it during the move."
Evan paused by the hallway. "Elara."
She looked up.
Evan's voice turned quieter. "You're going to hatch… right?"
Elara's gaze dropped to the egg again. "Yes," she said. "But not yet."
Evan glanced at the timer, counting down in the corner of his vision like a predator waiting for hunger to become action. "When?"
Elara rubbed her eyes—one quick motion that revealed how tired she really was. "I'm going to sleep first," she said. "I need my head clear. I'm not hatching while exhausted. If the system is going to bind me to something, I want to meet it awake."
She set the notepad down, then looked at him with the same blunt seriousness she used before a match.
"Wake me," Elara said, "an hour before the timer ends."
Evan swallowed. "An hour?"
"Yes." Elara's voice was steady. "That gives me time to—" she hesitated, then corrected herself, refusing to pretend she knew more than she did. "It gives me time to see what the Beast Taming System says. And to tell you anything useful before…"
Before the Labyrinth swallowed them.
Evan's stomach tightened at the unspoken words.
"I will," he promised.
Elara studied him for a second—measuring whether he understood the weight of what she was asking. Then she nodded, satisfied.
"Good," she said. "Now go gather supplies. I'm going to sleep while I still can."
Evan watched as she turned toward the hallway, moving with the controlled purpose of someone who refused to waste energy. She paused once at the entrance—looking back at the living room, at the television, at the egg shimmering on the table.
Then she walked to her room and disappeared, leaving Evan alone with the ticking countdown and the quiet, stone weight of his own mistake.
Evan stood for a moment, listening to the distant sounds outside—voices, sirens, the faint thrum of a world trying to hold itself together.
He looked at the kitchen table.
Two eggs.
One alive with color. One sealed in stone.
Two paths.
One irreversible choice already made. One still waiting.