"So… how long can we stay in here?" V asked, pacing the cracked stones of the ruined plaza. One of the Chimera Flies passed directly through him, its jittering mass of fractured wings and limb-like legs flickering like static. It didn't even pause as it phased through his side, drawing a slight flinch.

"And why don't they notice us?" he added, brushing at his coat instinctively.

"We're in a half-dive," Cordelia answered dryly—her tone flat as a razor. She was crouched beside a statue that had melted halfway into the cobblestones, a grotesque fusion of oozed memory and cracked stone. "Do you honestly think Alexander would throw us into a live labyrinth on day one? Please. I know full well you haven't showcased even a quarter of your cubes."

She flicked a disgusted glance toward him. "Despite myself, Fractal, and Ten knowing you for over a year now."

V crossed his arms. "That's kinda because most of my cubes are hyper-dedicated. Is it trap-related? Great, I've got ten cubes for it. Is it anything else? Well, tough. I'm not built like you weirdos with generalist sets. Not all of us get to struggle with rare mana types."

Cordelia scoffed—quiet and unimpressed. "Oh gods, not the salt excuse again."

"It's not an excuse!" V shot back, jabbing a finger toward her. "I carry over eighty pounds of salt just to keep my trigger patterns prepped! Do you think I enjoy that? You try lining your coat with salt bags and still moving like a ghost!"

Fractal blinked. "You do move like a ghost, though."

"Thank you!" V threw his arms wide. "At least someone appreciates my suffering."

Cordelia was already groaning—drawn out and theatrical. "You act like you're being oppressed by your own backpack."

"I am oppressed. Oppressed by sodium. It's the burden of not being a Creator!"

"Neither am I, and yet I only carry a few seeds."

"You can grow a forest in a second, you floral-terrorist!" V shouted, now flailing.

Ten leaned against a broken lamppost, watching with one eyebrow raised. "Keep going. This is the best comedy we've had all week."

I ignored them all. Their voices were growing distant anyway—not in sound, but in importance. The deeper we pressed into the city, the more real the suffering of Pendell became. Or rather, the more the simulation demanded I remember. Because this wasn't just a city. This was a fossilized guilt—my own mind fossilized into skillcube-compatible logic. The weight of that gnawed at me in ways I couldn't explain.

The streets were dark veins. Shadows pooled where alleys had once held vendors. The faces of the Chimera Flies—each built of memories—glitched between smiles, screams, and silence. Some hovered with shattered faces that tried to form familiar expressions before folding into something new. Their wings buzzed not with wind, but the soft hiss of names being said over and over. Names I could not afford to remember.

And worse—I could feel every one of them.

If it weren't for my aura—specifically calibrated to prepare for this—I would have blacked out already. The Chimera Flies weren't just visual detritus. They were sensory parasites, each one transmitting full sensation to me. Not just what they saw. Not just what they heard. But what they tasted.

And smell. And touch. Every mangled hand they bumped into. Every shattered brick their clawed legs scraped over. Every fragment of every person they'd digested was screaming into my nerves like a second heartbeat behind my eyes. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of borrowed skin.

There were too many. Numbers blurred. Millions? Billions? I couldn't even think in numbers anymore. I just knew—knew how many there were, somewhere deep in the folds of my own psyche—but that knowledge had become useless. Like knowing the weight of a star pressing down on your chest. It was past quantification. Past math.

I stumbled.

Wallace was beside me in a second, his shield already strapped on his back, one hand bracing my shoulder. His eyes scanned me with a mix of duty and concern. "What is wrong, Your Grace?"

"Just…" I coughed, tasting ash. "Exhausting. Let me know when you're all done exploring. Please."

Cordelia gave me a glance—not pitying, not dismissive. Just analytical. "You're linked to the sensory net, aren't you?"

"Every single one of them," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "I see what they see. Feel what they feel. Taste what they taste."

Fractal whimpered beside me, stepping closer. She reached up and gently touched my sleeve. "That sounds horrible."

"It is. But it's part of my labyrinth's logic. This place isn't just a memory. It's surveillance. It's data made flesh. Every ruined citizen, every streetlight and half-collapsed storefront—they're all part of the puzzle now."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Sven kicked a half-buried cart, watching the rusted metal scatter. "This is your city, huh?"

"This is Pendell. As it was. As I destroyed it."

"Yikes," V muttered, brushing another fly off his shoulder. "Yeah. This place definitely sucks."

"It's not supposed to be fun," I said flatly. "It's supposed to teach you how far you're willing to go for your own version of the truth."

Ten whistled low. "And how far did you go?"

I looked at the nearest wall, where a Chimera Fly was mid-digestion. It was trying to form a boy's face. A boy I used to know. The fly twitched, and the face unraveled into a string of paper.

"Far enough to burn everything I ever loved," I said quietly. "Far enough that it became fuel for something new."

The silence that followed wasn't peaceful.

***

Everyone left me alone after we broke from the half-dive of [Paper and Pencells]. Everyone except two people.

Cordelia, and Fallias.

The others had dispersed to recover—emotionally or physically—from the barrage of stimulus that came with riding my aura. Some of them stumbled off with bleary eyes, others quietly muttered to themselves, and a few just collapsed onto nearby chairs and benches as if gravity had momentarily doubled. But Cordelia lingered, arms folded, leaning against the wall like she had nothing better to do. And Fallias stood near me, graceful and still, like a note sustained on an untouched harp.

"So," Fallias said, her voice a kiss in the wind, soft and rippling with a hidden power, "how was it? Most Labyrinthians loathe their labyrinth on day one. It takes—on average—two years before they begin to really love it."

She smiled, and the space around her seemed to soften. She smelled like something unreal—like divine nectar to the most ravenous of bees. My thoughts briefly scattered, carried off in the breeze of her presence.

Cordelia coughed sharply, snapping me back with surgical precision.

"Yeah. I didn't enjoy that. At all. Neither did most, from what I can gather," she said flatly.

Fallias raised one sculpted brow but said nothing. She merely turned her head slightly, letting her silver-gold hair slip off one shoulder.

"They really don't know just how far your aura can encompass now, do they?" she asked me.

"It used to be just under ten feet. Three meters," I said, nodding. "Now it's… well…"

I gestured to the window. Just beyond it, under the slanted shade of a crooked tree, sat Lumivis. He was sprawled out lazily, obviously enjoying just how far his new 'leash' extended.

"Forty-five meters. A little under one hundred fifty feet? Somewhere around there."

Cordelia gave a brief whistle. "Knowing what your aura does, I'm not very envious. Tracking that many motions and vectors would drive me insane."

"You get used to it," I answered. "Besides, I've learned to localize it—into rings. One around myself, and another around Lumivis. When I do that, it shrinks the influence back to three meters or so. I just have to place an anchor point where Lumivis wants to be."

Fallias nodded approvingly. "Anchor points. Already?"

Cordelia blinked. Her arms unfolded slightly as she tilted her head.

"Anchor points?" she asked, tone cautious.

We both turned to her.

"Yeah," I said. "Where you place a portion of your mana or miasma to channel a cube or ability from? You don't know about this?"

Cordelia looked more confused than affronted, which was rare for her. She shook her head.

"No. No, I don't. How do you know about this?"

Before I could answer, a new voice entered the room, velvet-lined and warm with something older than time.

"Whispers upon whispers is how," the voice said.

Leraje stepped in, backlit by the faint blue of shifting glyphs that marked the entranceway. He looked like he'd been painted in broad, ancient strokes—strong, elegant, and ageless. His coat was patterned with feathers woven into bark, and the bow across his back was unlike any I'd ever seen, carved from what looked like starlight petrified into wood.

"Forgive my intrusion," he said, nodding slightly. "But I must inform my pupil that anchor points are not exactly common in this domain, due to how they're mostly a technique reserved for those who have already mastered their Force."

He walked closer with calm assurance. Not a step wasted. Not a breath out of place.

"In this case, however, he has a head start," Leraje continued, gesturing at me. "By being in close proximity to a soul satellite that was once an Archon."

I furrowed my brow.

"So… because Ria is nearby, I kinda just… learned it? Also, who are you?"

"Precisely," he replied, unfazed by the second question. "That said, where are my manners."

He placed a hand to his chest, bowing slightly.

"My name is Leraje. The Hunter of the Great Horn. He who fell the Tabiathias. The Archer of Amos. I don't know which titles Demeterra would permit me here, but I can ascertain I have many, many more. Just as Barbatos does."

Cordelia's eyes narrowed at that name. It was one she recognized. I could see her mind racing, cataloging the implications.

"Before you ask," Leraje continued, still facing me, "yes, I come from Solomon's Gate. Just as she does."

He didn't need to say who 'she' was.

"Unlike everyone there," he said, lowering his voice just slightly, "you and I share two things alike."

He stepped even closer now, until I could see the subtle shimmer of his irises—rings within rings of shifting gold.

"We both prefer the bow…" he said—and suddenly his voice changed.

It became something more than sound.

It was harmonic, layered like a cathedral choir from a world without gravity, and somehow shimmered with otherworldly texture. I heard it. But I also felt it—on my skin, in my lungs, behind my eyes.

"And we've both heard the chord."

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.