Chapter 29


    Holes in Forever


    The chambers stretch endlessly, each one more foreign than the last. Metal walls give way to strange, organic surfaces that pulse with an inner light. My footsteps echo differently in each space—sometimes sharp and metallic, other times muted as if walking on flesh.


    The Skathrith''s presence lingers at the edge of my consciousness, a quiet hum that never fully fades. Its hunger seems dulled now, but I feel its attention drift whenever we pass through shadows, searching for threats, for opportunities to feed.


    I try to focus on Penelope, to piece together the fragments I have of her. Her voice comes easily—precise, measured, carrying authority beyond her years:


    "I''m glad you survived."


    I see flashes of her watching me during the Festival of Retrospection, her analytical gaze taking in every movement. But when I reach for our first meeting, there is nothing. A void where memory should be.


    The gap feels wrong, like a missing tooth I cannot stop probing with my tongue. I remember her brother Castor''s brash glare, remember him staring at me in the Mere’s dining hall, remember her standing beside me in the Temple of Loss.


    But that first moment? Gone.


    I already knew her name in the Dularch-Temple. How?


    My steps slow as I turn to Binah. She walks beside me, her movements silent, her white hair seeming to catch light that is not there. Her violet eyes meet mine, and I know she sees the question forming.


    "Our first meeting," I say. "Penelope and I. You were there, weren''t you?"


    Binah''s gaze holds steady, but she offers no response. Her silence feels deliberate, heavy with meaning I cannot decipher. She turns away, continuing down the corridor as if I had not spoken.


    I shake my head.


    That was a stupid question. I only started seeing Binah recently. Yet even so, something tells me she is the one with the answers I seek.


    The Skathrith''s hum shifts slightly, a discordant note threading through its usual rhythm. I press my palm against the wall, feeling its alien texture as I try to ground myself in the present. But the blank space in my memory pulls at me, a wound that will not heal.


    A jagged hole splits the ceiling, and golden light pours through like liquid metal.


    The sight stops me in my tracks.


    After endless hours in shadow-filled chambers, this single beam feels impossibly bright, impossibly real.


    Dust motes dance in the sunlight, each one precious and perfect.


    I step into the light''s embrace, tilting my face upward. Warmth seeps into my skin, chasing away the perpetual chill of the labyrinth. For a moment, I forget the Skathrith''s constant hunger, forget the weight of Binah''s silent judgment, forget everything except this simple pleasure.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A scuff of leather on stone shatters my peace, granules slipping through tiny fingers.


    I lower my head, blinking against the afterimages burned into my vision. A figure stands at the edge of the shadows—broad-shouldered, platinum hair catching hints of the golden light. Castor. His face is a mask of conflicting emotions, jaw clenched tight enough that I can see the muscle jumping. His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.


    Behind me, the chamber door slides shut with the finality of a tomb being sealed. The sound echoes off the walls, emphasizing how alone we are in this space.


    A low hum fills the air, resonating from Castor''s direction. Another door closing.


    My eyes are drawn to a spot above the other boy''s head, to something I cannot quite see at first, but feel it gowned in skirts of folded space. Then the air ripples, revealing a dark star of pulsing light.


    His Skathrith.


    It responds to my presence, its tone different from mine—deeper, more guttural. The sound sets my teeth on edge, makes my own Skathrith stir restlessly in response.


    Castor''s lip curls in joy. "Good. I was hoping it would be you."


    I blink. "You were? Why?"


    "Don''t." His voice cuts through the air. "Don''t play the fool, demon. You know why we are here. Only one can leave this place alive."


    The Skathrith''s hum grows louder, its resonance shifting from a steady tone to something discordant, almost mocking. I try to quiet it, but its energy feeds off my rising rage.


    "Mother was certain you would be the knife." Castor''s words hit like physical blows. "She said Titus Ragnos never lets a slight go unpunished."


    "I don''t understand—" I start.


    Castor laughs, but it’s hollow, devoid of humor. His Skathrith pulses brighter, a black star radiating nothingness etched with shadows. “Of course you don’t. The great-demon Janus Ragnos, always forgetting what he should know, always remembering nothing. But let me enlighten you.”


    He steps closer, into the sunlight, and for a brief moment, his features soften, the anger giving way to something sharper, something raw. “This trial? It’s not meant for children. Virtuants—third-years, trained for years to face horrors like this—this is their test. But for us? First-years?” His voice breaks, trembling with fury. “They sent us in blind. Sent us to die. And for what? Your uncle’s orders.”


    My chest tightens as the pieces fall into place. Titus''s speech in the Stratarchy. The deaths, the blood-soaked halls of the labyrinth—they were not accidents. They were calculated. Orchestrated.


    I stare at Castor, the weight of his words settling heavily in my chest. The implications slam into me like a collapsing wall. I struggle to breathe, to think—my own uncle setting us on this path of slaughter. He had warned me.


    Beside me, I sense Binah.


    Her silence feels deliberate, heavy with meaning I cannot decipher. As Castor speaks, I glance at her. Her gaze is fixed on me, wide and unblinking. Her lips part, but no words come. Just a single step back, her figure blending into the shadows as if retreating from what she knows is inevitable.


    Castor’s voice hardens. “They sent us into the labyrinth, knowing most of us wouldn’t come out. Knowing we’d die fighting alien horrors or each other—or worse.” His gaze narrows. “And now here we are, you and me, the culmination of their sick little game. The demon of House Azure against the golden boy of House Vermillion. They’ll feast on this, you know. The Exarchs, the Eidolons—it’s exactly what they wanted.”


    Shadows writhe at the periphery of my vision, and the metal-organic walls seem to press closer, squeezing the last drops of courage from my veins.


    I can smell the tang of fear, taste the bitterness of betrayal.


    “We don’t have to,” I say, voice cracking, the words barely audible over the rising hum of our Skathriths. I force them out anyway. “We can choose a different path, do something different.”


    Castor’s eyes flash, as if my plea barely registers. “I’m glad it’s you, Janus,” he says, as if I never spoke. “If it was Penelope, I’d slit my own throat to let her pass. But I always hated you, hated the way you mooned after my sister.”


    Moisture stings my eyes.


    “It was all I could do not to rip out your eyes,” he continues, raising his arms.


    My Skathrith senses the threat and roars within me, its surge of energy electrifying my nerves. I clench my hands, feeling the alien power thrumming through my veins, ready to lash out.


    “We don’t have to.” My voice is a whisper against the rising crescendo of tension. The words crack mid-sentence, grief and terror intermingled.


    But Castor does not respond. His body is already moving.