Page 11 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

This… monster was a pet.

Corin did not move. “It’s poorly trained,” is all he could think to say.

Taleon smiled then, a strange and crooked thing. “Aren’t we all?”

Bristle bounded

ahead of them as they continued on their way, his nails clicking erratically against the stone. Corin had truly never seen anything like it. The creature moved with the reckless joy of something that had never learned fear properly, darting down side passages only to reappear moments later, skidding to a halt at Taleon’s side as if tethered by an invisible thread. Each time it vanished, Corin felt his pulse spike—only for Bristle to return moments later, tail thrashing and mouth open in what could have been seen as a grin.

Taleon paid it little mind, as if this was an everyday occurrence for him, and perhaps it was. He limped on, humming under his breath, occasionally reaching down to trail his fingers along the walls. Where he touched, the stone warmed and the golden veins brightened, responding to him as though he were an old, familiar friend.

“So… you live down here,” Corin stated.

Taleon shrugged, one shoulder hitching higher than the other. “The Labyrinth does. I just… live.”

Corin wondered if his ancestor was always this way or if the years in the Labyrinth had corrupted his spirit in ways Corin hoped to never understand.

The corridor widened for them gradually. The air changed—less stale, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something like smoke long since gone cold. The veins grew brighter, more concentrated, branching and knotting together as though converging toward a single point.

Then the passage fully opened.

Corin stopped short, breath catching in his chest.

The chamber in front of him was vast, its ceiling lost in shadow far above. Pillars rose like the trunks of ancient trees, carved with spirals and worn reliefs so eroded they seemed half-grown rather than sculpted. The floor dipped and curved until broken by shallow channels where water trickled softly to feed small pools that reflected the gold-veined light in shimmering fragments.

This was no dead space.

It was lived in.

Fragments of decorative old banners had been repurposed into draped coverings between pillars, their once vivid colors now muted and frayed. Broken stone slabs had been arranged into something resembling furniture with low platforms layered with pelts and threadbare cloth. There was a fire pit ringed with blackened stones, its ashes carefully contained and making the space feel welcoming.

Objects gathered from centuries of passage filled the edges of the room: cups, weapons, bits of armor, trinkets whose purpose Corin could not guess. All of them arranged with an odd, deliberate care. They had been collected. For comfort. For decoration.

It was a home. A home assembled from remnants of other lives.

Bristle immediately tore across the chamber, skidding into a pile of bones stacked neatly near one pillar in the back. The structure immediately collapsed with clatter, and the small monster seemed more than happy at the chaos it caused.

Taleon sighed, long-suffering, as he shook his head.

“I just fixed that up,” he muttered as he moved further into his home. “Up, up, up, how dare he?”

Corin took a cautious step inside. The Labyrinth felt different here—far less oppressive. Almost… settled. The stone no longer pressed inward. It watched, yes, but without the hunger Corin had felt the rest of the time he had been inside the maze.

“This is your… home.”

Taleon shrugged his shoulders. He picked up one of the bones Bristle had disrupted, tossing it back to the beast who caught it swiftly and began chowing down. “The Labyrinth provides what it cannot see. Do you know? I like to take.”

That didn’t answer anything. “How long has this been here?”

“Wrong. Wrong question. Right question: how long have I been in the Labyrinth, new heir?”

Corin blinked and shifted his weight. He wasn’t sure what the exact answer was to that. “Too long.”

Taleon’s lips pursed. “Many, many moons, I suppose.”

“Yes, I’d say so.”

“Of course. I counted, but counting runs cold on stone.”