Page 30 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

His stomach dropped.

“My sword.” His voice was clipped. “My dagger. They’re with the Minotaur.”

Ariadne froze. For a moment, she looked almost guilty, then she shook her head slowly. “That chamber you saw is now gone.”

He frowned. “Gone?”

“The Labyrinth has already shifted,” she explained with a soft wave of her hand, as if that was a perfectly reasonable response. “Whatever corridor you fought in no longer exists in the way it did then. Your weapons could be anywhere now. Or nowhere.”

Corin exhaled through his nose, irritation flaring hot and fast. “Of course,” he muttered. “Why would anything stay where I left it?”

He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself not to spiral. No sword. No dagger. Just him and a maze that ate rooms for sport.

At least he now knew he didn’t truly need to fight his way out of the Labyrinth. He only needed the weapons for protection. Protection against whatever other creatures roamed the halls.

Ariadne watched him for a beat, then turned and knelt beside one of her scattered collections. She dug through a small pile of cloth and metal and came up with a blade—simple, well-balanced, longer than a dagger but shorter than a proper sword. She studied it for a moment before sighing and moving closer to Corin.

She offered it hilt-first.

“This is all I can offer you.” Her voice was soft, tentative. “It has survived here a long time.”

Corin hesitated, blinked.

His hands reached out to take it from her. The weight settled into his palm with surprising familiarity. It wasn’t as balanced as his practiced weapons had been, but it was workable. Doable.

It was clearly old and worn with time, but it was sharp enough to cut through a threat if needed. He could make do with it. Escape with it.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Use it… wisely,” she murmured, her eyes remaining on the blade in his hands. He had a deep suspicion that this blade meant something to her, had some history to it that she didn’t want to talk about. A suspicion that he didn’t have the time to investigate.

He adjusted his strap and tucked the blade into place, nodding once.

He turned to figure out which exit to leave through when something caught his eye.

His breath stuttered. Near her foot, half-hidden beneath a folded scrap of fabric, was a small stone disc. As pale as the stone surrounding them, worn smooth at the edges. It was covered in those same lines he recognized.

He reached for it before he could overthink the motion.

The stone was cool. Solid. And unmistakable.

It was the same size.

The same size. The same perfectly carved edges. The same solid and perfectly carved lines. The same dull, ancient texture as the missing piece from the outer arch of the Labyrinth in the Hall of Due—the one that had looked wrong and incomplete, as if something had been pried loose long ago.

His pulse quickened.

Ariadne tilted her head, brow creasing. “That old thing?”

Corin blinked and forced a shrug. “You know this?”

She watched him for another moment in silence, then let it go. “You may take it if you wish. It wandered in here centuries ago. I do not believe it ever belonged to anything important. It does not throw well either.”

Something about the way she said it—careless, almost dismissive—made his grip tighten around the stone.

“Right.” He smiled. He wasn’t sure if she had no idea of the arch’s missing piece or if he was truly going mad at that moment. He simply turned the disc over once in his hand and slipped it into his pocket. “Just a weird piece of stone.”

Ariadne stepped back, giving him space. The open-air chamber felt quieter now, the sky above still impossibly blue, as if mocking the weight settling in his chest.