Page 7 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

When he came to the first four-way cross in the path, he studied each of the pathways. There was no noticeable difference between them at first sight, which did not make the decision on where to go any easier.

He could continue straight as he had been, but that would require he momentarily lose feeling of the wall beneath his fingers. He could turn down one of the other two corridors. If he turned right, at least he didn’t have to lose feeling of the wall.

A rumble suddenly sounded from his right. He could just hear its faint groan over the beat of his own heart. Corin swallowed thickly. Panic, he knew, fed the stone. The Labyrinth did not hunt down the loudest heartbeat—it hunted an unraveling one.

He didn’t want to risk it. He lifted his fingers from the cold stone and crossed the path, only a few steps, before meeting the stone again upon making it to the other side. A deep sigh of relief erupted from him.

As he did so, the passage seemed to narrow slightly, and his shoulder brushed against a particularly sharp protruding stone. A vibration crawled up his arm and settled deep in his chest, and the golden veins flared in response.

“Sorry,” Corin muttered, the word escaping before he could stop it. His voice seemed to echo for some time through the maze. It faded away from him only to resurface past him moments later.

And then the Labyrinth responded.

Stone slid somewhere ahead, a corridor seemingly sealing shut while another opened with a grinding sigh. Dust drifted down around him like pale snow. The air shifted direction, carrying with it the scent of old iron and damp wool.

He exhaled slowly to calm his rapid heart beat.

The Labyrinth does not like apologies, he decided. Or perhaps it did. He scoffed. There was no way to tell.

He continued on, passing through alcoves filled with various debris that had collected through the ages—broken pottery, rusted blades, fragments of bone smoothed by time. Some clearly bore the marks of age, but others looked unsettlingly modern.

One piece stuck out to him: a small piece of cloth with Knossos’s distinct spirals. A piece of cloth belonging to his kingdom, the heirs. He stared at it for a few moments, wondering if it was torn from an heir’s trial or if the cloth had somehow found its way underground by itself.

He did not want to linger long enough to decide what troubled him more.

As he followed a curve in the maze, the floor dipped sharply, forcing him to brace himself against the wall. The stone warmed beneath his palm, pulsing once, twice, as though acknowledging him. Welcoming him.

A new sound drifted down the corridor then. Not quite a voice, not quite wind. A low resonance that vibrated through the walls, through his bones, and settled behind his eyes. It was enough to make his entire body ache.

Corin closed his eyes briefly, steadying himself. “I am not here to harm or disturb. I only mean to leave.”

He peaked his eyes open as the golden veins shimmered. He took that as acceptance.

Only three days and nights. That was it. He could make it through.

Time seemed to fracture inside the dark, winding halls as he journeyed. His sense of it dulled, stretched thin until minutes and hours bled together. The corridors seemed to repeat themselves in subtle variations—left turns that became right, slopes that dipped where he thought they had once risen. Once, he passed the same broken vase twice, though he was certain he had not turned back. At that, he had to reflect on his past steps to ensure he was still moving forward.

Corin’s breath fogged faintly as the air cooled around him. It had been such a warm and comforting day when he had entered, but he supposed the air would turn cool underground. He wished his garb offered more protection from the cool air that surrounded him, but he didn’t want to harp on that too much. He needed to keep pushing, keep moving forward.

Then he heard something else.

A footstep.

One that wasn’t his own.

Corin froze. His hand immediately fell to grip the sword he carried at his hip.

The sound came again, slow and uneven, dragging slightly as though the stone itself resisted each step. It echoed once, twice, then stopped. It was close.

The Labyrinth’s golden veins flared brighter than before, but something in their brightness did not give him the impression that it was a warning. No, it seemed more like… recognition?

Corin tightened his grip on the blade even more and took a cautious step forward, heart pounding now despite his best efforts to remain even.

The footstep came again, seemingly directly beside him, but when he whipped his head to his right, he only saw the same stone that had been following him all day.

Corin unsheathed his blade, the metal catching a faint glimmer of the gold-veined light. “Who’s th-there?” He called out, hating how thin his voice sounded against the stone.

This time, there was no echo of his words. Only silence.