Page 75 of The Labyrinth and the Threaded Daughter

The seal split.

Cold air rushed out, sharp and ancient, carrying the scent of old stone and iron and something alive, reminding Corin of the chamber where he had fought the Minotaur. The opening continued to yawn wider, darkness spilling upward like breath after centuries held.

Corin stood firm at its edge, heart pounding. Fear and hope collided in his chest.

He had done it. He had opened the maze. A wave of relief washed over him.

And somehow, from wherever she was, he knew—he knew she would feel it too.

The opening yawned in the stone like a held breath as its cold air spilled steadily into the Hall of Due. No light followed. No figures. Just silence. Thick. Expectant.

Uneasy.

Corin stood at the edge of the threshold for several moments. He knew she wouldn’t be waiting for him; she had no reason to do so. But he was hopeful she would find her way to him quickly. Otherwise, he was poised to enter once again.

Then, finally, from far below, a roar echoed through the opening.

It was deep and animalistic, reverberating through the stone that surrounded them. Several nobles cried out. He could hear someone falling back and stumbling into a crowd of people.

Faintly, he heard his uncle suggest maybe they close the entrance again. A priest agreed and began to speak urgently, voice shaking as he argued this was proof the maze should never have been disturbed outside of a trial.

Corin paid them little mind. He did not move.

Another sound followed: hooves striking against stone. A distant bellow. The unmistakable presence of something vast and alive. He hoped it was the Minotaur and not a monster seeking out the entrance to be released into the world.

Minutes passed.

The tension began to sag under its own weight. Murmurs spread. Some people looked away. Others whispered that perhaps nothing more would come of it—that maybe the king had only opened a wound that would quietly seal itself again.

Corin took some deep breaths to calm his erratic heart. He tried to count the seconds, but that was only causing further worry to settle into him.

Then, a small twinge caught his eye.

It was hardly noticeable, so thin that anyone could have looked past it. But there was a bit of golden thread tied to an outstretched piece of stone in the walls.

Thread that was being pulled.

He traced the line as far as he could into the darkness of the Labyrinth. He couldn’t see it too far, but it was there. It was being tugged on. Someone was using the thread to find the entrance.

He wasn’t sure how this thread had become tied to the stone. He didn’t want to question it. It had happened—whether that was fate, the Labyrinth, or Ariadne—and it was surely leading her to him.

The veins flared.

And Corin grinned.

The veins were not faint. Not gradual. Not anymore.

Gold erupted through the stone like lightning frozen in place. The veins all ignited at once, racing outward from the opening and across the floor, up the pillars and along the walls. Reaching places Corin didn’t even know they could. The hall was quickly filled with the warm, living light of the Labyrinth.

His people were bathed in the light, just as he had been inside of the maze.

And from the darkness, a figure emerged.

She moved slowly, hesitantly, as though the ground was warning it might betray her. Gold weaved over her hair and skin alike, veins of light tracing her form just as they traced the maze. Her expression was wary, disbelieving—and rightfully so. She seemed caught somewhere between hope and fear.

The sight of her sent shockwaves through Corin. Joy and hope released from his chest, and a rush of air released from his lips. A breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. Seeing her so close again sent him reeling.

She was magnificent. She was wary, of course, and he couldn’t blame her, but behind the hesitation on her face was the face of who he knew. Of who he cared deeply for.