As Aric stepped through the shimmering barrier, the demons’ screeching and jeering fell silent, the air around him thick with magic. The whispers of the demon audience faded away, replaced by an oppressive silence. The only sound was the thud of his own heart in his ears, the only movement the shifting of the maze’s walls.
Aric forced himself to take a deep breath, the cool, sulfur-tinged air stinging his lungs. Center himself, as Malekith had taught him. Reach out with his senses, but be wary of what he found. The sorcerers surrounding the maze were already weaving their spells, the air around them shimmering with power. Illusions. Tricks to cloud his mind, to lead him astray.
The first rule of the maze was simple. Nothing was as it seemed.
Aric closed his eyes, blocking out the distractions of the arena, and focused on the steady thrum of his magic. It was there, a flickering flame deep within him, waiting to be called forth. He drew on it, coaxing it to the surface, and felt the heat of it wash over his skin.
Let the magic guide you.
With another steadying breath, Aric opened his eyes and stepped forward into the maze.
The world around him wavered and shifted as soon as he crossed the threshold, the twisting corridors coming to life. Visions flickered at the corner of his vision—taunting shadows, fleeting glimpses of figures darting just out of sight. The air was thick with the scent of brimstone, the acrid taste of it burning the back of his throat.
He focused on the path unfolding before him, the cool stone beneath his feet, the walls of the maze as they shimmered and warped. The first turn came up quickly, a tangle of pathways stretching out before him. He used his dulled magical sense to search for the threads of magic that would point the way.
There. A faint shimmer in the air, a subtle distortion that marked the path’s true course. Aric fixed the image in his mind and stepped forward, ignoring the illusions that danced at the corner of his vision. The stone floor echoed hollowly with each step, and the labyrinth’s walls groaned as they shifted, but he forged ahead.
The first illusion hit Aric like a physical blow.
One moment, he was navigating a narrow corridor, the stone walls of the maze closing in around him. And then, with a sickening lurch, he was somewhere else entirely. The world around him rippled and shifted, and suddenly he was standing in the ruins of Drindal, the stench of smoke and blood thick in the air.
He stumbled back, his heart racing, as figures moved in the shadows, taunting him, beckoning to him. The dead walked the streets, their eyes empty, their flesh rotting away. Aric’s breath caught in his throat, a wave of nausea and dizziness washing over him.
“You’ve betrayed everything we stand for.” The dead figure in the distance resolved into Olaya, her face a mask of disappointment, disgust. “You’ve betrayed your people.”
“Please, Olaya.” Aric stood his ground, hands at his sides, though golden light danced at his fingertips. “Please see the purpose behind what I’m trying to do. You always understood me better than anyone.”
Her mouth opened, but only silence came out, the sorcerers unable to wrench a proper retort from Aric’s mind, no doubt.
And that was the key, wasn’t it? He wasn’t fighting against the illusions themselves, no. He only had to understand the limitations of the spells being woven around him, of the sorcerers weaving them. One by one, he quieted each illusion, with a flicker of flame or a few sharply placed words.
Once more he tore through the false images, the twisted corridors of the maze melting away. The demon howled in outrage, the sorcerers redoubling their efforts, their voices rising in a frantic chant. But he ignored it all, his focus singular, his purpose clear.
The first few turns were simple, the path yielding before him like a ribbon through the shifting stone. Aric’s confidence swelled with each step, his magic guiding him true. He ignored the whispers that echoed in the maze’s depths, the shadows churning around him like a gathering storm. They were only illusions, after all.
But as he delved deeper into the maze, the illusions became more intense, more personal. The shadows took on familiar shapes, the voices his own. They whispered taunts, his deepest insecurities laid bare.
You are betraying your people.
You are a fool to trust the demon.
You will fail, and all will be lost.
Aric grit his teeth and forced himself to move, to push through the illusion. It wasn’t real. It was just a trick of the sorcerers, a test of his resolve. With a cry, he lunged forward, and the illusion shattered.
But behind the lesser ones stood one more, looming larger than all the rest.
“Traitor.” The hiss came from around a corner, and Aric stumbled back, his heart lurching in his chest. “Demon’s whore.”
The Illusion solidified before him—a twisted, wicked mirror of Cyrus Revenant. His cold, dead eyes stared into Aric’s, and for a moment, Aric was sure he was looking at the real thing. The force of Cyrus’s judgment, his disgust at Aric’s betrayal, pressed against him, unyielding.
His hands shook with a surge of rage, the golden flames of his magic flickering to life. The Illusion sneered at him, a cruel, hateful grin. “Look at you. All it took was a taste of power, and you sold out your own kind. You’re a disgrace, Solarian. A stain on everything the mages are supposed to be.”
The words cut deeper than any blade, and Aric’s nails dug into his palms. He was trying so hard to hold onto himself, to remember that the Illusion wasn’t real. But the taunts, the doubts—they were.
A sign of weakness, Malekith had said. And Cyrus’s Illusion knew it. Knew Aric’s deepest fears, his most wrenching guilts. Lashing out now would only prove that the Illusion had power over him.
Aric’s jaw hardened, grinding his teeth together as the golden flames rose up his forearms. He’d always seen Cyrus as the enemy, the embodiment of everything wrong with his people’s doctrine. He was cruel and sadistic, his hatred so all-consuming that it left nothing but a withered husk of a man in its wake.
If he was to face this Illusion, he would do so on his terms. He would not let it break him.
Aric took a deep breath, the heat of his magic washing over his skin. He felt the flames burning within him, a coiled, seething thing that longed to be unleashed. He would need that power in the trials to come, but he had to be careful. He couldn’t let it consume him.
Not now. Not yet.
With a supreme act of will, Aric forced the magic back down, locking it away in the deepest recesses of his soul. He held the Illusion’s gaze, his voice steady.
“Shut the fuck up, you coward.”
And then he turned and ran, the echo of the illusion’s enraged howl spurring him forward.
He rounded the corner, and all at once, the maze fell away around him. He was staring into the eyes of Olaya once more, but she wasn’t fighting Aric this time. Instead, she was in the clutches of a hulking demon brute, glancing at Aric as she pleaded for mercy.
“Aric, please–Tell them–”
But then the demon who seized Olaya took shape.
Aric cried out, stumbling back as her voice echoed in his ears, the flames in his hands sputtering out. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the blood rushing in his ears, drowning out all other sounds.
