With the review of their strategy concluded, each member of Cross Company had taken to preparing in other ways for the upcoming qualifier. Lowell watched his team quietly, while lost in thought.

  Rina was neatly sheathing her daggers and drawing them, practicing for speed and precision.

  Bart, meanwhile, was hunched over their gear, squinting at each piece as if it was the world's most delicate puzzle. His hands moved quickly, checking connections, tightening straps, and then double-checking his work like a mad scientist who had just discovered the meaning of life in a pile of wires and metal.

  "All set." Bart straightened up and wiped his brow in an exaggerated fashion like he were clearing it of sweat. "We're good to go. Should be prepared for anything this challenge throws our way. And by 'anything,' I mean absolutely everything. Including that one thing we definitely didn't plan for but will probably end up encountering anyway."

  Rina, watching him from across the room, couldn't help but smile. The knot of anxiety she'd been carrying in her stomach loosened. "I'm starting to think we might actually pull this off." Her voice was light, almost a whisper to herself and not meant to be heard by anyone else. But Lowell heard it, and he could hear the confidence behind it.

  Rina wasn't wrong. As they continued to prepare, it was becoming more and more evident that each member of the team brought something special to the table.

  Bart, of course, brought a keen eye and an uncanny aptitude toward maintaining the team's equipment. But to Lowell's surprise, he was also proving to have a sharp, almost eerie knack for strategy. This was the first time Lowell had seen Bart and Rina working together without the usual verbal sparring. For once, they weren't at each other's throats. Instead, Rina's devious mind for outmaneuvering opponents blended surprisingly well with Bart's unorthodox suggestions.

  Lowell wasn't particularly invested in the planning session. Sure, he knew it was important, but he trusted his instincts more than anything. In a real fight, there wasn't time to take a step back and break down the perfect attack. You didn't pause to analyze; you acted. The world around you blurred into a series of split-second choices.

  But that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention.

  Standing, Lowell lifted the training broadsword he'd been issued by the event coordinators. He tested its weight, shifting it from one hand to the other. The sword was already blunt, but even if it had been sharpened, it wouldn't matter. All weapons brought into the games were equipped with lethality regulators. Those regulators, magitech devices that created a minor field around the weapons, blunted the impact of weapons. He could feel the current of magic running over the sword and between that and the awkward weight, the sword felt clumsy.

  "Oh! I almost forgot!" Bart's sudden exclamation startled Lowell, nearly causing him to drop the training broadsword he was holding. Bart slapped a hand to his forehead and grabbed the large case he'd kept by his side like a forgotten afterthought. He carefully placed it on a nearby table and popped it open with the dramatic flair of someone revealing treasure. "Got it back from Floria," he said, clearly relishing the moment, his grin practically glowing with satisfaction.

  Putting the training sword aside, Lowell stepped over to the table.

  Inside the case, nestled like royalty on a bed of plush fabric, was the sword: Lowell's sword. It looked... perfect. Like it had been treated with a kind of reverence only a true craftsman could give. Lowell had always been particular about his weapon, but this... this was next-level care. The sheath was polished to a mirror-like shine, the blade gleaming like it had just been forged. If swords could smile, this one would be showing all its teeth.

  He could feel the familiar weight as he gripped the hilt, and a quiet sense of gratitude settled over him. "Thank you, Bart," Lowell said, his voice sincere.

  Bart waved a hand dismissively. "Eh, no biggie." He paused, then added, "I didn't expect Floria to give it this sort of treatment though. When she handed it back to me, she was a bit scary about it. She has an odd relationship with weapons..."

  While Lowell held the sword, Bart affixed the dampener to it. Almost immediately, Lowell could feel the same magical current flowing over the blade. Unlike the training sword, however, this one was perfectly balanced in his hands. The subtle tingle of magic was just a minor inconvenience, easy to ignore.

  "I saw one other member of Aleksie's team carrying a sword." Bart's expression turned more serious. "Anzai. I'd watch out for him if I were you. He's got that whole 'stoic warrior' vibe, like you." He tried to laugh it off, but Lowell could hear the concern hidden beneath the forced joke. "He doesn't smile much. Also kind of like you."

  Lowell nodded, a flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes. "I'll keep that in mind."

  Rina, who had been inspecting her own gear, glanced over at them and cleared her throat. "Hey, listen up." She tapped her chest plate, her usual playful tone now replaced with an edge of practicality. "You know the rules. If you get knocked out, you're out. No second chances unless we're all together. And, well..." She gave them a pointed look, her eyebrows arched in a silent challenge.

  #

  The corridor of the maze pulsed with a crimson glow, alarms shrieking like banshees in the distance. Despite the din all around them, Lowell's focus remained locked on Anzai. The second-year Weston Guild Academy student stood tall, his blade shimmering faintly from the safety field encasing it. Lowell knew the field wouldn't stop a blow from hurting, only from killing. Unlike a training sword, Anzai's sword could do real damage even with the dampener.

  He adjusted his feet, steadying himself. Waiting. Just before the alarms he'd felt a familiar tightness building in his chest. It was subtle at first, not dizzying the way it had been in the basement at Orus. But it was continuing to grow more insistent. His sword had met Anzai's more slowly as a result, their first several clashes ending when they each pushed off of one another and stepped back, disengaging like fighters in an exhibition match. Lowell didn't need to look to know that his mother's pendant had activated. The searing pain, the pulse that matched his heartbeat. Whatever was happening now, in the maze, it was bad. But there was no time to dwell on it now.

  Rina's going to kill me. The thought was fleeting as Lowell surged forward, meeting Anzai's blade with a resounding clang that echoed through the narrow hallway. Sparks erupted where the swords clashed, light and heat cutting through the sterile air of the maze.

  The safety field around Anzai's blade hummed. Lowell could tell by looking that Anzai cherished his sword. Contestants could carry personal weapons within reason, provided they were equipped with safety regulators. But simply blunting an otherwise lethal tool doesn't make it painless.

  The two broke apart, their breath visible in the cold, damp air. Lowell's knuckles ached from the collision, and he tightened his grip on his sword hilt. "We know Aleksie's cheating," he said, voice taut with irritation. "How's he doing it?"

  Anzai smirked, twirling his blade as he stepped back into a high stance, gripping it with both hands and raising it. "Aleksie's doing what needs to be done." His tone was cool, betraying neither pride nor shame. "You'll never stop him."

  Anzai lunged, his strikes precise and unrelenting, each one designed to probe for weakness. Lowell's muscles screamed in protest as he parried and dodged, his boots skidding against the corridor's slick stone floor. The safety fields buzzed each time their blades connected, and the impact rattled up Lowell's arms like a bell being struck.

  Then, with a quick thrust, Anzai's sword slipped past Lowell's guard, grazing his chest plate. A sharp buzz accompanied the strike, and Lowell's hit meter blinked a warning. One point down.

  The impact sent a jolt through Lowell's chest, and for a moment, the tightness he'd been fighting intensified. His mother's pendant flared, just for moment, and then settled down, warm against his skin.

  Lowell retaliated immediately, his blade swinging in a sharp upward arc. Anzai's guard faltered as Lowell's sword drove his opponent's weapon high, leaving an opening. Seizing the moment, Lowell's left fist shot forward, slamming into Anzai's stomach with brutal force. The air was driven from Anzai's lungs in a sharp expulsion, and his meter registered the hit with a loud crackle.

  They staggered apart, both breathing hard. Anzai coughed, his sword trembling as he planted its tip into the ground for support. The energy field around it shimmered faintly, humming like an agitated wasp.

  "There's only one way this ends," Anzai wheezed, his voice ragged but determined.

  "Fine," Lowell replied, stepping into a low guard stance. "Let's finish it."

  One strike left. That's all either of them had.

  Lowell's hit meter blinked a steady red in the corner of his vision, a constant reminder of how close he was to elimination. Anzai's did the same. After their latest exchange, both fighters stood on the razor's edge. One solid hit away from being knocked out of the match entirely.

  For Lowell, in that instant, everything stopped. Ever went quiet. The alarms faded to a distant wail, and the maze held its breath.

  Then Anzai charged, driving forward in a blur of motion, his sword slicing through the air in a deadly arc.

  Lowell's muscles tensed. He dropped low, his knee scraping against the cold stone as he slid beneath the whistling blade. The sword passing overhead. In the same motion, he thrust his blade upward with all his strength, the point driving toward Anzai's exposed chest. His sword struck true, the safety field buzzing furiously as it connected with Anzai's chest plate.

  Anzai stumbled backward, his meter flaring red one last, final, dramatic time before blinking off and going dark. He hit the ground hard, the impact rattling throughout the corridor. Lowell rose slowly, his legs unsteady beneath him, and sheathed his blade with a deliberate motion.

  Anzai sat up, leaning heavily against the wall as he tried to catch his breath. "You're as good as they say," he admitted grudgingly, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. "I wish we had met under different circumstances."

  Lowell crouched down opposite him, his own exhaustion hidden behind a slight smirk. "You're not bad yourself. Now, tell me how Aleksie's cheating."

  #

  Helena slipped through the shimmering barrier at the maze's edge. Behind her, the wall rippled shut in utter silence, a breath of aether sealing off the entrance. It was as if the labyrinth itself sighed. The sinister red glow along the wall-tops pulsing faintly, like the entire maze had drawn in a slow, uneasy breath.

  Another schism. The realization settled in her chest like a cold weight, but Helena refused to let it show. The memory of Orus was there, lurking at the edges. The nightmare's claws. The stench of its breath. The way it had pinned her down. But she was Helena Oxford, and Oxfords didn't falter in the face of danger.

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  Her grip on her staff remained steady as she took another step forward, her posture rigid with the practiced composure of someone raised to command.

  The schism had torn through the maze without warning, transforming a controlled competition into something deadly. Contestants were scattered throughout the labyrinth, she had no idea of the practical combat experience of Weston Guild Academy, nor of Bart or Rina. Even as skilled as he was, Lowell had struggled against the nightmare at Orus. They didn't know about the schism. They had no idea danger they were facing. Helena knew she should have waited for proper backup, for experienced guilders who could handle this kind of threat.

  But she hadn't hesitated. Nor had anyone tried to stop her. The coordinators and administrators who ran these qualifiers were clerks and bureaucrats, not fighters. They had no idea how to respond to a real emergency. When Helena had announced her intention to enter the maze, they had simply stepped aside, relief evident in their eyes that anyone was willing to take action.

  "Helena? Do you copy?" The voice crackled in her earpiece, strained with static.

  "I can hear you," she replied, her tone clipped and impatient.

  "Good. We believe the schism is still active. That's why we can't regain control of the maze remotely. You need to locate it and seal it. Are you absolutely certain you can handle this?"

  "I wouldn't be here otherwise." She tapped the earpiece to silence the channel, her gaze narrowing as she assessed her surroundings. The maze stretched in all directions, its once carefully designed pathways now feeling alien and hostile. Helena clenched her fists, drawing strength from the hum of magic that vibrated faintly beneath her skin. She was one of the most gifted arcanists in the guild academies, perhaps the most gifted. If any of the students at the qualifiers could seal a schism, it was her.

  She hadn't volunteered because she was reckless, nor out of some misplaced sense of heroism. She'd done it because Lowell was somewhere inside, and the thought that he might not make it out, after everything, simply wasn't acceptable. Helena couldn't quite explain why the thought of him facing this alone made her chest tighten. After the incident at Orus, something had changed, though she couldn't put words to what.

  The alarm had been silenced, but the oppressive red hue lingered, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls. It was a warning, a reminder that the maze was no longer under control. She waved her hand, summoning an aetheric interface that materialized in the air before her. The display coalesced from shimmering strands of magical energy, forming a semi-translucent panel that hovered at her command. It had weight to it, a subtle tangibility that made it feel almost solid as she reached out to manipulate its surface.

  Several glowing dots appeared on the map, representing the participants still inside. Then, just as quickly, the display flickered and the dots vanished, replaced by static and distortion.

  "Damn it," she muttered. The schism's interference wasn't just destabilizing the maze, it was disrupting the very tools she needed to navigate it. But she had seen enough. The participants were still moving, their erratic paths converging toward the maze's center. There was no sign of a nightmare yet, at least as far as she could tell, but that didn't mean the schism wasn't drawing one closer.

  Helena dismissed the interface with a sharp motion and scanned the path ahead.

  The corridor split in two directions, left and right, but that didn't matter. She didn't hesitate. Reaching out with her magic, she attuned herself to the maze's frequencies, letting the threads of aether guide her. Reality bent around her fingertips, and a third path materialized in front of her, the white-grey manifested stone walls sliding aside with a low groan. A path that would lead her straight toward the center.

  "Good," she whispered, stepping into the newly formed passage. The walls seemed to part for her and close behind her as she moved, the labyrinth reshaping itself to her will. Her focus sharpened. The schism was close, and so was Lowell.

  Nothing would stop her from reaching both. Not the maze, not the interference, not even her fear.

  #

  A chime sounded, cutting through their focus. Their strategy window afforded them prior to the qualifier was closing. Bart hovered over the hit meter that Lowell had discarded onto the table.

  "That's strange." Bart scratched his head. It blinked briefly and, when it did, so did a nearby lethality dampener. The devices had been issued to them as part of the challenge. Lifting the devices, he stared at them and then proceeded to roll them over in his hands, studying them intently. "Hmm." Bart removed a tool from his kit along with a portable terminal. Carefully, he made some slight adjustments to it.

  Lowell leaned back against the table, considering the hit meter and the penalty of getting knocked out without a team member nearby. "It was your plan to split up, Rina. One hit, two hits, or three hits. It doesn't matter. We avoid dangerous situations, activate the beacons, and find our way to the artifact. Simple."

  Bart lifted his head from the devices. "Yeah, sure. Simple. I'm just glad I don't have to deal with the two of you arguing over whether to go right or left at the first split in the path." He shot them both a grin.

  Rina rolled her eyes, warmth still in her expression. "Oh, I'm sure it'll be a real breeze for you, Bart."

  Bart grinned back and returned to studying the devices.

  Lowell couldn't help but laugh at the exchange. It was the kind of banter that had become the glue holding them all together. They'd made their decision to each tackle a different entrance. It was the best move. Each of them was strong in their own right, but dividing and conquering would maximize their chances.

  "You two really need to stop acting like this is a team-building exercise," Lowell said, his grin matching the playfulness in their eyes. "We get in, we get out, no one gets knocked out. That's the goal."

  Rina raised an eyebrow, the edge of a smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "No one's getting knocked out, but remember if either of you try to pull some stupid hero move and go off-book, I'm going to find you. And I'll make sure it's not pretty."

  "Rina," Bart began, putting on his best mock-innocent face, "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm always the picture of calculated risk." He emphasized the word "calculated," though his fidgeting betrayed the lie.

  "Right," she said, crossing her arms and giving him a flat stare. "And I'm the Queen of the Guilds."

  Bart's grin widened. "Okay, maybe I've got a slight tendency to take a few more... creative liberties. But no one can outwit me when it comes to navigating chaos."

  Lowell couldn't help but snort again. "Yeah, chaos is your middle name, Bart."

  Rina shot Lowell a pointed glance. Her voice softened just a little, genuine concern audible in it. "Stay sharp out there, alright? If we're not together, we're not really safe. So don't pull anything that's gonna get you knocked out of the game."

  "Fine, fine," Bart said with an exaggerated sigh. "No hero moves. Promise. But look what I can do—"

  With a few quick flicks, both devices activated and deactivated. Bart repeated the demonstration, then stepped back with a proud grin.

  "Neat, huh?"

  Rina pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly annoyed. Was Bart even listening? Rina sighed and, with a look that could only be described as a 'warning,' she addressed Bart. "If you make me have to come find you and drag you out of some stupid situation—" she cut herself off, shaking her head. "Forget it. Let's just make sure none of us get into stupid situations, okay?"

  "Agreed," Lowell said, slinging his sword over his shoulder and checking the strap one last time. "Let's get this done. Stay focused, stick to the entrances, and we meet in the middle."

  "That's the spirit!" Bart added with a cheeky grin, still toggling the devices. "Now, can someone point me toward my entrance? I'm feeling like my genius will be needed shortly."

  Rina rolled her eyes. "Oh, you're going to be the first one to get lost, aren't you?"

  "Only if you're leading me," Bart shot back.

  "Just... stay in your lane, Bart," Rina muttered, though her smile was already creeping back.

  Lowell grinned as they all took a final look at their gear. There was something about their easy banter that made him feel more at ease. He wasn't sure what was ahead, but for once, he actually felt like they might just be ready for it.

  #

  Lowell paused at a branching point in the maze, his chest rising and falling with measured breaths. The faint vibrations running through the walls had lessened since earlier and the alarm that had wailed in the distance had now been silenced. If Aleksie and his team were manipulating the maze's structure with a portable terminal, the tremors could very well be a direct result of their meddling. He glanced upward at the walls, where the oppressive red hue continued to pulse ominously.

  How much of this is Aleksie's doing? he wondered, unease prickling at the back of his mind.

  For a brief moment, he thought of aethryte crystals and how they would glow red in the presence of nightmares. His own bloodstone reacted the same way, though pain accompanied his pendant when it became active. He'd glanced at it earlier, after the fight with Anzai. The shift from dark purple to crimson had been the same as before. It hadn't been a surprise. He knew what the color would be before looking at it, but when he held it and looked at it he couldn't stop a shiver from shuttling its way down his spine. Shaking his head sharply, he tried to dismiss the thought that returned to him unbidden.

  The incident at Orus was an anomaly. The odds of another schism, another nightmare, appearing within the city seemed too remote. Weren't they?

  Lowell turned his attention back to the labyrinth. He had been certain he was making progress, yet every corridor doubled back on itself. The enchanted architecture made the space feel unnervingly vast, despite its actual, limited, dimensions. He couldn't shake the feeling that the maze itself was toying with him. He looked at the ground next. He swore he had passed the same cracked flagstone at least three times.

  I wonder how Bart and Rina are holding up.

  He let out a sigh.

  Standing here wasn't getting him anywhere. Better to pick a direction and move than waste time second-guessing himself. Tightening his grip on his sword, he chose a path and started forward.

  "Do you have any sense of direction at all?"

  Lowell froze mid-step. The voice was unmistakably familiar, its exasperated tone cutting through the maze's stifling silence. He spun around, half expecting to see Rina. Instead, Helena Oxford stood before him, surrounded by a swirling vortex of magic that had parted the maze walls, her expression a mix of frustration and urgency.

  "How—" he began, then rephrased, his surprise giving way to confusion. "What are you doing here?"

  "We don't have time for this." Helena stepped fully into the corridor as the wall behind her sealed shut with a faint, soundless, ripple. "I'm here to get you and the others out of this challenge. A schism opened in the maze, and—"

  A schism. Everything made sense now.

  "Which direction?" Lowell interrupted.

  "What?"

  "Which direction is the schism?" His voice was calm, but his intensity was unmistakable.

  Helena blinked, momentarily thrown off by his reaction. "Toward the center of the maze." Her answer came reluctantly. "But didn't you hear me? You're supposed to be leaving."

  Lowell's eyes scanned the closed wall behind her, his jaw tightening. "If there's a schism, Rina and Bart might be in trouble. Why send you in instead of shutting the challenge down from outside?"

  Helena exhaled sharply. He was supposed to listen to her, not question her every decision. She had come to get him out, and here he was arguing instead of following instructions. "The schism is disrupting the field and blocking any remote control over the maze's structure. That's why I had to come in."

  "It might be more than just the schism." Helena hadn't mentioned a nightmare, but Lowell knew. His pendant knew. Without hesitation, he turned down a different corridor, one opposite the path he had initially chosen.

  He didn't make it far when Helena stepped in front of him, blocking his way.

  "Not that way either." Her tone brooked no argument. "That loops back. Now, what do you mean by 'more than just the schism'?"

  Lowell met her sharp gaze, his expression unflinching. He wasn't going to raise his concern about the nightmare, not yet. "Aleksie has a portable terminal tuned to the maze's frequency. He's using it to create a direct route to the artifact."

  Helena's scowl deepened. "I told you to be careful." She made a gesture and with a flick of her wrist summoned the aetheric interface again. It hovered in the air, the display flickering with static as she studied it, her brow furrowing. A scrambled patch near the maze's center pulsed faintly. "If that's true, then the schism might already be closed." Her voice dropped to a murmur. "But this... something's still there."

  "Is that where you think the schism is?" Lowell gestured to the disturbance on the interface.

  "Yes." Helena's voice was flat, her focus remaining on the display.

  "Then can you get us there?"

  Helena sighed, dismissing the interface with a wave of her hand. "Fine. But once we confirm what's going on, we're getting out of here. No arguments."

  "Of course." Lowell's smirk betrayed his true intent.

  Helena narrowed her eyes but said nothing. With a swift motion, she carved an opening in the wall ahead, the illusory stone shifting aside as though obeying her will. Without a glance back, she stepped through, her silhouette framed by the glowing red light. "Are you coming?" Her voice carried over her shoulder, impatient.

  Lowell followed, his grip tightening on his sword. The maze wasn't just a game anymore. It was a battlefield. And he had no intention of leaving it unfinished.