Into the Inferno
The second-to-last stage of the tournament was announced with little fanfare, but its implications sent ripples of unease through the competitors. They were to enter the labyrinth beneath Nightshade Academy—a shifting maze filled with traps, illusions, and creatures summoned by the Vampire King himself.
Eryon tightened his grip on his blade as the competitors lined up at the entrance to the labyrinth. Torches flickered along the massive stone doorway, their flames casting jagged shadows over the gathered students. The air was thick with tension, and even the most confident competitors looked uneasy.
“The labyrinth feeds on your weaknesses,” Headmistress Valeria warned. “It will exploit your fears, your doubts, and your pride. Only those who reach the center with the token of passage will advance to the final stage.”
Eryon exchanged a brief glance with Lyra, who lingered on the sidelines. Her expression was tense, her silver eyes filled with worry.
“You don’t have to do this,” she whispered as he stepped closer.
Eryon gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Yes, I do.”
With a deep breath, he entered the labyrinth.
***
The air inside was suffocating, thick with the scent of damp stone and something metallic—blood, faint but present. The walls shifted as Eryon moved, the maze rearranging itself with an unsettling grind of stone against stone.
Eryon relied on his heightened senses to guide him, his wolf stirring uneasily beneath his skin. The labyrinth was alive, its energy pressing against him like a physical force.
As he navigated the twisting passages, whispers began to fill the air. At first, they were faint, indistinct murmurs, but they grew louder with each step.
“Wolf,” one voice hissed, cold and mocking. “Pretender.”
Eryon’s jaw tightened as he tried to block out the voices, but they grew more insistent.
“You don’t belong here,” another voice taunted, its tone dripping with disdain.
The whispers clawed at his resolve, but Eryon pressed on. He narrowly avoided a spike trap that shot up from the floor, the sharp metal glinting in the faint light.
His wolf senses saved him again when he heard the faint scrape of claws on stone. He turned just in time to dodge a creature—a skeletal beast with glowing red eyes and fanged jaws that snapped inches from his neck. Eryon dispatched it quickly, his blade slicing through its brittle frame.
The whispers didn’t stop, and the labyrinth’s energy seemed to press harder against him. Then he heard it—a scream that froze him in his tracks.
“Lyra!”
The sound echoed through the maze, sharp and filled with terror. Eryon’s heart pounded as he turned toward the sound, his wolf snarling to take control. But reason held him back—Lyra wasn’t in the labyrinth. She couldn’t be.
“Stay focused,” he muttered to himself, forcing his legs to move forward.
But the scream came again, louder this time. His resolve wavered, the need to protect his sister warring with the knowledge that it was likely a trick of the maze.
As he hesitated, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.
“Keep going,” a woman’s voice whispered, soft but urgent. “Don’t stop now.”
Eryon froze, his head snapping toward the source of the voice. There was no one there, just the flickering shadows cast by unseen light.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, his voice low.
The voice didn’t answer, but the shadow moved again, leading him down another corridor.
Eryon’s grip on his blade tightened as he followed, his heart pounding. The voice had saved him once before in the hidden chamber. But this time, he wasn’t sure if it was guiding him—or luring him into a trap.
