Lucas didn't speak. He simply stood on the threshold, arms crossed against his chest, listening to the figure seated on the marble block. The song continued, soft and meandering, an ageless melody that seemed to fill the rotunda with a feeling of life.
But while he listened to the music, his focus was on the mask, which had been casually discarded beside the player. It felt familiar. After a few seconds, he finally placed where he had seen it before; it was the mask worn by the strange individual during his blackout dream after fighting Medea.
It had been him. The one playing the flute now.
Lucas didn't move closer. He understood instinctively that this moment wasn't his to interrupt. He let the music play, knowing his time for answers would come when it ended.
Eventually, the tune tapered into silence. It didn't end so much as fade, the final notes drifting out like embers until only the sound of falling water remained in the rotunda. The figure didn't speak immediately. He exhaled, resting the flute across his knees. Then he reached for the mask, raising it toward his face before hesitating, and slowly set it down again.
He placed his hands on either side of himself and spun around on the marble bed like a child, letting out a small giggle that gave Lucas the feeling of springtime. He faced him fully, allowing Lucas to see the face behind the mask.
He had brilliant sky-blue eyes and a pointed white beard. His hair was white and curly, and when Lucas looked down, he saw the man wearing a suit remarkably similar to his own but with hooves instead of shoes. Small flecks of grey fur showed near the cuffs. Lucas instinctively raised his eyes, expecting horns, but saw none.
The figure smirked and raised his hands to his head, outlining a pair of invisible horns. As he did, a pair gradually became visible, almost like they'd been hidden before. Enormous, curved, glossy brown horns, far larger than those of any satyr Lucas had seen, emerged like a slow conjuration, more befitting a mountain goat than a man.
Lucas swallowed. "You're… a satyr?"
The man chuckled, coughing as he did. His form flickered for a second, like an image viewed through rippling water. It blurred, then resolved again.
"I'm not just a satyr," he said. "I'm the satyr. Pan, god of the wild, satyrs, and folk music, at your service."
With that, the satyr...Pan gave a bow, reminiscent of an actor thanking his audience.
With that, Pan gave a bow reminiscent of an actor thanking his audience.
The name hung in the silence. Lucas didn't reply. He hadn't expected to meet a god here, especially one long thought dead.
Pan reached out and plucked something from the pond beside him, a small lotus that floated on its own. He sniffed it, smiled faintly, then let it fall back into the water.
"What happened just now?" Lucas asked, nodding toward Pan's earlier flicker. "That vanishing act?"
Pan smiled, pleased to have someone to talk to after centuries spent in silence. It was a warm smile, which made what he said next all the more disturbing.
"That's me dying."
Lucas froze. His mind blanked, unsure how to process it. Pan broke into another fit of laughter.
"I've been dying for millennia. In fact, I should be dead. It's just... something keeps me from peace."
With that, he tapped his flute against Lucas' chest.
Lucas hesitated. "Me?"
Pan shook his head. His eyes twinkled, even as his voice grew thinner. "The Fool."
Lucas frowned and took a step back. "You know about the Fool?"
Pan raised an eyebrow. "Boy, I know the taste of cedar. I know the rhythm of thunder in mountain hollows. I know the sound of dryads birthing their trees. But no one truly knows the Fool. Not even himself. I merely interacted with him once."
Lucas looked at him, asking his most pressing thought, no longer able to hold it back. "Elizabeth. Is she alright?"
Pan didn't speak. He merely lifted one hand and gestured toward the far side of the rotunda. A breeze swept in, parting the vines for a moment to reveal an archway of light.
Through it, Lucas saw Elizabeth.
She was walking slowly through a mossy hallway, tracing the wall with one hand. There was no fear in her steps. The Labyrinth, whatever part she was in, was guiding her. Helping her leave.
Lucas exhaled. Relief flooded him. Then it turned to confusion.
"I've been in the Labyrinth this whole time?" he asked. "And what about the trials; what were they for? What do you want from me?"
Pan nodded. "The Labyrinth moved with Western civilization, just like the gods. It has spread across all of America, beneath the skin like veins. Hidden from sight. Always there."
"And the trials?"
"Well," Pan grinned, "I felt the need to test you."
"For what?"
"That's my secret to keep."
Lucas looked down at his hands. The dried blood had begun to crack across his knuckles.
"And you can control the Labyrinth?"
Pan gave a tired laugh. "No one controls the Labyrinth. Not even its creator, Daedalus. I can… ask things of it. It usually listens."
His voice dipped. The edges of his form frayed again. He coughed once, and his image glitched, gone for a heartbeat before returning.
Lucas stepped forward. "How are you still here? What does this have to do with the Fool?" His jaw tightened as another question pressed in, thinking of Milo. "The satyrs have searched for you all this time. Risked their lives to find you. Why haven't you answered them?"
Pan's expression didn't change. He plucked a reed from the edge of the pond and turned it in his fingers.
"I am gone. Mostly. You're speaking to a ripple. A memory. I felt this long before it began, so I told a young satyr to spread the word: Pan is dead. I hoped the world would move on."
He smiled faintly. "But I didn't expect the stubbornness of satyrs to match that of goats."
He laughed again, dry and hoarse.
"As for why I'm still here and how this connects to the Fool, well, that's simple."
He looked down at the flute. Then back up at Lucas.
"I made a deal with the devil."