The Tethered Threshold shifted.
Not like a storm or a quake. But like a thought changing its mind.
Corridors that had once stretched straight now twisted. Walls that once stood stone-solid breathed with slow, pulsing rhythm. The deeper they walked, the more the Veil bent around them, reshaping itself—not like a place, but a thing.
Verrin chuckled to himself as he hopped over a crack that hadn't been there a heartbeat before. "It's like walking through someone's fever dream. But you know. With more teeth."
"I thought you said you knew the path," Selvara said flatly, her tone tight.
"I do," he said. "Or I did. This is… new. Which either means we're close—or very, very lost."
Grimpel twirled in the air, his eye sockets glowing faintly blue. "Lost? Oh, delightful. I haven't died in a while."
Clive said nothing. His eyes were locked ahead. Each step he took left a faint pulse of crimson light—residual Wyrmstone magic marking the way behind them.
Nylessa walked beside him, silent, but her fingers twitched at her sides. The presence she'd felt when they first stepped through the Veil hadn't faded.
It had grown stronger.
It was like scenting smoke in a house you swore was empty.
Her voice was soft. "He's here."
Clive glanced at her. "Who?"
Nylessa didn't answer. Not directly. "You'll know him when he speaks."
Selvara narrowed her eyes. "Is this a riddle, or are we finally addressing the cryptic voices everyone's been hearing?"
Grimpel floated closer to her. "You heard Maedra, didn't you? Old habits don't die easy. Especially when stitched into your spine."
Selvara didn't reply. Her fists were clenched.
Verrin, walking backward now, smirked. "Well, I haven't heard any sexy whispers from the past, but I did smell something foul just up ahead."
He pointed.
A shimmering wall of light blocked the corridor ahead. It wasn't solid—more like rippling glass—but the air around it thrummed with magic older than speech.
"That's it," Verrin said. "The maze."
"The what?" Clive asked.
Verrin grinned. "First real layer of the Veil. The threshold was just foreplay. This? This is the main course."
As if on cue, the light shimmered again—and a voice rolled out of the wall, deep and throaty.
"Enter, little bones."
The air trembled. Even the Veil flinched.
Selvara's sword was halfway out before Clive stopped her with a hand. "Wait."
Nylessa stepped forward. "This is it. The First General."
Grimpel tilted in the air. "Ogre, if I had to guess. They love theatrics. Big arms, small brains, usually obsessed with riddles or blood games."
Verrin nodded. "This one's a maze-master. He doesn't guard the path. He is the path."
The light wall peeled back like skin, revealing a wide chamber beyond—impossibly wide. Stone arches towered into a ceiling swallowed by mist, and massive, winding corridors branched off like arteries from a central chamber.
At the center stood the creature.
Nine feet tall. Hulking. Skin like cracked obsidian with veins of glowing gold. Two massive tusks curled from its lower jaw, and its eyes were mismatched—one a polished ruby, the other pure white.
It grinned.
"Guests," the ogre rumbled. "Welcome to my puzzle."
Clive stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "We didn't come for games."
"But games came for you," the ogre said, chuckling. "The shard lies beyond. To reach it, you must win."
Verrin sighed. "Told you. Everything's a damn metaphor in this place."
Nylessa tilted her head. "And if we don't play?"
The ogre's smile widened. "Then you die in the maze. Screaming. In pieces."
Grimpel whispered, "So, the usual."
The floor beneath them shifted.
Suddenly, the corridor behind them vanished—walls rising to seal them into the ogre's domain. The maze stretched out in every direction now. Massive stone doors slammed shut around them.
The ogre gestured. "Rules are simple: solve my labyrinth. Beat my riddles. Survive the hunt. If you're clever, you might not even have to kill anything."
He leaned forward. "But I do hope you kill something. That's where the fun begins."
With that, he vanished—melting into the floor with a deep rumble of laughter.
Selvara turned. "We should split—"
"No," Clive said sharply. "We stay together."
"I agree," Verrin said. "Mostly because I like you. And also, I scream louder when I'm alone."
Grimpel muttered, "You scream louder than anyone I've met and I've been to five exorcisms."
Nylessa smirked. "I don't know. Clive makes interesting sounds when Selvara's around."
Selvara shot her a glare. "Not the time."
"It never is," Nylessa purred.
Clive pressed forward. "Move. We'll deal with the ogre when he shows his face again."
They entered the maze.
Walls loomed high, marked with ancient Veil-script that shifted as they passed. Some doors vanished when touched. Others multiplied. The deeper they went, the more time twisted.
One room held floating knives that sang lullabies.
Another echoed with the sound of a child crying, though there was nothing inside.
It was a place built to break logic.
And yet—they moved through it.
Clive's instincts kept them from stepping into traps. Selvara's knowledge of magical architecture helped spot false walls. Nylessa's senses flared whenever danger neared. Verrin... occasionally licked stone walls and muttered "definitely cursed."
Eventually, they reached a chamber where the air stilled.
Torches flared to life around them, lighting the stone in crimson hues.
The ogre appeared again, now larger than before.
His grin was savage.
"You solved my maze. Now… let's see if you're as clever with a blade."
He roared—and the fight began.
Clive was first to move. His blade clashed against the ogre's fist, sparks flying. The Wyrmstone flared crimson, and Clive's body moved with unnatural speed.
Selvara circled, slashing at the ogre's flanks. Nylessa hurled a spear of moonlight that scorched through his armor.
Grimpel cackled. "I'd offer to help, but I have no hands. So emotionally, I'm with you."
Verrin threw a stone. "Do something useful!"
Grimpel headbutted him in midair.
The ogre roared again, swinging wildly. His strength cracked stone, but the group was coordinated now—shifting around each other, striking in rhythm.
Clive landed the final blow—driving his blade into the ogre's throat.
The beast fell, groaning.
As it died, it whispered:
"One falls. Six remain."
Its body crumbled into ash—and where it fell, the floor split open to reveal a staircase of light.
Leading deeper.
To the second general.
To the second layer of the Veil.
They gathered at the edge.
Verrin wiped blood from his face. "So. That was one."
Nylessa smiled faintly. "Six more to go."
Selvara rolled her shoulder. "I liked him better when he was a metaphor."
Grimpel sighed. "You'll miss him when the next one turns out to be your ex."
Clive stared into the light.
And stepped down.