The thing emerged from the shadows like a nightmare given form.
Its frame was vaguely humanoid, but stretched too tall, draped in armor that looked grown rather than forged — black plates streaked with silver veins, pulsing like veins under skin.
Its face was a blank mask, no eyes, no mouth. Yet Kiro felt it looking at him, a gaze that pressed against his skull.
Ara whispered, "That's not in the academy manuals."
The guardian took a single step, and the air buckled. Dust leapt from the floor, motes hanging in the charged space between them.
Kiro's golden threads flared — so many it hurt to look, tangled into an intricate web that wasn't just mind but something older, something connected to the stone and air itself.
"This thing's tied to the Labyrinth," he muttered. "We can't just break it."
Ara's eyes narrowed. "Then what—"
The guardian moved.
It was faster than anything its size had a right to be, a blur of black armor closing the gap. Ara vanished into shadow, reappearing behind it — her dagger sparking uselessly off its back.
The guardian's arm lashed backward without looking, slamming into her midsection and sending her skidding across the floor.
Kiro didn't run.He reached.
The threads here weren't like with people. They didn't flow with emotion or thought — they pulsed with purpose, bound to rules older than the kingdoms.
He found the one thread that felt… flexible. Not control, but command. A language in silk and light.
Stand down, he thought, pushing the idea through.
The guardian paused mid-step. For two seconds. Then the thread snapped back, resisting with crushing force.
Its mask turned toward him. Something unseen slammed into his mind — a shove that wasn't physical but sent his vision sparking with white. His knees almost buckled.
Ara's voice cut through the haze. "You can't take it head-on! We need to outmaneuver it!"
Kiro's visor recalibrated, highlighting weak points in its movement — not armor flaws, but timing gaps in its attacks.
"Keep it turning," he said, moving left.
Ara nodded, vanishing again.
She struck from shadow to shadow, each attack forcing the guardian to pivot, to realign. Kiro moved opposite her, feeding just enough interference into its control thread to delay its reaction a heartbeat longer each time.
That was the crack they needed.
Ara lunged in from the side, planting a shadow-wrapped dagger into the joint of its knee. The blade didn't pierce, but the shadows stuck, locking the joint for a moment.
Kiro took the opening.
He dove forward, hands out, seizing the main control thread with everything he had.
The guardian's mind — if it could be called that — was an ocean of black stone and molten silver, crushing and endless. He forced his will into it, shaping one command over and over like carving into granite:
Let us pass.
The resistance was like trying to move a mountain with bare hands. His temples burned, his pulse roaring in his ears.
And then… the thread loosened.
The guardian stepped back, one slow, deliberate movement. The air's pressure eased.
Ara was breathing hard. "Did… did you just order that thing?"
Kiro didn't answer. "Move. Before it changes its mind."
They crossed into the central chamber — a wide, circular space lit by a single crystalline spire rising from the floor. The hum in the air was stronger here, vibrating in Kiro's bones.
"This is the Core," Ara said quietly. "Whoever controls it can reshape the Labyrinth."
Kiro's golden threads wrapped around the crystal instinctively. So many paths, so many doors. He could bend them all.
But for now, he just touched one — the exit.
Behind them, the guardian remained at the threshold, unmoving. Watching.
As they stepped through the light, the Labyrinth dissolved around them, leaving them standing in the academy's central hall.
Instructors waited. Some looked impressed. Others… suspicious.
Kiro kept his visor tilted down.No one needed to see the faint gold still glowing in his eyes.