A year had passed outside the labyrinth since the entrance collapsed. A full cycle of seasons had come and gone while people remained trapped inside, struggling to survive in the darkness below.
For those traitors who had treacherously sealed their companions inside, they were living a life of luxury. New clothes. Fine wine. Comfortable beds in expensive inns. Everything they had never been able to afford before.
But it was all built on lies. Lies they had carefully constructed to cover their sins.
What lies, you ask?
Well, they had told the authorities and anyone who would listen that the labyrinth was impossibly hard and unconquerable. That there were many casualties amongst them through no fault of their own. That the collapse was a tragic accident, a consequence of the labyrinth's dangerous and unstable nature.
But in truth, it only became hard when they made the situation so. Those who entered weren't mere low-rankers fresh from training. Maybe except for Benny, who had been green and inexperienced. But the rest were veterans who had significant experience already in diving through dungeons. They knew what they were doing. They should have been able to handle a newly discovered labyrinth with proper cooperation.
But cooperation was never the plan for some of them.
One of the many reasons for the betrayal was that one of the traitors, a man named Enoka Madra, was consumed by jealousy. He was jealous of one of the people trapped in the expedition, and it was Rippler Flamesworthy. They were rivals back in the guilds, competing for the same contracts and the same recognition. But Rippler was more famed than Enoka could ever hope to be. More skilled. More respected. More everything.
And this expedition had presented an opportunity for Enoka to change that. To eliminate his rival and take credit for the discoveries. To finally step out of Rippler's shadow permanently.
He wasn't the only traitor, of course. He was just one of the few who now lived a life of luxury paid for with the blood of their former companions.
They didn't come empty-handed when they escaped. They brought materials from the labyrinth that caught the attention of the nobles and merchants. Rare crystals. Strange metals. Monster parts that could be sold to alchemists and enchanters.
Hence why Enoka and the others had gained prominence in status and wealth almost overnight. Money opened doors. Lots of money opened all the doors.
Sadly, it wasn't going too swimmingly well for them in all aspects. They also had critics who had accused them of sabotage from the very beginning. Questions were raised about how exactly the entrance collapsed. Why were they outside when it happened? And as to why they seemed so well-prepared to escape while others were not able to.
The fact that they had sealed the cave where no one was able to enter again made things worse. It would take significant time and resources for the city of Tiamerith to open it up once more. Resources that the city leadership was reluctant to spend on what might be a mass grave.
The traitors weren't viewed as heroes or pioneers of the new labyrinth. No, they were viewed as scum who had taken advantage of their circumstances. As cowards who had saved their own skins and left others to die.
Enoka could feel the stares when he walked through the market. Could hear the whispers that stopped when he got too close. The common folk knew something was wrong, even if they couldn't prove it.
But because an investigation couldn't be properly conducted without access to the labyrinth itself, they were safe for now. No matter what accusations came from family members of the trapped or from outraged members of the public. No matter how many people called them murderers in the streets.
They would enjoy their wealth with debauchery, booze, and other nefarious activities. For them, this was already a victory. They had gotten away with it. The gold in their pockets proved it.
Enoka sat in his newly rented room at one of Tiamerith's better establishments. It wasn't quite a noble's manor, but it was far better than the flophouse he had lived in before. He poured himself another cup of wine, expensive stuff imported from the southern valleys of Ormoc.
Rippler Flamesworthy was dead. Probably. Or dying slowly in the dark. Either way, he was no longer a problem.
Enoka smiled and drank deeply.
Unbeknownst to him and the other traitors, there were still people struggling down beneath. Trapped because of their evil deeds. Fighting through floor after floor. Changing with each day that passed.
Gustav and his group weren't just surviving. They were adapting. Growing stronger. Learning to thrive in the nightmare they had been thrown into.
And Benny, broken and resurrected for the third time, was somewhere in those depths as well. Changed beyond recognition, but still alive in some form.
The traitors celebrated their victory, ignorant of what was happening below. They assumed everyone left behind was dead or soon would be. They assumed the labyrinth would keep their secrets forever.
They assumed wrong.
Will they be able to continue to live such a lie? Or would it crumble around them in the future when the truth finally surfaced?
The question of consequences hung in the air like smoke. Justice delayed is not always justice denied. Sometimes it's just waiting for the right moment.
Enoka finished his wine and poured another cup. He tried not to think about the nightmares he had been having. Dreams of hands reaching up from the darkness. Dreams of Rippler's face, twisted in anger, promising revenge.
Just dreams, he told himself. Just guilt playing tricks on his mind.
He was safe. They were dead. It was over.
He repeated it like a mantra, trying to make himself believe it.
Back in the city proper, family members of the trapped still gathered near the sealed entrance when they could. Wives and husbands. Children and parents. They left flowers and offerings at the pile of rubble, praying to whatever gods would listen that their loved ones were at peace.
Some still held out hope that they were alive. That somehow, impossibly, they would find a way out. But as the months had turned into a full year, even the most optimistic were beginning to accept the likely truth.
They were gone.
But grief and acceptance are different things. The families wanted answers. They wanted to know exactly what had happened. They wanted someone to be held accountable.
And the longer the investigation was delayed, the more their suspicions grew about the survivors who had emerged with suspiciously full packs and convenient stories.
The tension in Tiamerith was building. Like a storm gathering on the horizon. Sooner or later, something would break.
The question remained: Would those who were stuck in the labyrinth be able to resurface? Or would they be buried there for all eternity, their bones mixing with the stone and becoming part of the labyrinth itself?
Only time would tell. And time, as they say, reveals all truths eventually.
Even the ones that were buried deepest.