They stumbled out of the bell room like people who'd been wrung dry.
Kael's throat burned with each breath. The Echo felt hollow in his chest, like someone had scooped him out and left him thin. Seren stayed close, small and steady. Riven limped, shadow clinging to his calves like wet cloth.
"Fuck me," Riven muttered, rubbing at a red welt on his arm. "If I hear another bell, I'll find a new hobby. Preferably one that doesn't involve dying."
Seren scribbled, shoved the note at him: Shut up. Rest. She pressed her hand to Kael's shoulder, light and sure.
They moved down a sloping corridor and found a little alcove carved into the stone. Someone had dragged a broken bench here and a brazier still holding a few warm coals. On the wall above the bench, names were carved in rows and rows, a ledger scratched into the living rock.
Kael stopped. The Compass at his chest gave a useless twang. He stepped closer and read. Hundreds of names, some fresh, some so old the letters were worn. Deep down the wall, new and raw, someone had carved a name.
KAEL — HOLLOW.
His fingers went cold. He didn't remember touching the letters, but there they were, ugly and plain.
Riven peered over his shoulder and snorted. "Well, congratulations. You made the wall. You're famous now." He clapped Kael's back like it was a good thing. "Will autograph things later, yeah?"
"Pfft," Seren scrawled, then handed Kael a scrap: Don't touch it. She spoke it with her eyes.
Kael took the scrap like a lifeline and tucked it away. He wanted to scrape his name off the wall, scratch it until the stone was smooth. He could feel the ledger's weight, like a hand pressing on his chest.
A voice came from the shadows and made him jump.
"Names are heavy, aren't they?"
Lyra stepped out where the torchlight was thin, boots soft on stone. She leaned by the brazier as if she belonged there. Her grin looked like a knife.
Kael's mouth went dry. "Not interested."
Lyra laughed low. "Not interested? That's boring. Information moves here. Names, marks, favors — everything's currency. And you," she tapped the carved word with a finger, "you're a fresh mark. People like fresh marks."
Riven's hand moved toward his sword before he remembered they weren't in the mood to fight. "Say the wrong thing, and I'll shut her up," he said too loudly.
Lyra's smile didn't change. "Try that. I'll make sure the ledger writes the story first." She tapped the wall like she owned it. "Careful where you swing your sword. The wall listens."
Kael felt like he was holding his breath in a room full of people coughing. The Key in his pocket felt small and useless. He kept his voice low. "What do you want?"
Lyra tilted her head. "Oh, I like watching. But I'm also a trader. Information, movement, slats. If you ever want to move a marked coin, or a slat, or anything sticky — I can help. For a price." She gave the kind of smile that meant favors lasted forever.
Seren wrote one line and shoved it at Kael: Don't make deals here. Then she looked at Lyra hard, eyes calm.
Lyra's grin stayed. "I don't bind folks. Not until they ask. Yet." She stepped back and melted into shadow. "Think about it. Everyone needs something in the Labyrinth."
When she left, the brazier hissed. The coals popped. Riven slumped onto the bench, blowing at his hands. "I hate her already."
Seren rolled her eyes, wrote: She's trouble. She tucked the note into Kael's palm.
Kael sat down slowly. His hands shook a little. He traced the letters of his name on the wall with a fingertip but didn't press hard. It felt wrong to rub at the stone. The ledger wasn't just record-keeping. It was a thing that shaped fate.
"Names get scratched out," Riven said, as if remembering a story. "People get erased clean. Maybe that's what we want." He tried to grin, but the laugh came out thin.
"No," Kael said quietly. "Not yet."
They ate stale bread and some meat Riven had bartered for with two tokens. The food tasted like metal, but it warmed them. People in the camp kept their distance, eyes flicking; no one asked questions. In the Labyrinth, it's polite to pretend you see nothing.
Kael put the Key on his knee and rubbed the cool metal between his fingers. Every time he felt it, he felt like there was a choice inside: use this and buy a second of safety, or hide it and save the cost for later.
"Think she'll help us?" Riven asked, chewing slowly.
"No," Kael said. "But she'll follow the noise." He didn't add that she already had. The way she walked and spoke — like someone who priced people by how useful they were — told him she'd come back. And people like her never leave favors unpaid.
Seren tapped the scrap in his hand and then crossed it out, ripping the paper in half. Little ritual, small, meaningful. It felt like closing a door on something.
From deep below, the stone gave a long, low sound. It wasn't nearby, but it was part of the world here, as normal as a clock.
BOOOONG.
The sound rolled through the passage, deep and patient. It made the coals flare faintly and the hair on Kael's arms stand up. No one jumped. They were used to the sound. It was a reminder: the Labyrinth sees, the Labyrinth counts.
Riven made a face. "The universe is telling us to pay rent again. Lovely."
Seren shoved a scrap at him: Stop being a jackass. He stuck it behind his ear like a crown.
Kael lay back on the bench, Key still warm under his palm. He watched the dark and thought of the ledger wall, his name there like a brand. He thought of Lyra's smooth voice, the way she said Hollow like it was a fact. He thought of the Coin, the slat, all the small things that made the Labyrinth notice you.
He didn't know who would come for them next. He didn't know if the wall could be cheated. He only knew one thing for sure: the Labyrinth kept writing, and every time it wrote, the world changed a little.
They slept in shifts—Riven snoring like a saw, Seren keeping watch with one eye open, Kael awake for the long, thin hours, counting the sparks in the brazier.
When dawn came, thin and gray, Kael traced his name on the wall one last time without touching it. It was still there—deep and ugly and real.
He tucked the scrap Seren had given him into his shirt, folded and small, and rose. The Key was heavy in his fist. They would move. They always moved.
Outside, the corridors waited, bent and dark. The ledger had written them down. The world would keep counting.
BOOOONG.
The gong sounded distant, like the closing of a book's page. They left the alcove, and the wall stayed behind, patient and hungry.