The transition didn't feel like stepping through a doorway.
One moment, Evan was being dragged forward by a force that had no hands—his living room collapsing into a seam of pale light, the gate swallowing everything familiar—and the next, he stood on a cold stone floor beneath a ceiling so high it vanished into darkness.
The air was still. Not quiet—there were too many breaths, too many shifting feet, too many half-formed prayers—but still in the way a cavern was still, like sound had to travel farther here and didn't always return.
Evan's eyes adjusted in slow increments, taking in shape before detail.
A vast hall spread outward in every direction, its edges swallowed by shadow. It wasn't a room. It was an environment built at a scale that made humans feel like a measurement error.
Thousands—maybe more—stood scattered across the floor in clusters and loose lines. Some were frozen where they'd appeared, hands still raised as if bracing for impact. Others wandered in aimless circles, trying to make sense of a place that refused to offer walls.
Despite the number of people, the space barely felt crowded.
That was what tightened Evan's stomach: the hall was so enormous it could hold all of them and still feel indifferent.
At the center of it all stood a single podium, distant and perfectly framed. It was illuminated by an unseen light source—a pale column that cut through darkness and made the surrounding shadows feel deeper by comparison.
Evan's gaze flicked to the edge of his vision, expecting the familiar overlay.
It was already there.
[LABYRINTH: ENTRY COMPLETE]
[Location: HALL OF LEGACIES]
A second line formed beneath it.
[Notice: Beast/Egg temporarily sealed in Taming Space until Floor 1.]
Evan blinked.
"Sealed?" he murmured.
His hand rose instinctively to his chest. The bond was still there—faint and undeniable—like a thread anchored behind his sternum. But the stone egg was gone. There was no cold weight in his arms, no object to clutch.
For a beat, panic flared—sharp, involuntary.
Then Evan forced it down.
He'd survived the night by turning fear into routine. He could do it again.
He scanned the hall the way he scanned a new map in a game—angles, exits, threats, patterns. The podium mattered. Anything that drew attention that strongly mattered.
But the absence that hit hardest wasn't architectural.
Elara wasn't beside him.
Evan turned in a slow circle, eyes sweeping the crowd for snow-white hair, for a tall athletic frame, for the posture that carried itself like it belonged.
Nothing.
His throat tightened.
Find her.
Everything else could wait.
Evan stepped backward, away from the densest cluster, letting his calm settle into place—not because he wasn't afraid, but because panic didn't help him see.
He moved onto a low stone ridge—part of the floor's design, barely raised but enough to see over heads. From there, he scanned again.
People in pajamas and slippers. People in work uniforms. People still wearing backpacks from commuting. Some were armed—knives, batons, even a handgun clutched with shaky hands—faces strained as if weapons could force order into the impossible.
No Elara.
Evan exhaled slowly.
If the system separated people, it likely did it consistently. Not random scatter, but structured displacement. That meant there was probably a convergence point.
The podium.
Evan's instincts whispered the same thing they always did when the obvious path looked too inviting.
***
Elara woke into the hall the way she woke into everything else—fast, sharp, instantly aware that something was wrong.
Stone under her boots. Darkness above. The smell like air that had been trapped inside old places too long.
And Evan wasn't there.
Elara's arms tightened automatically—
—and closed around nothing.
Her chest constricted hard enough to steal a breath.
"Byakko?" The name slipped out before she could stop it.
There was no warm weight. No purr. No presence against her ribs.
A flash of panic surged up her spine—hot and ugly, the kind she rarely allowed herself to feel.
Not because she was afraid for herself.
Because she'd lost both—Evan and the one thing that had made her feel less alone in the face of the Labyrinth.
Elara's gaze snapped to the interface hovering in front of her like a verdict.
[Location: HALL OF LEGACIES]
[Notice: Beast/Egg temporarily sealed in Taming Space until Floor 1.]
Her jaw clenched.
So that was what it meant.
But the panic didn't fully fade until she felt it.
A pull from inside her chest—not pain, not pressure. A soft call, distant but unmistakable, like hearing a familiar voice through a wall.
Elara froze.
Byakko wasn't gone.
It was with her.
Just… elsewhere.
"Taming space," she whispered, tasting the phrase like something she didn't like but would use anyway.
If Byakko was sealed but present, it meant the system hadn't taken it away permanently. It also meant she couldn't rely on it yet.
So Elara did what she always did when the field changed and the rules weren't clear.
She adapted.
She scanned the hall.
The central podium drew the eye the way gravity drew falling objects—subtle, constant, unavoidable. People drifted toward it like moths toward the only light.
Elara didn't rush.
She searched instead. For posture. For movement. For the specific calm her brother carried even when everything was breaking.
She moved through the crowd, not weaving randomly but cutting clean paths, eyes tracking silhouettes more than faces.
Find Evan.
That was the only plan that mattered.
Someone slid into her peripheral vision without fully blocking her path.
"Prepared," a voice said—low, not awed, not friendly. Observant.
Elara didn't look immediately. She kept walking.
The man matched her pace with a kind of loose ease that didn't quite fit the moment. Average height. Wiry build built for motion, not bulk. Dark brown hair fell into his eyes in a way that would've been annoying if he cared enough to fix it.
But his eyes—amber, sharp—rarely stayed still. They moved constantly, flicking over the room like he was counting exits and measuring threats.
He looked like someone who'd learned early that stillness could get you cornered.
"You're ready for this aren't you?," he said, gaze flicking to her boots, her layered jacket, the tightened straps of her backpack.
Elara finally glanced at him.
His posture slouched, relaxed enough to look careless—yet his balance was perfect, weight centered as if he could sprint or pivot at any moment.
Elara's tone stayed flat. "Move."
He didn't. Not immediately.
Instead, his eyes slid past her shoulder to the crowd, then to the distant podium, then back to her again—reading, evaluating.
"You're looking for someone," he said.
Elara's fingers flexed once.
"That's not your business."
He shrugged, but the motion was more habit than dismissal. "Everything's everyone's business now." His gaze cut across the room again. "System drops you into a giant hall, takes your gear's main advantage—beasts—and tells you nothing except 'welcome.' People are going to panic. Panic makes bad choices."
Elara's eyes narrowed. "Do you have a point?"
"Yeah," he said easily. "You're the only one here who looks like you planned for the worst. That's either confidence or competence."
Elara didn't react.
The man leaned slightly closer—not invasive, but just enough to make the point that he wasn't intimidated by her coldness.
"And the way you're scanning?" he added. "Not random. Not fear. You're searching."
Elara's jaw tightened.
She didn't like being read.
"Name," he said abruptly. "So I don't call you 'prepared girl' in my head."
"Elara."
She gave it the way you gave a fact to get someone to stop asking.
The man's mouth twitched. Not a smile—something closer to approval.
"Kaito," he said. Then, after a beat, as if he didn't trust single names: "Kaito Mercer."
Mercer. A last name that sounded like it belonged on paperwork. On a file.
Elara didn't ask. She didn't care.
Kaito stepped sideways, letting her pass—then added, almost casually, "If you're smart, you'll move before the room tells you to."
Elara walked on without looking back.
But she filed the name away.
Kaito Mercer moved like someone accustomed to leaving quickly.
And in a place like this, that might matter.
The hall's murmur thickened into noise as minutes passed.
People demanded explanations from strangers. They shouted at the podium like it owed them answers. Some tried to organize groups, voices rising with the brittle confidence of people who'd never led anything more dangerous than a meeting.
Evan stayed near the edge of the central flow, watching.
Then the podium pulsed.
Not with light exactly—with presence.
A deep vibration rolled through the floor, subtle enough it wasn't felt in the feet first but in teeth, in bone, in the space behind the sternum where the system's bond lived.
Conversations faltered.
Heads turned.
The hall quieted as if something had pressed down on the volume of humanity.
Evan's gaze locked on the podium.
A pale column of light intensified above it. The interface in Evan's vision brightened in response.
Then the voice spoke again—no echo, no direction, just certainty delivered straight into awareness.
"Welcome. Your journey begins in the Hall of Legacies."
The words settled like a weight.
The voice continued.
"Your beasts and eggs are temporarily sealed in your taming spaces and will be accessible once you enter Floor 1."
The crowd rippled with reaction—relief, outrage, confusion.
Evan swallowed.
So it wasn't just him. No one had their beast. No one had their egg.
A leveling of the field.
The voice finished, cold and simple.
"Pass through the gates and begin your challenge."
The light above the podium flared.
The stone at the center of the hall shifted.
Something rose.
A monumental gate emerged as if the floor had been an illusion—night-black, carved with reliefs that caught pale light along their edges: beasts with too many limbs, crowned humanoids, serpents wrapped around pillars, scenes of battle so detailed Evan's mind tried to read them like history.
Devastation.
And—strangely—life.
Forests blooming from ash. Rivers cutting through dead land. Cities rising again beneath unfamiliar stars.
A cycle etched into stone.
Evan's gamer brain labeled it environmental storytelling.
His history brain labeled it warning.
The gate's seams began to glow faintly.
With a deep resonant groan, the doors opened inward.
Behind them was a long corridor lined with ethereal lanterns floating in perfect rows. Their pale light illuminated stone that looked older than Earth's oldest monuments.
At the far end, a small point of light shone like an exit.
It looked reachable.
Which made Evan distrust it immediately.
People began to move.
Some rushed forward like they couldn't stand being in the hall another second. Others formed groups, grabbing sleeves and backpacks, voices urgent.
Evan watched the first wave sprint.
Too eager, he thought.
Then someone screamed.
A runner reached the corridor's threshold—
—and vanished sideways into the wall as if the stone had turned to water for a single instant.
No impact sound. No smear. No dent.
Just absence.
Another disappeared downward, feet slipping into the floor.
A third shot upward into the ceiling like yanked prey.
Their screams cut off abruptly, like a switch flipped.
Panic detonated.
People stumbled backward, collided, fell. Someone sobbed. Someone shouted that it was a trap. Someone else screamed that they were all going to die.
Evan's pulse quickened, but his mind stayed clear.
This wasn't Floor 1.
This was a filter.
And the filter didn't care how scared you were.
The voice returned, absolute and cold:
"Clear the hall in ten minutes."
A new timer appeared:
[Directive: CLEAR THE HALL — 10:00]
Ten minutes.
A deadline.
Around the hall, fear shifted into movement.
Some ran anyway, convinced speed would save them. Others tightened into groups. A few froze completely—minds refusing to accept that the only path forward demanded risk.
He swept the thinning hall again.
And then—across a widening gap—he spotted snow-white hair.
Elara.
Evan's chest loosened so sharply it almost hurt.
He didn't shout. He moved through the crowd with purpose, weaving between clusters until he reached her.
Elara turned, eyes snapping to him—relief flashing for a heartbeat before discipline locked it away.
"You're here," she said, voice tight.
"Yeah," Evan answered, trying for lightness and failing. "Turns out the Labyrinth doesn't do family seating."
They stood shoulder to shoulder and watched the corridor swallow people with casual cruelty.
Evan checked his timer.
[Directive: CLEAR THE HALL — 04:28]
"There are humans carved in there," he said quietly. "In a corner. Small. Like… we're not the main story."
Elara's mouth tightened. "So this isn't the first time."
Evan nodded slowly. "Either other worlds had humans… or Earth has been here before."
Elara's eyes sharpened. "That doesn't make sense."
Evan's voice dropped. "History forgets," he said. "Or gets erased. Or those carvings aren't Earth's history—they're the Labyrinth's."
Elara didn't answer.
She didn't need to.
The implication sat between them: other worlds had entered this hall. Some passed. Some vanished before they even reached Floor 1.
The Hall of Legacies wasn't just a lobby.
It was a museum.
A warning, carved into stone.
Evan checked the timer again.
[Directive: CLEAR THE HALL — 02:56]
Elara's posture shifted—decision settling like armor.
"No more waiting," she said.
Evan nodded once. "Let's go."
They scanned once more for any last hint—any pattern, any clue in the architecture that might explain the corridor's rules.
But the hall offered no mercy beyond what it stole.
The corridor remained, lit by ethereal lanterns, its exit a small point of promise at the far end.
People continued to pass—some untouched, others losing pieces of themselves with no sound but the sudden absence.
Evan's mouth went dry.
Elara glanced at him. "Stay close," she said.
They moved forward through the thinning crowd until they stood near the threshold.
The gate's carvings towered above them—beasts and humanoids frozen mid-war, as if the stone itself remembered screaming.
Evan tilted his head, tracking lantern spacing.
Elara nodded once. "And if one of us—"
"Don't," Evan cut in quickly. "We're not saying that sentence."
Elara's jaw tightened. "Fine," she said.
Evan checked the timer.
[Directive: CLEAR THE HALL — 02:03]
Behind them, the hall was almost empty. A few people remained frozen in fear, staring at the corridor like it was a mouth. Others sprinted at the last second, desperation making them reckless.
Evan and Elara stood at the threshold.
No beasts. No eggs. Just backpacks and a ticking deadline.
Elara's hand drifted to her sternum unconsciously.
Evan understood: Byakko was sealed but present—a calm tether.
His own chest pulsed faintly with the bond to his stone egg—sealed, heavy, silent.
They had each other.
For now.
Evan glanced sideways.
Elara met his gaze, and something old passed between them—an understanding forged through moves, new schools, unfamiliar streets, and the quiet truth that the world never stayed still long enough to feel safe.
Except now the world had stopped pretending.
Elara exhaled. "On three," she said.
Evan nodded. "One. Two—"
And together, with two minutes left on the timer and the Hall of Legacies closing behind them like judgment, the Cross twins stepped into the lantern-lit corridor that led toward Floor 1.
Where the real trial would begin.