Erhling emerged from the void, breathless as the fabric of reality seemed to reweave itself around him. The sensation was overwhelming—like being pulled through the eye of a cosmic storm. As his feet touched solid ground, the familiar yet alien atmosphere of the labyrinth closed in. The air here felt different, charged with the tension of untold power and looming danger. The distant hum of energy crackled like static, unseen but palpable, and a soft, perpetual breeze swept across the land, carrying with it whispers of forgotten realms and lost souls.
Around him, the sky was an unnatural blend of twilight and dawn, the horizon forever caught between day and night. Shards of broken stars hung suspended in the air, frozen as if time itself had been severed. The labyrinth's sprawling landscape appeared impossibly vast, an endless expanse of hills and valleys dotted with towering structures, their ancient stone facades etched with shifting runes. Beyond, massive floating islands drifted lazily, tethered to the ground by ethereal chains of light, while arcs of energy shot between them like bolts of lightning.
Directly ahead stood the gate, colossal and imposing, stretching far into the heavens. Its surface was covered in a mosaic of intricate engravings, depicting the rise and fall of entire civilizations. The center of the gate bore a depiction of the Mother Goddess—her celestial form emanating both beauty and terror. Her eyes, carved with unnerving precision, seemed to watch over all who approached, judging their worth before they even set foot through the threshold.
Erhling's body still pulsed with the residual energy of the Cull, his mind reeling from the experience. Around him, the aftermath was clear: contestants lay scattered across the stone courtyard, some gasping for breath, others clutching their heads as if the very essence of their being had been ripped apart and sewn back together.
To his left, a tall woman stood with an iron will. Her jet-black hair fell in waves down her back, her piercing gaze locked onto the gate. She stood with her arms crossed, her posture stiff and unyielding. Despite the physical toll the Cull had clearly taken on her, she remained unmoved, like a sentinel carved from stone. Erhling felt a strange pull toward her, sensing her fierce determination. She turned her head slightly, catching his eye for a brief moment before she shifted her gaze back to the gate, her mind calculating a thousand possible scenarios. He heard her mutter, almost to herself, "Seraphine Dreylis," as if reinforcing her identity after the ordeal.
Nearby, a man stood gripping the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white. His lips moved in silent prayer, though his eyes betrayed the weight of countless battles fought and endured. His brow was deeply furrowed, and despite his stillness, there was an undercurrent of barely suppressed rage. Erhling could see the sweat on his brow, the toll the Cull had taken on his spirit. The man's intense gaze was focused on the ground as though seeking guidance from forces unseen. Erhling approached him slowly, drawn to the quiet strength emanating from him. "Calder Yvain," the man said softly, more to the earth than to Erhling, as if reaffirming his place in the labyrinth.
Not far from them, a young boy with a hood pulled low over his face trembled violently. His thin frame was bent over, his breaths shallow and uneven. Erhling could see his hands shaking as he struggled to compose himself, though it was clear he was barely holding on. The boy seemed out of place, far too young for a contest of this magnitude. His eyes flicked nervously from side to side, full of fear and uncertainty, as if any sudden movement might shatter him entirely. Erhling approached cautiously, wanting to reassure the boy. When he drew near, the boy whispered, almost inaudibly, "Kael Veylen."
An older woman, her face weathered but calm, stood off to the side. Her eyes were heavy with the weight of past battles, yet there was a quiet strength in her posture. She leaned on a staff, her movements slow and deliberate, as if each step required careful calculation. Her demeanor was one of resignation, not to defeat, but to the knowledge that survival in this labyrinth came at a cost she had long accepted. The way she scanned her surroundings told Erhling she had seen much in her time, far more than most. When their eyes met, she gave him a knowing nod, her voice steady as she introduced herself: "Elara Moryn."
Then there was the fifth figure, one who stood apart from the others. Cloaked and hooded, this individual carried a rapier at their side with an air of quiet confidence. The figure didn't look at anyone but stood ready, as though expecting something to happen at any moment. There was a palpable distance between them and the rest of the contestants, not just physical but emotional—a self-imposed barrier. Erhling could sense the ruthless resolve emanating from them. He stepped closer but did not speak, unsure if his presence would be welcome. The figure simply turned and offered a single word: "Lorein."
As Erhling surveyed his surroundings, the weight of the labyrinth settled on him once again. Fifty other contestants were scattered throughout the courtyard, many still recovering from the Cull's aftereffects. The young man who had collapsed earlier struggled to his feet, his spirit core clearly overwhelmed by the power his sponsor had poured into him. His body convulsed, and his eyes bulged as he gasped for air, his hands clawing at his chest in pain.
The Cull had been a brutal reminder of the labyrinth's true nature. It wasn't merely a test of strength or cunning—it was a test of the very limits of the soul. The spirit core, the conduit through which a contestant could channel their sponsor's power, was fragile. Too much power could shatter it, leaving the contestant broken, or worse, dead. Erhling clenched his fists. His own experience had been harrowing, but he had survived.
As the chaos slowly subsided, a soft light shimmered in the air, drawing everyone's attention. From the light emerged a figure—a young girl, impossibly bright, dressed in blue shorts and a matching shirt. She skipped toward them, her demeanor strangely carefree given the gravity of their situation. Her hat bobbed on her head, and she waved cheerfully at the gathered contestants. "Hello!" she called out, her voice high and sweet. "I'm Nes, your guide for this stage of the labyrinth."
Nes's innocent appearance was disarming, but Erhling felt the dissonance between her bright energy and the gravity of the situation. As she spoke, explaining the Common Area and the nature of the upcoming trials, her casual attitude towards the death and destruction surrounding her was unsettling. Her small, brightly colored bird, Mellon, chirped on her shoulder as she recited the labyrinth's hierarchy as if it were a child's nursery rhyme.
"There are five tiers of sponsors," she began, her tone light, but the weight of her words undeniable. "At the lowest, we have the **Saints**, Tier 5. They control the mortal world, influencing things like plagues, wars, and miracles. To speak their names would invite catastrophe upon the world, but luckily, you're safe from that." She gave a playful wink.
"Next, at **Tier 4**, are the **Angels**. They're agents of higher powers, governing larger concepts—judgment, mercy, chaos. Their names are whispered in only the darkest corners because their power can rewrite the destinies of entire worlds."
She twirled a strand of her hair as she continued. "Then there are the **Archangels** at **Tier 3**. They manage whole celestial domains and have authority over countless realms. Their presence alone can bend the very fabric of space and time. Saying their name could shatter the balance of the cosmos."
Nes's playful attitude vanished when she spoke of the **Creators** at **Tier 2**. "These beings shape entire dimensions, galaxies, even time itself. They create and destroy on whims, and their names... well, you'd never want to say them. Trust me."
Finally, she paused before mentioning the **Source**, her voice suddenly dropping to a near-whisper. "And then, there's **Tier 1**—the Source itself. The origin of all things. It is everywhere and everything. Its personalities are fragmented, existing in multiple forms across the cosmos. Some fragments are locked away, their power too great, their influence too unpredictable. To invoke its name is to call upon the raw force of existence, a force that could end everything."
Erhling's mind churned with this revelation. The hierarchy was more than he'd imagined, but what disturbed him most was the fragmented nature of the Source. He thought of the Architect—his sponsor—and a chill crept down his spine. Yet, he dismissed it, having no knowledge of the deeper connection.
As the contestants filed through the gate and into the labyrinth's next stage, Erhling took a moment to observe his fellow competitors. The tension from the Cull still clung to them, but beneath that, a grim determination burned in their eyes. Seraphine, Calder, Kael, Elara, and Lorein each carried their own burdens, their own reasons for being here, and as much as they were allies in this moment, Erhling knew that soon enough, they would become his rivals.