Relief floods me, unbidden and overwhelming.
The tears I shed now are not of despair but of release, of the knowledge that the torment has ended, if only for a moment. The grinding of the door's opening is the sweetest melody, a soothing balm to the wounds of pride and spirit.
Binah stands still, her violet eyes fixed on the opening. Her expression remains inscrutable, but there is a flicker of something there—satisfaction, perhaps, or understanding.
I glare at her, a fresh wave of bitterness rising in my chest. The memory of her control—how she had forced me to drink, made me act against my will—burns like the green liquid coursing through my veins. Her power over me was complete, total, and inescapable.
"You made me do it," I rasp, my voice raw with anger. "You forced me."
She does not respond. She never does.
The silence only deepens my resentment. I want to scream at her, demand answers, but the words catch in my throat, trapped beneath the weight of my exhaustion. Binah's expression does not shift, her gaze steady and calm. The stillness is infuriating, an unspoken dismissal of my fury.
"You think you can just push me, make me do whatever you want?" My voice rises, but I lack the strength to give it real force. "You have no right!"
Her eyes remain fixed on me, and my anger falters in the face of her indifference. I am shouting at stone.
"Why?" I ask, though I do not expect a reply. My hands clench into fists, trembling with the remnants of rage and the weakness still clinging to me.
Binah tilts her head slightly, her pale hair catching the faint light. Her gaze is as sharp and impenetrable as ever, a wall I cannot breach. She turns her eyes back to the open passage, as though the conversation—if it can even be called that—has already ended.
The passage beyond the door beckons, its air warmer, alive with the promise of something more. I take a halting step forward, then another, each movement a defiance of the fatigue that weighs me down.
I glance back at Binah one last time. She lingers near the wall, solid and still, watching me with that same unreadable expression. The grinding of the door ceases, and the chamber falls silent once more.
I do not look back again. The cell is behind me, its horrors left in the dark. The passage ahead is narrow, the light faint, but it is enough.
And I press forward.
My stomach churns.
The green liquid burns through my veins as I stumble into the vast chamber beyond. My vision swims, the walls seeming to pulse with each beat of my heart. Stone corridors stretch in every direction, their edges blurred and uncertain, as though reality itself is shifting beneath my feet.
The air smells damp, metallic, like wet stone fused with rust. It clings to my skin, heavy and oppressive. The labyrinth feels alive, shifting and watching, as though it resents my presence. The walls themselves seem to breathe, twisting into impossible angles before returning to something resembling order.
Runes etched into the stone glow faintly, their light bleeding into the air like a sickly fog. Some pulse softly, almost in rhythm with my heartbeat, while others flicker erratically. The patterns feel just out of reach, teasing at something familiar but unknowable.
Binah walks beside me, silent as always. Her movements are steady, deliberate, as though she belongs here in a way I never could. She pauses near a low rune, her pale hand hovering over its surface. For an instant, the marking pulses brighter, its glow sharp and piercing, before fading into its usual dimness.
"Do you know where we are going?" I ask her, my voice low and bitter. She does not answer, and I curse under my breath. Her silence feels heavier now, a weight pressing against my chest.
The first corridor I choose leads nowhere. It seems promising—straight, smooth, and wide enough to run if I need to. But after only a few steps, the walls groan, twisting the path back on itself. When I retrace my steps, I find myself back where I started.
I pause, my breath coming in shallow gasps. My legs feel like lead, and the green liquid churns in my stomach, a sickening reminder of her control over me. The labyrinth seems to mock my efforts, its ever-changing paths denying me progress.
"Stop playing games," I growl, my voice sharp with frustration. Binah stops and turns to face me, her violet eyes calm and steady. The sight of her composure only enrages me further.
"You could tell me, you know," I snap. "You could just say what you want me to do. But you would rather watch me run in circles."
She gestures toward another passage—narrow, claustrophobic—but I hesitate. Her actions feel deliberate, as though she is leading me deeper into this maze, dragging me toward something worse. Yet, I have no choice. The green liquid bubbles in my stomach. Strange colors frolic and twist across my vision before disappearing.
I shake my head, paw the sweat from my face.
My skin burns with a fever.
As I step into the next corridor, the walls shift again, grinding into a new configuration. Stone slabs slide away to reveal a larger chamber ahead, its ceiling lost in shadow. A faint green glow catches my eye, high up on the far wall.
A metallic plate. Its surface gleams faintly, etched with runes that flicker with the same sickly hue as the liquid still burning in my veins. The sight of it sends a jolt through my chest—hope, perhaps, though it feels just as much like dread.
"What is that?" I ask aloud, but Binah does not respond. She stands motionless, watching the plate as though it is the only thing in the room that matters. My gaze lingers on her, then returns to the plate. The runes pulse, almost as if they are alive, beckoning.
It has to mean something. An exit? A key? Or another test?
A low hum vibrates through the floor, faint but growing. The sound is impossibly precise, mechanical, and it sets my teeth on edge. I pause, listening as it grows louder, and an unnatural chill washes over me.
Ahead, the chamber opens further, its vastness swallowing me. The hum intensifies, resonating through the stone. Then I see it—a shadow moving at the far end of the room.
The sentinel emerges from the darkness, its body a contradiction in terms. Its form is obsidian black, so dark it seems to radiate its own strange light. Every edge is sharp, every surface smooth and polished to a perfection that defies reason. Its single red eye glows with alien intensity, casting faint beams of light that sweep the chamber.
It moves with a terrifying grace, its limbs jointed in ways that mimic life but are unmistakably machine. Each step is deliberate, calculated, as though it is savoring the hunt. The sound of its movement is a soft, metallic whisper, like a blade drawn slowly across stone.
The sentinel's alien gaze brushes the wall nearest me, and I feel it—a sharp, icy pull, as if the sentinel's focus alone could strip away layers of my being.
Terror roots me in place. Lessons of the Second Shattering flood back—the Tekhne, the relentless advance of machines like this, and the cold, calculated precision of their killing strikes.
A Nihil sentinel. Here. Within Malkiel.
The thought crashes over me like a tidal wave. My people fled constructs like this twice in our history. The First Shattering, when the Nihil turned on the House Absolute and forced us to abandon our ancestral home and flee into the Balah. And six years ago, during the Second Shattering, when their resurgence shattered the fragile peace we had clawed back. Both times, these machines were unstoppable, relentless. Both times, they drove us from the only homes we knew.
The Tekhne's spawn should not be here.
Malkiel is supposed to be a place of discipline, of tradition—ancient, unbroken. It is a sanctuary, a temple to order and the Autarch's will. Yet here, stalking the labyrinth's shifting halls, is one of the most profane creations ever born. This machine is an affront to everything Malkiel represents.
I tighten my fists, the anger briefly cutting through my fear. Does Malkiel know what they are housing? Have they kept this thing locked away, knowing what it is capable of? Or worse—do they not care?
My head aches at the thought.
This sentinel is not a relic of curiosity. It is death incarnate, a remnant of the Tekhne's twisted pursuit of immorality.
Binah moves past me, her steps deliberate and calm. Her presence pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. She gestures toward a side passage, her expression unreadable. I hesitate. The sentinel's scan is getting closer, its hum rising to a piercing whine.
I glance again at the pressure plate. It looms high above the sentinel's patrol path, its faint glow seeming to mock me. My chest tightens. Reaching it will not be easy.
I run.
The labyrinth shifts one last time, pulling back the walls to reveal a straight path to the pressure plate. The sentinel moves instantly, its speed inhuman, cutting off every escape route.
I sprint, my legs burning, my breaths ragged. The poison in my veins drags me down, my body a puppet to its cruel strings. The pressure plate glows ahead of me, but the sentinel's hum crescendos—a warning, a promise of death.
Three steps from the plate, the floor shifts beneath me. The stone tilts at an impossible angle, and I stumble. My arms flail, and I crash to the ground, the impact jolting the air from my lungs.
The sentinel looms over me, its red eye fixed on mine. Its blade-like limbs extend with a soft, metallic whir, their edges gleaming with an unholy sharpness.
In the distance, Binah stands still, her face unreadable, her violet eyes watching.
I am alone with the machine.
And it is time to die.