The Book would not shut up.
That was the only way Qaritas could describe it.
For something that usually behaved like an arrogant corpse wrapped in judgment, it had suddenly become extremely talkative.
Not with speech.
That would have been too convenient.
No.
It used ink.
Over and over again.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
The words bled across the page.
Vanished.
Returned.
Bigger.
Darker.
More impatient.
Qaritas stared down at it from the corner table of Pandeminium's upstairs room.
"You are aware repeating yourself does not make you less irritating."
The Book flipped one page.
Then wrote:
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
Qaritas pointed at it.
"That was personal."
Xheavend sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in one of Xima's thick blankets. Her knees were tucked to her chest, bare feet hidden beneath the fabric. She watched the Book with wide, exhausted curiosity.
"It's trying to tell you something."
"It has been trying to tell me something since I met it," Qaritas muttered. "Usually that something is that I'm incompetent."
The Book's purple eyes blinked.
Slowly.
Judgmentally.
Xheavend tilted her head.
"I think it likes you."
Qaritas stared at her.
Then at the Book.
Then back at her.
"That thing has never liked anything in its entire stitched life."
The Book wrote:
GORAXIAN.
Stevão's face changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
Pain.
"Goraxian."
Qaritas immediately looked away.
A mistake.
A small one.
But Eon noticed.
Careful.
Right.
Timeline.
Qaritas rubbed the back of his neck.
"I've heard the name."
Inside his head Eon nearly choked.
That is the lie you're choosing?
I panicked.
You will fight beside him for billions of years.
I am aware.
Stevão narrowed his eyes.
"You've heard the name?"
Qaritas shrugged.
"Maybe."
Eon sighed.
That was worse.
I know.
That was definitely worse.
Xheavend looked between them.
"You two are being weird."
"We are always weird."
Stevão folded his arms.
"Goraxian isn't a place."
Silence.
Qaritas nodded slowly.
"Didn't think it was."
Good.
Keep acting stupid.
I'm trying.
You are failing.
Eon became quiet.
Then:
Besides.
If Goraxian is in the Labyrinth—
he is there because he chose to be.
Qaritas almost laughed.
That sounds exactly like something he'd do.
Yes.
It does.
Stevão stared.
For the first time since meeting him—
the tavern owner looked genuinely shocked.
Eon stirred inside Qaritas.
Cold.
Focused.
Dangerously quiet.
Stevão swallowed.
Qaritas looked down.
The words suddenly felt heavier.
Stevão's eyes drifted toward the fortress.
Toward Yeitshoja.
Toward the nightmare beneath it.
"Because Goraxian was taken."
The room became still.
"He challenged Yzer."
"He lost."
"And they dragged him into the Labyrinth."
Inside his head, Qaritas spoke first.
You want to tell him?
No.
Why?
Because Goro would stab us.
That seems dramatic.
You have met Goro.
Fair.
Eon went silent.
Not surprised.
Furious.
Stevão continued quietly.
"I don't know if he's alive."
"But if the Book is screaming his name..."
He looked toward the page.
"...then someone wants you to find him."
Silence settled over the room.
Then Qaritas laughed.
Once.
Short.
Sharp.
Wrong.
Everyone looked at him.
Because it wasn't Qaritas's laugh.
It was older.
Warmer.
Dangerously amused.
The air shifted.
Qaritas slowly straightened.
His posture changed.
His eyes darkened.
Eon.
Xheavend immediately noticed.
So did Stevão.
So did Xima.
The presence wearing Qaritas's body smiled.
And laughed again.
"Goro?"
The smile widened.
"Oh, Goro does not fall easily."
Stevão frowned.
Eon folded his arms.
"If Goraxian was captured..."
Another laugh escaped him.
"...then Goraxian allowed himself to be captured."
The room went still.
Stevão stared.
"That's impossible."
"No."
Eon's smile sharpened.
"It is very possible."
The ancient presence looked toward the Book.
Toward the words.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
"He has survived things that would erase civilizations."
"He has escaped prisons designed by gods."
"He once spent three centuries trapped inside a dying star because he wanted to see what would happen."
Stevão blinked.
"What?"
Eon ignored him.
"If Goro is in the Labyrinth..."
His voice lowered.
"...then he is waiting."
The amusement vanished.
Replaced by certainty.
Absolute certainty.
"Waiting for something."
For one brief moment—
Eon turned.
Not toward Stevão.
Not toward the Book.
Toward Xheavend.
The room felt colder.
Older.
Like the universe itself had paused.
And Eon looked directly at the child.
"Or waiting for someone."
Xheavend froze.
Not because she understood.
Because some deep instinct told her those words mattered.
Eon held her gaze for another second.
Then the moment passed.
Qaritas staggered slightly.
The smile vanished.
The ancient weight disappeared.
And suddenly he was himself again.
"...why do I always come back during the creepy part?"
Not surprise.
Memory.
Grief.
Rage.
A thousand things folding together.
Qaritas looked down at the Book.
LABYRINTH.
GORAXIAN.
Now the words felt different.
Not instruction.
Rescue.
Xheavend's small fingers tightened around the blanket.
"Goro," she whispered, testing the name like she did not know why it mattered yet.
Qaritas looked at her.
And for one terrible second, he saw two versions of her at once.
The child on the bed.
And the future woman who had stood among nightmares like she belonged above them.
This was where it began.
Here.
Now.
With a tavern.
A cursed book.
A missing serpent.
And a little girl who was supposed to turn ten tomorrow.
Stevão exhaled sharply.
"If the Book is telling you Goraxian is in the Labyrinth, then he's either alive…"
He paused.
"Or something inside that place wants you to find what's left of him."
"That is not comforting," Qaritas said.
"Good," Stevão replied. "Comfort gets people killed down there."
Xima stepped into the room carrying a bundle of folded cloth and a small leather pouch. Her spoon was still tucked into her belt like a weapon.
"You're going."
It was not a question.
Qaritas looked at Xheavend.
Her face immediately tightened.
"I'm not staying here."
"No one said you were," Qaritas said.
She narrowed her eyes.
"You were thinking it."
"I was considering the part where walking a child into the biggest nightmare prison in existence sounds stupid."
Xheavend lifted her chin.
"I escaped Yzer."
"Yes," Qaritas said. "Which was extremely rude of you. Ruined his whole evening. Very proud."
Her mouth twitched.
Barely.
Almost a smile.
Then it disappeared.
"I'm not going back."
"No," Eon said through Qaritas's mouth before Qaritas could answer.
The room went still.
Xheavend stared.
Qaritas felt Eon's voice settle in his throat, low and ancient.
"You are not going back to him."
Xheavend's eyes widened.
She knew.
Not fully.
But some frightened part of her understood that the second presence inside Qaritas had meant that as a vow.
Stevão cleared his throat.
"Then listen closely."
He moved to the table and drew a rough map in spilled ash.
"Yeitshoja has upper halls, lower halls, and the parts sensible people pretend do not exist. The Labyrinth begins beneath the mountain-mouth, but it spreads under the entire city."
He marked a long jagged line.
"The Weeping Galleries are closest to the outer entry. Miles of prison tunnels. Walls cry black water. Don't touch it unless you want to remember things that never happened to you."
Another mark.
"The Hollow Choir. Thousands of cells. Everyone inside sings. No one knows why. If you hear your own voice singing back, cover your ears and run."
He marked a wide burning circle.
"The Furnace Mile. That's where they forge chains. Heat will cook your lungs if you breathe wrong."
Qaritas grimaced.
"Good. Normal prison features."
Stevão ignored him.
"The Drowned Archives are below that. Flooded records. Names. Histories. Every person Yzer tried to erase. Some of those names learned to bite."
Xheavend leaned forward despite herself.
"Names can bite?"
Stevão looked at her.
"In that place? Everything can."
He drew vertical lines.
"The Bone Elevators move prisoners between levels. They're alive enough to hate their job."
Qaritas stared.
"Alive elevators?"
"Bone elevators," Stevão corrected. "Different horror."
"Of course."
Then Stevão drew a dark circle at the center of the ash map.
His voice became quieter.
"The Heart Engine. That is where the Labyrinth takes people apart. Names. Memories. Loyalty. Fear. Hope. It strips identity down until only what Yzer wants remains."
Xheavend went pale.
Qaritas saw it.
So did Eon.
So did everyone.
Stevão's gaze softened.
"My friend was taken near the Furnace Mile. If Goraxian is still alive, he may have been moved deeper."
Qaritas looked at the map.
"Do you know a way in?"
Stevão's grin returned.
Small.
Crooked.
Dangerous.
"I know several ways in. Most of them are terrible."
"That seems to be the theme."
"The safest route is through the old service descent under the east market. It drops into the Weeping Galleries. From there, you follow the black-water channels until they meet the Furnace drains."
Xima set the leather pouch on the table.
"Food. Bandages. Burn salve. Two vials of lung-clear."
Qaritas blinked.
"You just had this ready?"
Xima looked at him flatly.
"I live beside Yzer's prison."
"Fair."
Stevão reached beneath his waistcoat and produced a coil of pale rope.
"Ghostfiber. Won't burn easily. Won't snap easily. Will absolutely insult you if tied badly."
Qaritas took it.
"The rope insults people?"
"Only idiots."
The rope twitched in Qaritas's hand.
He glared at it.
"Don't start."
Xheavend slid off the bed.
Too quickly.
Her knees buckled.
Qaritas moved without thinking, catching her before she hit the floor.
She stiffened instantly.
Every muscle locked.
Freeze.
Not flight this time.
Not fight.
Freeze.
Qaritas stopped moving.
He did not pull her closer.
Did not tighten his grip.
Did not speak too loudly.
"You're okay," he said softly.
She stared at his hands on her arms.
Breathing fast.
Eyes wide.
Qaritas slowly let go.
Step by step.
Her breathing eased.
A little.
"I can walk," she whispered.
"I know."
"You don't."
"I believe you."
That landed differently.
Her gaze flicked up to his.
Suspicious.
But not as sharp.
Xima came forward and wrapped a smaller cloak around Xheavend's shoulders.
"Keep close to him."
Xheavend looked offended.
"I don't need—"
"Close," Xima said, "does not mean weak."
The child went quiet.
Then nodded once.
Stevão opened the bedroom window.
Outside, the eastern district burned with alarm-light.
"Use the roofline," he said. "The streets are crawling."
Qaritas looked down.
"At the drop?"
Stevão smiled.
"You survived a dung pile. Don't get precious now."
"I hate that everyone knows about that."
The Varkhünen by the fireplace downstairs gave one low hum.
Almost laughing.
Qaritas pointed toward the floor.
"You too? Betrayal."
Xheavend blinked.
Then, despite everything—
a tiny sound escaped her.
Not quite a laugh.
But close.
Eon noticed.
Qaritas felt him notice.
And something inside their shared body softened.
Only for a breath.
Then they climbed out the window.
The night outside was chaos.
Yeitshoja's eastern district had become a storm of horns, shadows, and rushing feet. Red alarm sigils pulsed across the sky. Chains overhead rattled as if the city itself was trembling. Varkhünen packs moved through streets below, pale bodies flashing between buildings, silent until their seams cracked in unison.
Qaritas kept the silver cloak around himself and Xheavend both, pulling its moonlit edges wide enough to blur them from the universe's attention.
Xheavend stayed close.
Not touching.
But close.
She moved better than a child should move. Quiet feet. Quick eyes. Always checking corners first.
Qaritas hated that too.
They crossed roof after roof, following Stevão's directions toward the old east market. Behind them, Pandeminium remained warm and bright, stubbornly alive in the middle of a collapsing empire.
Below, a rider shouted.
"Search the inns!"
Another answered.
"Pandeminium threw three men into the canal!"
A pause.
"Again?"
Qaritas almost smiled.
They reached the market ruins.
Once, it might have been beautiful.
Now it was a maze of broken stalls, cracked fountains, hanging chains, and old statues with their faces carved away. The entrance Stevão described waited beneath a collapsed spice house, hidden under a trapdoor made of black metal.
Qaritas pulled it open.
Heat breathed upward.
Xheavend stepped back.
Her face paled.
"You don't have to go first," Qaritas said.
She glared.
"I wasn't scared."
"I didn't say you were."
"You thought it."
"I think many things. Most are stupid."
That confused her enough that she forgot to argue.
They descended.
The stairs spiraled downward for what felt like forever.
The dread thickened with every step.
Not the open-air dread of the Third Universe.
This was concentrated.
Stored.
Aged.
The walls became wet.
Black water trickled from cracks in the stone.
At first Qaritas thought it was leaking.
Then he realized the walls were crying.
The Weeping Galleries.
The tunnels opened around them like a throat.
Cells lined both sides.
Some empty.
Some not.
Shapes huddled behind bars.
Hands reached through.
Thin fingers.
Clawed fingers.
Shaking fingers.
No one begged.
That was worse.
They only watched.
A voice whispered from the wall:
I had a name.
Another answered:
I had two children.
Another:
I did not steal the bread.
Xheavend pressed closer to Qaritas.
This time, she did not seem to notice.
Qaritas pulled the cloak tighter around her.
Eon said nothing.
His silence was becoming dangerous again.
They moved through the Galleries, following the black water channels. Twice, guards passed within arm's reach and did not see them. Once, a chained prisoner lifted his head and stared directly at Xheavend.
Not at Qaritas.
At her.
His lips moved.
"End."
Xheavend froze.
Qaritas gently touched her shoulder.
"Keep moving."
She obeyed.
Barely.
The tunnel widened into the Hollow Choir.
Sound hit them like a wave.
Thousands of voices singing.
Not beautifully.
Not horribly.
Just endlessly.
Low.
Layered.
Tired.
The cells rose in tiers above them, stacked higher than sight. Prisoners stood behind bars with mouths open, singing words Qaritas could not understand.
Then one voice joined.
Small.
Soft.
Xheavend's.
She clapped both hands over her mouth.
Her eyes went wide with terror.
Because she had not sung.
But something had sung in her voice.
Qaritas grabbed her hand.
"Run."
They ran.
The song followed.
For several seconds, the Choir sang with Xheavend's voice.
Then the sound broke behind them as they crossed into heat.
The Furnace Mile.
The air became unbearable.
Qaritas felt his skin tighten immediately. Sweat broke across his face. The lungs-clear vial Xima had given him burned against his chest.
He shoved one into Xheavend's hand.
"Drink."
"What is it?"
"Something that probably prevents us from dying."
"Probably?"
"Stevão gave it to us."
She considered that.
Then drank.
Qaritas drank his own.
The liquid tasted like mint, lightning, and regret.
His lungs opened violently.
He coughed once.
Then breathed.
The Furnace Mile stretched ahead.
An enormous industrial cavern.
Slaves hammered chain links the size of boats.
Molten metal poured through suspended channels.
Pipes hissed.
Gears turned.
The heat glowed orange against black stone.
Guards walked the high platforms with shadow whips.
Qaritas saw children among the workers.
His hand tightened.
Eon said:
Not now.
Qaritas hated that answer.
But he understood.
They could not save everyone.
Not yet.
That was the worst part.
Near the far edge of the Furnace Mile, the floor had collapsed into a massive lava river. It roared beneath a broken bridge, bright gold-red, violent and fast.
Beyond it waited the deeper tunnels.
The route forward was gone.
Qaritas stared.
"Of course."
Xheavend looked at the river.
Then at him.
"What now?"
Qaritas looked around.
Broken pipes.
Hanging chains.
A giant curved sheet of blackened metal torn from some machine.
His eyes narrowed.
Eon immediately reacted.
No.
Qaritas pointed.
"Yes."
No.
"We need to cross."
Not like that.
Xheavend looked between them.
"Are you talking to him?"
"Yes."
"Is he saying no?"
"Yes."
"Then maybe listen."
Qaritas was already moving.
He dragged the giant metal sheet from the wreckage. It screeched across stone, sparks flying. It was wide enough for three people, curved slightly at the edges, scorched but intact.
He grabbed chains.
Pipes.
Ghostfiber rope.
Xheavend watched him tie the silver cloak along the underside, threading the moonlit fabric through holes in the metal, binding it with rope and chain.
Her expression was very clear.
This man is going to get us killed.
Finally she said it aloud.
"That's not going to work."
Qaritas pulled the final knot tight.
The ghostfiber rope twitched approvingly.
"I've survived worse plans."
Xheavend stared.
"How?"
"Mostly by screaming."
Eon sighed inside him.
Loudly.
Qaritas shoved the raft toward the lava river.
The silver cloak shimmered beneath it.
The lava near the edge seemed to hesitate.
Not parting.
Not exactly.
More like it could not decide whether the raft existed enough to burn.
Qaritas grinned.
"See?"
Xheavend crossed her arms.
"I still think this is stupid."
"Correct," Qaritas said. "But it is functional stupid."
A horn sounded behind them.
Deep.
Close.
Qaritas turned.
The heat shifted.
The slaves stopped working.
The guards dropped to one knee.
Xheavend went white.
Not pale.
White.
Her whole body locked.
Her lips parted.
Her breathing vanished.
Qaritas turned fully.
Yzer stood at the far end of the Furnace Mile.
Alone.
No Markings.
No guards beside him.
He did not need them.
His burgundy warden's suit was spotless despite the ash. His silvery-white hair fell neatly over his shoulders. The tattooed eyes along his throat seemed to watch independently beneath the orange furnace glow.
His real eyes fixed on Xheavend.
And softened.
That was what made Qaritas's stomach twist.
Not hatred.
Not rage.
Gentleness.
"Pet."
Xheavend made a tiny sound.
Almost a gasp.
Almost a choke.
Yzer stepped forward.
"There you are."
His voice was warm.
Concerned.
Like an older brother finding a lost child.
Like a parent relieved after worry.
Like safety.
Except every word felt wrong.
Possessive.
Tight.
Poisoned.
"I was worried," Yzer said.
Xheavend shook.
Violently now.
Qaritas moved in front of her.
Yzer's gaze flicked to him.
Only briefly.
Then back to the child.
"You frightened me," Yzer continued, soft as silk. "You should not wander off. This world is full of things that would hurt you."
Qaritas felt something snap into place inside his head.
Tavran.
Deepcrest.
The hood.
The mask.
The brothers standing close but never trapping her.
The way they protected without owning.
The way they loved without reducing.
Yzer used the shape of protection.
But none of the soul.
He spoke like love.
But meant possession.
Qaritas's hand dropped toward Rivax's blade.
Eon moved faster.
The world inside Qaritas shifted.
His body straightened.
His breath slowed.
His fear vanished.
Not because he became brave.
Because he was no longer fully the one standing there.
Eon stepped forward through him.
Xheavend looked up sharply.
She felt it immediately.
So did Yzer.
The Warden's polite expression changed.
Interest.
Deep.
Hungry.
Ancient.
Eon spoke through Qaritas's mouth.
"So."
The Furnace Mile trembled.
"You are the Fragment of the Third Universe."
Yzer's smile returned.
Slowly.
"Ah."
He studied Qaritas now.
Truly studied him.
Not the cloak.
Not the mortal.
The presence inside.
"I wondered when I would feel something worth my attention."
Eon's voice remained cold.
"I have wanted to meet you."
"How flattering," Yzer said.
"It was not meant as flattery."
"No," Yzer replied. "I imagine not."
The lava river roared beside them.
Chains rattled overhead.
Xheavend stood behind Qaritas, trembling so hard the blanket nearly slipped from her shoulders.
Yzer glanced at her.
"Come here, pet."
Eon's aura sharpened.
The command died in the air.
Yzer's eyes widened slightly.
Not fear.
Delight.
Eon took one step forward.
"I could kill you now."
The words struck the Furnace Mile like a verdict.
Every slave flinched.
Every guard lowered further.
Yzer only smiled.
"Could you?"
"Yes."
No hesitation.
No pride.
Fact.
Eon continued.
"I know why I cannot."
Yzer's smile deepened.
"How tragic."
"That does not mean I will not enjoy destroying everything you have built."
For the first time, Yzer's expression cooled.
Eon released his aura.
Not all of it.
Not even close.
But enough.
The Furnace Mile collapsed into silence.
The lava river dipped as if pressed down by an invisible hand.
Chains bent toward the floor.
Pipes ruptured.
Walls cracked.
The shadow whips in the guards' hands evaporated.
Every blue flame in the distant halls went black.
Reality groaned.
Yzer dropped to one knee.
Not willingly.
Not dramatically.
Forced.
His gloved hand struck the ground.
Stone fractured beneath his palm.
For one perfect second, the Warden of the Third Universe knelt.
Xheavend stared.
Her terror flickered.
Not gone.
But interrupted.
Yzer slowly lifted his head.
And laughed.
Softly at first.
Then louder.
A calm, delighted laugh.
The sound made Qaritas's skin crawl from inside his own body.
Yzer looked up at Eon with bright, fascinated eyes.
"There you are."
Eon did not respond.
He turned, grabbed Xheavend gently but firmly, and placed her onto the metal raft.
She did not fight him.
Could not.
Maybe because she understood.
Maybe because his aura had made everything too heavy.
Maybe because for one second, she trusted the thing standing between her and Yzer.
Eon looked down at her.
His voice softened.
Only slightly.
"Hold on."
Then he gave Qaritas back control.
The transition hit like falling into his own bones.
Qaritas gasped.
Suddenly he was himself again.
The heat came rushing back.
The fear.
The pain.
The very bad raft idea.
Yzer's gaze snapped to him.
Now he saw him.
Truly.
The cloak still shimmered, but Yzer's eyes pinned him through it.
Interest sharpened his smile.
"Oh."
He slowly rose from one knee.
"And who are you?"
Qaritas grabbed the edge of the raft.
Behind him, the lava river plunged over a cliff into a tunnel of fire.
The path down into the lower Labyrinth.
The stupidest escape route imaginable.
Perfect.
Qaritas looked at Yzer.
Then smiled.
"Nobody."
He shoved the raft over the edge.
Xheavend screamed.
Qaritas jumped after her.
The raft dropped.
For one wild heartbeat, they fell through furnace light.
Then the metal sheet hit the lava river.
It should have melted.
It should have flipped.
It should have exploded.
Instead, the silver cloak flared beneath it.
The lava recoiled.
Not away.
Around.
As if reality struggled to acknowledge the raft enough to destroy it.
Fire parted beneath them.
Magma sprayed up in golden arcs, never touching the metal.
Qaritas slammed onto the raft beside Xheavend, grabbed a chain handle, and shouted:
"I told you it would work!"
Xheavend clung to the other side, eyes enormous.
"This is not working!"
"We are alive!"
"That is a low standard!"
The lava river swallowed them.
They shot down the tunnel like a falling star.
The Labyrinth became motion.
Fire roared on both sides.
Chains whipped overhead.
Massive gears turned in the walls, each tooth larger than a person.
Steam vents screamed as they passed.
A waterfall of molten metal dropped ahead.
Qaritas barely had time to yell before the raft plunged over it.
They fell.
Xheavend screamed again.
Qaritas screamed louder.
They hit the lower river with a slap of impossible force and kept moving.
The cloak held.
Barely.
Silver light flickered beneath them.
The raft spun.
They rushed through a tunnel where prison cells hung from chains over the lava, prisoners staring down in stunned silence as a man and a child blasted past on a stolen sheet of metal.
One prisoner blinked.
Then shouted, "Is that a child?"
Another yelled, "Is that a raft?"
A third screamed, "I want one!"
Qaritas had no time to process that.
A chain swung toward them.
"Duck!"
Xheavend dropped flat.
Qaritas leaned back.
The chain passed so close it stole heat from his face.
Ahead, shadow-creatures crawled along the tunnel walls. Long-limbed things with furnace masks and hooked hands. They shrieked and leapt toward the raft.
Qaritas drew Rivax's blade.
One touched the raft.
He slashed.
Gone.
The second fell beside Xheavend.
She grabbed a loose pipe and smashed it across the creature's face before Qaritas could move.
It reeled.
Qaritas erased it.
He stared at her.
She stared back.
"What?"
"You hit it."
"It was rude."
Despite everything—
Qaritas laughed.
The raft spun again.
The lava river narrowed into a violent chute between black stone walls. White-hot currents crashed around them like rapids. Fire sprayed upward in bursts. The cloak snapped beneath the raft like a sail caught in a storm.
Xheavend's hair whipped around her face.
For the first time, she was not frozen.
Not fleeing.
Not fighting.
She was holding on with both hands, eyes wide, mouth open as the raft dropped into another roaring descent.
Then it happened.
A sound.
Small at first.
Disbelieving.
A laugh.
Xheavend laughed.
Not much.
Not safely.
Not healed.
But real.
The raft shot through a curtain of steam, tilted sideways, slammed back down, and she laughed again.
Brighter.
Wild.
Terrified.
Alive.
Qaritas looked at her.
Nine years old.
Covered in blood.
Riding a lava river through the worst prison in existence on a raft made from trash, rope, and time-travel nonsense.
Laughing.
Because for one impossible moment—
Yzer was behind her.
The chains were behind her.
The cage was behind her.
And the river of fire was carrying her forward.
Not to safety.
Not yet.
But away.
Away was enough.
Qaritas grinned despite himself.
"Having fun?"
Xheavend looked at him like he was insane.
Then laughed harder.
"No!"
The raft plunged into darkness.
Behind them, the lava roared.
Ahead, the Labyrinth waited.
And for the first time since Qaritas had arrived in the Third Universe—
the dread did not feel like the loudest thing in the world.
Xheavend's laughter did.