AS THE LIGHT consumed him, Maze was cast headlong into a blinding expanse, falling perpetually toward some unknown depth. During his descent, the very air seemed to push against his soul, as the fabric of his garments and the strands of his hair were hoisted upward as though by an invisible hand. From his place in the void, he beheld the Door through which he had tumbled, and it shrank with sudden haste, plummeting after him as if determined to witness his end.
That portal could no longer be termed a Door. Its entire aspect shifted until it resembled a small casket, diminishing with every passing minute of its flight. Maze, falling upon his back, reached out to grasp the dwindling box, which was now no larger than a common trinket. As it drew closer to his person, it continued to shrink until, at last, he was able to cup its roughened surface within his palms.
At that precise moment, his back met a surface that felt both soft and warm. His sudden arrival startled a multitude of fluttering creatures that took flight around him. Looking upward, he observed that these were birds, yet they appeared not to be birds of flesh and bone. They seemed fashioned of linen or paper, folded with great care to mimic the shape of wings. He could not long dwell upon them, however, for they soon drifted beyond his reach.
He bounced slightly upon the landing, finding the ground to be as resilient as a feathered cushion. Still clutching the small box, he reached out to touch the white expanse beneath him and found, to his intrigue, that it was indeed supple, as though made of the finest cotton.
Maze rose to a seated position to survey his surroundings, his lips parting in sheer fascination. Truly, this place rivaled the splendor of the heavens. Before him lay a vast sea of motionless clouds, appearing as though they were sculpted from pure wool.
It was a sight he had often pondered as a boy, the true nature of the clouds, and at the memory, a small smile graced his features. He recalled a time past when a pale, albino figure had carried him upon a journey beyond the firmament. It was rarely something to experience.
As he prepared to stand, one of the linen birds descended toward him. Maze reached out his hand, and as his fingers caressed the creature, he marveled to see it unfold itself. It was, in actuality, a mere scrap of fabric.
Upon the cloth, he beheld words that had been inscribed, not with common ink, it appeared, but by some curious method he could not discern, of embossed silver and glitters of gold. He focused his gaze upon the fine script:
「To One Who Passes,
A victor's glory, a gratuitous feat!
The Directors are pleased to honor you with this most pure recognition. The Camp awaits your arrival, that you may learn and grow as a Child. Labor well, for you shall enjoy the fullness of this recognition in the end.
Doubtless, you have already received the Box. Within it lies the Key required to unlock your "Cabin," which shall serve as your temporary dwelling during your one-month sojourn at the Camp.
It is an honor to instruct one such as you.
I offer prayers to the Gods for your bountiful journey ahead.
May you saw what you reap.
— The Directors」
A moment later, the fabric folded itself once more into its avian shape. Maze stood upon his own feet, expecting the creature to depart, yet it circled him with an enchanting persistence. It was a peculiar sight, to be sure. Though the linen bird moved in absolute silence, Maze felt as though it shared in his joy. This small gesture was enough to make his heart leap with a sudden bliss.
Soon, a great multitude of these linen birds swarmed about him. Maze turned in a slow circle, a light chuckle escaping him. He extended his arm, and several of the creatures perched upon his shoulders, while others sought refuge within his treacle-black hair, finding harbor within the dark strands.
In the midst of this wonder, Maze remained quiet. It was enough for him to simply observe, and it was sufficient to soothe, if only for an instant, the heavy worries of his soul. Verily, in that quiet beauty, he found a rare and indescribable peace.
The linen birds began to guide the garments of Maze, yet they did so in a manner that was far from violent. They were gentle creatures. Though some tugged with persistence at his hair, his arms, and his hands, and even at the coarse fabric of his Orphan uniform, he could only shake his head in silent wonder. Maze felt comfortable enough to know they meant him no harm, which stood in stark contrast to the terrors he had faced during the opening trial.
That ordeal had been inevitably dangerous and life-threatening.
Several of the linen birds perched upon the sword frog at his belt. Flap, flap! A soft flapping was their only mode of communication, and in this vast expanse of cotton, no other sight could be peered at.
It took some time before they led Maze to a point in space where the cotton clouds swirled like a great tornado, yet the air remained light and soft.
When Maze peered through the center of the vortex, he realized he stood upon a precipice. Far below lay the view of what was called the Camp. It was surrounded by a dark and formidable forest, while the Camp itself resembled a patch of moss set in a perfect circle.
The linen birds suddenly dispersed from his countenance. Swiftly, they began to form a path, as if they were beckoning Maze to walk upon their very wings.
Maze pointed to himself in confusion. "Do you wish for me to step upon you?"
They flapped with great haste and even leaped in their positions, which he took to be a confirmation.
At this, Maze was taken aback. "But you are fashioned of linen, are you not? I do not wish to hurt you. I am heavy. . ."
He scratched the nape of his neck in hesitation.
However, the creatures insisted, and several began to pull at his hands with unfaltering strength.
"Can I not simply fall down?" He wondered aloud, though that seemed a far less certain fate. Given the logic of this place, these linen birds appeared to be living things, and Maze treated them as such. Yet, when they began to tug at his trousers, he found he had no choice but to follow. "Fine, fine," he said, stepping out onto the flock as they began a slow descent through the eye of the cotton clouds.
The clouds swirled like a tunnel, and the linen birds were the only way down. When they reached the lower edge and emerged, the birds formed separate groups to create a winding stair toward the earth.
Before he took another step, Maze looked upward for a final time. He was struck with a new amazement to see sparkling objects hanging from the cotton clouds, appearing much like golden pendants. They shone like stars, yet they were shaped as crescent moons.
Maze had noticed this symbol of the crescent several times before, and it began to feel increasingly strange to him. He felt a deep familiarity with the mark, and the recognition bothered him, creeping into his mind with a persistent chill. It was as if . . . he had forgotten something of great importance.
Maze let out a long and heavy sigh.
He was becoming oblivious to his own history.
He continued to tread upon the trails made by the linen birds, carefully peering at the Camp below as he moved. As he drew closer, the details of the place became clear to his sight. If one were to judge by its appearance, it was evident that the Camp was intended for the young.
For those who were called Children.
So it appeared.