「In the Year of the Builders, by the grace of those who raised the towers, and in the shadow of the Widower who weeps; blessed be the Gods of Time, Hope, Sufferance, and Death.
BY ORDER OF THE DIRECTORS
8th January 1778, 7:00 P.M.
Chamber of Everything,
The Camp
To the Child,
In solemn commemoration of the successful partaking of Children during the Ceremony of Patrimony on the 7th of January 1778—wherein forty-five Heirs and one Orphan have been brought forth, consisting of eleven from the Sects of Hope, Sufferance, and Death respectively, twelve from the Sect of Time with special mention of the Sole Heir, and one from the Sect of the Orphan.
In accordance with the Childhood Act and the sacred Festivity Code, every Child subject to the Camp is hereby invited, and thus commanded, to attend the Festival of Claiming. This assembly shall be held within the Chamber of Everything on the 8th of January 1778, at the stroke of seven in the evening.
To the Orphan,
You are hereby summoned to partake in the Festival of Claiming. You shall appear in formal attire following the theme of the Masquerade. Your vestments have been curated by the Directors and await your arrival within the wardrobe of your cabin.
Be advised: Failure to attend shall result in the forfeiture of coin, a day's banishment from the aforementioned Chamber, and a formal demerit cast upon your cabin.
Your presence is required by decree, as it is appreciated by the sovereign ones.
May you sow what you reap.
By Our Hand,
The Directors
PS. Need I remind you of the coin, as it might save you for some trouble. Do not lose it.」
MAZE FOLDED the letter and returned it to the envelope upon finishing his perusal, feeling utterly devastated by the realizations that had taken hold.
In this new existence, the Builders stood at the center of all things. It was said they constructed the Towers, yet the reason remained hidden from Maze, especially why those such as he were compelled to ascend. There were far too many complexities for him to digest.
These Gods of the Towers, and even the Directors of the Camp, were figures Maze had pushed to the periphery of his mind. He had not known how they came to be, nor that the age in which he dwelt was the Year of the Builders. Such truths were unknown to the world he had left behind.
Other than that . . .
Maze traced his fingers over the seal.
. . . this mark is the very one my master used in the missive intended for me.
"Master, who are you?" It appeared that even his savior— one he had deemed a father — might possess an identity far greater than he had imagined. This was a question he could no longer ignore.
Why had his master utilized this wax seal in his correspondence? He struggled to comprehend the design behind it. The logic was far-fetched, a matter he could not easily grasp.
The mark from his master, the blindfold that had bound his existence, the gift he had received, and the life to which he had been introduced, it seemed they were all meticulously planned. It was like a script itself, unnatural and undeserving of the name fate.
He recalled how the entire scenario had unfolded. Maze sat upon the floor, his back leaning against the door.
Indeed, there had been no accident during that time, not even a hint of one. There was a missing wheel that could be found nowhere else, a path that would have strayed even farther away. Furthermore, the letter and the chest had remained untampered. What then was the plan his master had devised?
He wished to ignore these thoughts.
For there was secret upon secret.
Truth upon truth.
Enigma upon enigma.
He might have been playing with fire since the moment he settled into the simple life of a shepherd. Perhaps he had been observed, and his master had known the things he hid from everyone else — things he had never wished to accept.
That he possessed a conscious dream.
And that his shadow had been with him even before he was saved.
Was that the reason he was sent to the Tower as a Child?
To become an Orphan?
"If so, how do I explain the nature of Mr. Ivory?" He knew that elder, who had been his companion within the manor, bore him no ill will. He was a kind soul who had accompanied him and listened to his sentiments, though they were seldom seen together. When Mr. Ivory wished for Maze to have a life beyond shepherding, he had spoken from the heart. Maze had sensed his true sincerity.
His heart was struck by a harsh sting. For his master, it might have been different, yet Maze feared he might be wrong. Surely his master would not commit such an act, for he had been kind for seven years and had given Maze a reason to live.
But what did it mean for him?
For Maze?
He rose and walked toward his bed, casting the envelope upon the blankets. He rested his elbows upon his knees and ran his hands through his hair. As the moments passed, his breathing became unstable, as though he were being suffocated.
Truly, he had long accepted this life for the sake of the one who saved him, yet it had been but a few days, merely a week and a day. He had escaped a griffin and defeated two Father Darkness, evading his own demise at every turn. However, as the days progressed, so too did his ignorance.
Both the world and fate had become indifferent to him.
And his master . . .
He did not wish to dwell upon such wonders.
Neither did he wish to brand him an evil plotter nor a vicious being.
Yet, he could no longer remain in the shadows.
He could no longer be blinded.
But if there were one possibility, even if he wished it otherwise, it was this:
Was his master a Director?
Maze was no fool. He might have forgotten the seal, but he was aware he had seen it before; that was the very reason it felt familiar. Through various occurrences, it might have slipped through his fingers, but it was not a matter to be neglected for long.
If his master were indeed a Director, it would signify that he intended for Maze to find only harm and death. The Directors had plotted for his demise during the Ceremony. It was a design intended to taunt and ridicule him, leading him toward a fate that was never meant to continue.
But why would he?
"How could he?" Maze felt betrayed once more. From the moment his life as a shepherd was surrendered to vanity so he could be sent into the Towers Below, he realized he was an awakened — a Child meant for otherworldly apprehensions. He did not regret his time in the Towers, for he had met those people . . . but he regretted laboring for the sake of his master's wishes while ignoring the reality of his master's real intentions.
He did wish him a good life, did he not?
But to what extent was such a wish made?
Sadly, Maze, drowning in his thoughts, succumbed to sleep once more. He awakened only an hour before the arrival of night.
If there were something he must do, it was to uncover the very truth he had been neglecting.
He would have need of another's help.