“We should be deep enough to try the key,” Eithan pointed out.
Lindon wasn’t quite as optimistic. “Let’s get into the next room.” He wanted at least one more layer between them and the outside world before they revealed Subject One’s hand.
He had to use his authority once again when they reached the end of the long hallway, and another door swung open to allow them to pass.
This time, the room more closely resembled what Lindon had expected of the labyrinth. They entered a huge sphere of smooth stone, with only three exits: the door they’d come from and two others.
Over the door they’d come from, a symbol of a sun was carved into the rock. The other two entrances also had a symbol above them. One was a hammer, identical to the one on the Forger badges. And the other…
Upon seeing it, Lindon’s eyes shot to Eithan. So did Yerin’s. Mercy gasped as she, too, looked to Eithan.
Only Ziel didn’t immediately spin to Eithan, because he had been the first through the doorway and had been staring at Eithan the entire time.
The symbol over the second hallway was a curved crescent and the ancient characters indicating great power, just like the Arelius family crest. But there were two key differences.
For one thing, the crescent was over the words, instead of to the side. For another, the crescent was connected to a line running down the side. Now, it didn’t look like a crescent moon at all.
It looked like the blade of a scythe.
Eithan’s brow furrowed. “How unexpected,” he said, in a tone that suggested it wasn’t unexpected at all.
Lindon looked to the silver cube he held, which was marked with the symbol of the modern House Arelius. “Eithan. Did the Arelius clan build this labyrinth?”
[Unlikely,] Dross responded. [The ancient foundation of this facility predates the founding of the Arelius line by at least several centuries.]
“That it does,” Eithan said. He drew something from his pocket and flipped it into the air so that it caught the light, which shone down from a script on the ceiling of the circular room.
It was his own marble, which contained darkness just as Suriel’s contained light. It had been passed down through generations of the Arelius family.
From Ozriel. Their founder.
“Ozmanthus Arelius, the original Patriarch of our clan, was known as the greatest Soulsmith of his day,” Eithan explained. “Perhaps in history. That was his personal crest, which was eventually adapted into the symbol of our House.”
“Did you know he’d signed his name down here?” Yerin asked.
“I had hoped we’d see something of his, though I’m surprised we came across it so soon. It’s my understanding that he left his mark on most Soulsmith relics of his era all over the world. He was a busy man.”
And Lindon knew that he’d stayed busy even after ascending, becoming the Abidan known as Ozriel. Judging by the message he’d left in Eithan’s marble, Ozriel at least seemed to be an ally to Suriel, though Lindon couldn’t be sure about their relative ranks.
“Let’s see what he left,” Mercy said, but Lindon stopped her by speaking.
“We should check with our key first. Prepare yourselves.”
He had to calm his own spirit as he focused on the case he held. Exposing the hand before had been an overwhelming experience, and he was frightened to do it here in the labyrinth.
Yerin’s red-tinted sword-arms spread out behind her, and Mercy shifted Suu into the form of a bow. Ziel opened his void key—which, strangely, seemed to take longer than usual—and withdrew his massive steel hammer. Eithan began playing with his pair of dark fabric scissors.
Orthos cycled Blackflame, and Little Blue punched her left palm.
“Open,” Lindon commanded once again.
The silver metal bloomed like a steel flower, revealing a gruesome, mummified left hand of chalk-white flesh.
Worse was the aura that boiled out. It made Lindon feel like he was starving, like he was empty, lacking in every sense. The air warped, twisting like they were at the center of an invisible whirlpool. Even the walls bent inward.
Everything faded, leaving the hand as the only real thing in the world. It was a fragment of another will, the strongest existence here, the pulsing heart at the center of the labyrinth. Subject One.
Lindon forced his will against the hand, controlling it as he would a construct. But unlike a construct, the hand fought back.
Its fingers squirmed and lunged, trying to escape his grip, and a high-pitched howl echoed through the stone halls. The hand tried to command the labyrinth to take it away, to escape.