The hum shifted again.

  Not with urgency.

  With inevitability.

  Run #1205 completed.

  Reset commencing in 1 minute.

  The words hung in the air like a sentence rather than a notification.

  Bert stared at the barricaded door. “So… now what?”

  No one answered immediately.

  Leo sat on the floor, back against the stone, hands limp in his lap. His notes lay open beside him—pages half-filled, half-abandoned. For once, he didn’t reach for them.

  “I don’t know,” he said finally. “We didn’t plan this far.”

  Harlada leaned her head against the wall, eyes closed. “We never do.”

  The silence stretched.

  Reset meant familiarity.

  Familiarity meant predictability.

  Predictability meant punishment.

  But running meant something worse.

  Bert broke the quiet. “We can do it again.”

  Leo looked at him. “The barricade?”

  “Yeah,” Bert said. “Same trick. Same acting. Same lie.”

  Harlada opened her eyes. “Until it stops working.”

  “Everything stops working eventually,” Bert replied. “At least this buys us now.”

  Leo nodded slowly. “Then we commit to it.”

  No heroics.

  No long-term solution.

  Just repetition, consciously chosen.

  They stood as the countdown ticked lower, checking the shields, tightening the wedged hilts, resetting the crude fortification they’d already built once.

  Outside, the Maze prepared to forget them.

  Inside, they prepared to remember.

  Reset in 5… 4… 3…

  They took their places.

  Not ready.

  But decided.

  ***

  The next run started without warning.

  The room snapped back into place.

  Stone realigned.

  The hum resumed.

  Their barricade was gone.

  Shields lay scattered across the chamber, neatly returned to where the Maze preferred them. Hammers rested against the walls. Swords leaned uselessly far from the door.

  Bert stared. “Of course.”

  Leo pushed himself up, already moving. “We rebuilt. Same plan.”

  Harlada grabbed a shield and dragged it toward the doorway. “Fast.”

  Metal scraped.

  Stone groaned.

  Then Bert froze.

  He turned toward the glass.

  And screamed.

  A happy scream.

  A pure one.

  “YES!” he shouted, jumping in place. “YES—YES!”

  Leo dropped the shield he was holding. “What—”

  Harlada was already at the window.

  They saw them.

  Three familiar shapes on the other side of the glass.

  Heavy brows.

  Single unibrows.

  High foreheads gleaming under the clean light of Level Four.

  The dumb trio.

  They were waving violently, arms flailing, faces split in enormous grins. One of them pressed both hands to the glass and leaned forward, eyes wide with excitement.

  Bert slapped the window with both palms. “THEY MADE IT!”

  Leo stared, stunned. “They… actually survived.”

  Harlada laughed softly. “Of course they did.”

  The unibrows started to mime.

  “Meat?” Harlada asked uncertainly.

  “Meet,” Bert corrected.

  Leo rubbed his chin. “But where?”

  The three unibrows mimed again—more emphatically this time.

  Slow movements.

  Careful steps.

  A pause between.

  A plan formed without words.

  First, map the maze between them.

  Then, meet.

  The last mime before the doors opened was a familiar one—

  a sign both groups already knew.

  Careful.

  ***

  They moved carefully.

  Not quickly—carefully.

  Leo walked first, chalk marking the wall in short, precise strokes. Every corner was checked twice. Every corridor measured, noted, and named something dull and functional so panic wouldn’t have a chance to attach itself.

  Harlada followed, staff held low, eyes constantly moving. Bert brought up the rear, axe unthrown for once, fingers flexing around the handle like he was trying to remember patience.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  The Maze felt… different here.

  Cleaner. Quieter.

  But not empty.

  Leo paused.

  His head tilted slightly to the side.

  “…Huh,” he said.

  Harlada glanced back. “What?”

  “I hear something,” Leo replied. “Behind us. Far. Multiple points of contact.”

  Bert grinned. “Look at that. The ear works.”

  Harlada snorted. “Useful already. I was worried we’d just stapled a dead animal to your head for nothing.”

  The sound came again.

  A faint skitter.

  Stone on stone.

  Too many legs.

  Bert’s smile vanished. “Scorpions.”

  Leo swallowed. “Already?”

  “They move fast,” Bert said. “And quiet. Which is dangerous.”

  Harlada raised her staff. “Hide. Now.”

  They slipped toward a side corridor, pressed themselves into a shallow alcove between two support columns. Leo flattened against the wall, holding his breath. Bert crouched low. Harlada whispered a half-formed incantation, then stopped—too loud.

  The skittering grew closer.

  Closer.

  Then faster.

  “…We’re to late,” Bert muttered.

  The sound rounded the corner.

  Heavy. Armored. Purposeful.

  Shadows spilled across the floor before the bodies followed—segmented legs, chitin scraping stone, tails raised just a little too high to be comforting.

  Leo closed his eyes briefly. “Next time,” he whispered, “we start hiding before the danger.”

  Harlada tightened her grip on the staff.

  Bert raised his axe.

  And the scorpions saw them.

  ***

  “Don’t kill them,” Leo hissed. “they are victims just like us.”

  The words came out before he fully knew why—but once spoken, they felt right.

  Bert nodded once. No argument. No questions.

  The scorpions surged forward.

  Three of them—low to the ground, bodies segmented and plated, tails arched high with glistening stingers. Their movement was wrong in a way only things with too many legs could manage: fast, precise, and utterly confident.

  “Behind me,” Bert said.

  Harlada didn’t hesitate.

  She moved the instant he did, sliding into his shadow as Bert stepped forward and planted his feet. Axe down. Shoulders squared. A wall with legs.

  The first scorpion struck.

  The stinger punched into Bert’s side with a wet, decisive motion.

  Bert grunted—but didn’t fall.

  “Yep,” he said through clenched teeth. “That would’ve killed Leo.”

  The scorpion recoiled, confused.

  Poison seeped into Bert’s veins and did absolutely nothing.

  The second scorpion followed, stinger flashing—

  Bert let it hit him too.

  Harlada moved.

  She stepped in close—dangerously close—and laid a bare hand against the creature’s plated side.

  “Paralyse.”

  The word wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be.

  Lightning crawled from her fingers, not striking, not burning—just locking. The scorpion froze mid-motion, legs stiffening, tail stuck half-raised like it had forgotten what came next.

  Harlada pivoted.

  Touched the second one.

  “Paralyse.”

  Two scorpions stood motionless, statues of chitin and threat.

  The third skidded to a halt.

  It clicked. Low. Warning. Uncertain.

  Bert raised his axe—not high, not dramatic. Just enough.

  “Back off,” he said calmly. “Or I start cutting parts off.”

  The scorpion hesitated.

  Leo took a step forward, voice steady despite everything. “We don’t want to fight. We just need the corridor.”

  The creature’s tail twitched.

  Harlada crackled faintly with unused lightning.

  Bert didn’t move.

  Slowly—very slowly—the scorpion backed away.

  Turned, then fled, skittering back into the maze with frantic urgency.

  The silence that followed was sharp.

  Harlada exhaled. “Paralysis will wear off.”

  Bert nodded. “Good.”

  Leo pointed down the corridor. “Run. Now.”

  They didn’t argue.

  They ran.

  ***

  They didn’t stop running until Leo raised a hand.

  “Here,” he said.

  The room was unremarkable—square, bare stone, no obvious traps, no markings that meant anything yet. But Leo checked his map twice, then a third time, tracing lines with his finger.

  “This should be the midpoint,” he said. “Roughly. Between both starting chambers.”

  “Good enough,” Bert said, already leaning against the wall to catch his breath.

  Harlada listened.

  Not with her ears.

  With everything else.

  The Maze hummed, distant and even. No pulse. No warning. Just motion elsewhere.

  They waited.

  Minutes passed. Or what felt like minutes. Time didn’t behave properly here anymore.

  Then—movement.

  The scorpions returned.

  Not charging.

  Not hunting.

  They skittered into the edge of the room, tails lowered, bodies angled away rather than forward. One paused long enough to turn its head—if it could be called that—and click softly.

  Acknowledgement.

  Then they were gone again, slipping back into the corridors without a single strike.

  Bert frowned. “I think we just taught them something.”

  “Or they taught us,” Harlada said quietly.

  Leo was about to respond when he froze.

  Footsteps.

  Not skittering.

  Heavy.

  Uneven.

  Too loud to be dangerous.

  He looked up.

  And smiled.

  Three familiar shapes came into view at the far end of the corridor.

  Single unibrows.

  High foreheads.

  Waving violently.

  ***

  They met in the room without ceremony.

  The unibrows didn’t slow down as they approached—just walked straight in, waving wildly until Bert waved back just as enthusiastically. One of them nearly collided with Leo and stopped short, blinking up at him with an apologetic grunt.

  Everyone shuffled instinctively into groups. Old habits.

  No one drew a weapon.

  Leo took a breath. He hadn’t planned a speech. He never did. He just… started.

  “We’re not running anymore,” he said.

  The unibrows froze.

  One frowned. Another tilted his head. The third made a vague circling motion with his hand, as if Leo had skipped a step in the explanation.

  “Hun?” one of them asked.

  “Yes,” Harlada said, stepping in. “The doors. The fights. The progression.”

  She pointed down the corridor. Then mimed walking. Then shook her head.

  “No more.”

  The unibrows looked at each other. Conferring. Whispering in low, simple sounds.

  One pointed behind them. Another mimed hitting something very hard. The third made an exaggerated climbing motion and pointed upward.

  “Hunguh,” he said.

  Leo nodded. “Yes. That’s the idea.”

  He crouched slightly, bringing himself closer to their eye level.

  “And if you keep doing that,” he continued, “you don’t lose because you’re weak. You lose because eventually… you meet something worse than you.”

  He paused, searching for simpler words.

  “Bad luck.”

  That one landed.

  The unibrows went quiet. One of them slowly pretended to trip, flailing dramatically before collapsing onto the floor with a thump. He lay there, staring at the ceiling.

  “Hungh,” he said.

  “Yes,” Bert agreed softly. “Very bad.”

  They waited.

  Then one of the unibrows stood up, dusted himself off, and pointed at the room around them. The walls. The torches. The space between corridors.

  “Gunguh?” he asked.

  Harlada smiled. Just a little. “Here.”

  The unibrow nodded, satisfied. “Na Hunghuh.”

  Another added, after some thought, “Heng.”

  The third grinned broadly. “Sangu.”

  No cheering. No triumph.

  Just a shared, quiet understanding.

  They weren’t choosing comfort.

  They were choosing not to die for nothing.

  And for the first time since entering the Maze, that felt like enough.

  The maze run ended, they were not worried as the countdown commenced.

  Even the fade to black felt familiar.