Ace and Owein stepped into the main hall of the dorm, only to be met with an unnerving silence.
The quiet murmur of students exchanging words from the previous days had vanished, replaced by a thick, almost tangible atmosphere of suspicion. Masks that had once felt like mere accessories now seemed to have become permanent fixtures on everyone’s faces.
The lingering hints of individuality were gone.
Any traces of features or unique mannerisms had been stripped away, leaving behind an eerie sameness that dissolved any sense of self.
Roos was supposed to meet them here, but even she was lost in the sea of blank expressions. Both Ace and Owein scanned the crowd, searching for her or any familiar figure, but it was impossible to tell one from the other.
"This is bad," Owein muttered, his voice tight as he took in the crowd of indistinguishable students.
He exchanged a tense look with Ace.
After last night’s discoveries about Beatrise’s being the Nest member Dove and the current Edris as an imposter, they had planned to locate them this morning. Now, with everyone blending into the masked mass, the task seemed nearly impossible.
As if on cue, a masked figure stepped toward them, tilting their head as they peered closely at them.
"Ace and Owein?" the student asked in a low voice.
The two exchanged a cautious glance, and the figure gave a tiny shrug before jabbing her thumb at herself.
"It’s me, Roos."
At her familiar tone, Owein slowly nodded to affirm her question, and Roos exhaled in relief.
"Thank Serenity! I was starting to think I was the only sane one left.” She shivered. “Everyone looks exactly the same. Did this happen overnight?"
Owein nodded again, expression grim. “Assimilation.”
Roos pursed her lips but quickly composed herself.
“We need a way to keep track of who we are,” she said. “Maybe talking with one another could help? Gotta keep ourselves intact, at least sure we know each other by voice, if nothing else.”
Ace and Owein weren’t the types to chat idly, but at this moment, they had to admit her suggestion had some value.
The three followed the flow of students being guided by the Shadows. The path they were directed onto was towards the music tower, the one that Celio had bombed during their last time here.
The walk was longer than it should have been.
Shadows, now dressed in maroon hooded cloaks, weaved through the students, their movements methodical yet ominous. There was a strange irony to it—both the Shadows and the students were dressed for [GRADUATION], but no one knew who was who anymore.
Owein glimpsed his [PROFILE] for the countdown—just over seven hours left.
To ease the mounting tension, Roos spoke up again.
“Where are you two from? I mean, outside of here.” She paused, glancing at them. “And… Edris. How do you know him?”
Owein considered her question before responding. “I… don’t know him well. Let’s just say our paths crossed.”
Roos tilted her head thoughtfully. “Really? I think I’d remember him if I’d met him. I’m good with faces.” She shook her head. “And he never mentioned how he knew me?”
Owein shook his head. Edris’s past was something Owein respected, even within the confines of the Labyrinth.
To keep the conversation moving, Owein then turned to Ace.
“How did you escape Aureolin’s watch last time?” he asked, a faint look of curiosity tugging at his subdued voice.
“I used a card. Not mine—one of Ives’s.”
He hesitated, expression turning sour, as if recalling a particularly unpleasant memory.
“[RING OF LOVE].”
Owein blinked twice, then knowingly turned his head.
“I applaud you.”
Ace merely gave a nod, his gaze shifting back to the approaching music tower. Neither seemed eager to discuss the matter further.
The students were herded into the music tower’s grand entry, and as they stepped onto the first floor, the doors suddenly closed behind them with a resounding thud.
Owein felt an immediate disorientation as if an unseen force had swept through the crowd. His [PROFILE] glowed faintly in his vision.
MAIN QUEST:
Complete your final journey as a student of MW Academy!
TIME LIMIT: 00:07:00:00
NOTE: To optimise [PLAYER] experience, in the final hour, all Labyrinth restrictions, including mana usage, will be lifted!
Exactly seven hours remaining.
Beside him, Ace stirred. He attempted to focus his mana, trying to sense Edris among the Shadows, but the surrounding air was thick with disturbances. Mana wavered and flickered as if caught in a storm, preventing him from discerning where his friend was.
And then, as if cued by the despair setting in among the crowd, every player’s profile received a message at once:
WELCOME TO YOUR [GRADUATION]!
The simple statement felt like a warning, a reminder of the final test ahead of them.
As they read it, the masked students looked around in growing horror. Panic swept over the crowd as the players realised their memories of each other’s faces, even their own, were fading under the mask’s spell.
And with it, was the slipping stream of [AFFINITY] levels.
Owein clenched his fists, trying to focus. But as he looked around, the sight of so many masked figures filled him with a growing sense of urgency. Beside him, Ace tried to activate his mana, but, like last time, the attempt ended in vain. The mana level in the music tower fluctuated erratically, making locating anyone among the students and Shadows difficult.
As silence hung heavy in the music tower, long tables rose seamlessly from the ground, laden with lavish dishes.
Ornate silverware glistened under dim, ambient lights, and Shadows stood at attention around the students, directing them to fill each seat. Every motion felt orchestrated, mechanical—a mimicry of a celebration.
Ace took his seat alongside Owein and Roos, scanning the room as they settled into the forced silence. All around them, masked students hesitated, their postures tense as they glanced warily at the food set before them.
Moss's voice suddenly resonated through the room. “Why aren’t you eating?”
The man was nowhere to be seen, yet his voice seemed omnipresent.
His command was enough to spur the hesitant students into action. The dining hall echoed faintly with the clinks of utensils against gold-rimmed plates and the dull hum of muffled chewing.
Shadows loomed behind every chair, silent but watchful, as though daring anyone to disobey. At least on the surface, each student behaved as they were expected, stuffing one forkful of food into their mouth after another, barely chewing as they forced the substance down their throat.
But Ace could feel the unspoken thoughts around him—no one trusted this charade.
All the players who’d survived until now were equipped with skills at least above par. Like him, they were all waiting for the final hour, for that crucial moment when their mana would return, offering them their last chance at survival.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Until then, everyone had to put on this mask of obedience, avoiding anything that may sabotage their chance to partake in the climax.
It was a strategy, a shared understanding: endure, survive, and wait for the right moment.
The students moved through each course in unnerving quiet. The Shadows ensured that each student ate, their dark forms pressing close enough to cast ominous shadows over every plate. Finally, the last course arrived, a single glass of crimson wine set in front of each student. But just as they raised their glasses, Moss’s voice cut through once more.
“[GRADUATION] will begin now.”
The lights in the music tower slowly illuminated, brick by brick, revealing a spiralling staircase ascending toward the unseen top. Each step, each wall, lit up with an almost sacred brilliance, casting an unrealistic glow over the tower.
As the light spread, they could see transparent display cases embedded into the walls on every level of the spiral staircase. Within each case, guarded by a motionless cloaked Shadow, was a figurine—a faceless, amorphous replica that, from afar, looked identical to every other figurine.
Moss’s voice took on an almost reverent tone.
“Graduation is one of the most important milestones in one’s life, especially for students of MW Academy,” he said. “Today, each of you will partake in the [RITUAL OF IDENTITY]. To mark your transition into adulthood, you must reclaim what is yours.”
Ace’s jaw tightened as he observed the setup. The sight was all too familiar, each detail etched into his memory like an engraving.
It was the third time, now.
This was a near-perfect replica of the Dread Chamber, a place he’d encountered twice before. The first was back in Nolmes with the Mage Faction, and the second was during their last time in the Labyrinth.
Was the Dread Chamber another “constant” in Labyrinths?
If so, how did it manage to be brought in here?
The pristine space, threatening to draw out one’s innermost memories, stirred a sense of unwanted familiarity. Ace furrowed his brows. He felt that he was overlooking something important.
He didn’t have time to dig deeper into the thought, however, as Moss’s voice reverberated throughout the vast space.
“The goal,” he continued, “is for each of you to find your own [FACE]. Only by choosing correctly will you receive your diploma and relinquish your identity as a student, allowing you to step fully into the real world.”
A line began to form, with students gathering in tense silence along the base of the spiral staircase. Ace, Roos, and Owein exchanged glances, their shared apprehension unspoken yet palpable.
Roughly fifty students left, each masked and almost indistinguishable from the Shadows themselves. They would ascend one by one, selecting the figurine they believed to be their own—a final test of identity, condensed into one single chance.
Ace’s dark eyes swept his surroundings. The Shadows, each cloaked in a maroon cape and a hood that dragged over their entire head, were dispersed throughout the tower. Some stationed among the anxious students, while others guarded each display cause within the tower.
Was Edris on the inside, or the outside?
The original plan was for the man to reunite with them at the final hour to switch back into his body, but forget about switching back—with the current state, it was questionable whether they’d even make it to the final hour.
Moss’s gaze swept over the crowd, his eyes landing on a random student.
“You may go first,” he announced.
The chosen student, visibly tense, began his ascent, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Everyone watched, every breath held, as he climbed the staircase, his eyes darting to each display case, scrutinising the faceless figurines. After a long, nerve-wracking silence, he finally pointed to one.
The Shadow guarding that particular case stepped forward, slowly extracting the figurine and holding it out. The student took it and continued up the stairs, disappearing around the spiral and out of sight.
A single, dreadful moment passed.
And then, from the top of the staircase, a body fell, tumbling down the spiral with a sickening thud that echoed throughout the room.
At that moment, the world seemed to have come to a halt. Stillness filled the air, and a surge of despair followed, as every eye fixated on the lifeless figure sprawled at the base of the tower.
Then, Moss’s voice delivered through, as calm as ever.
“Ah. It appears that was the wrong face.”
A shadow of horror settled over the students, and an agonising pause followed as Moss’s gaze swept over them once more.
“Who’s next?”
A tense silence followed, heavy and stifling, only broken by the shuffle of restless feet and muffled whispers of dread.
“This is insane! Get me out of here.”
One of the students broke rank and tried to protest, her voice filled with shaky defiance. But no sooner had she spoken than a Shadow clamped a clawed hand on her shoulder, silencing her. The Shadows, silent yet forceful, left little room for rebellion.
Ace recognised the voice, though, and he shifted subtly. It was indeed Fresia, the one in the couple they met in Cohort 8 on the first day. Frankly, he was quite surprised the woman had survived until now. From what Owein had told him, her partner had assimilated by the second day.
Moss merely raised a brow, clearly unfazed by the commotion. He addressed Fresia in a tone laced with false kindness,
“It’s perfectly fine to remain here if you don’t wish to participate. However, if you choose not to ascend the tower, you forfeit your chance to graduate.”
“But..!”
Resigned and frustrated, Fresia’s shoulders sagged as she stood on the opposing side of the tower. After a long second, she forced a reluctant step toward the tower. Her terror was evident, but with a clenched jaw and small, balled fists, she crossed the threshold into the spiral staircase.
A soft chime sounded to signal her entry, and a ten-minute timer appeared above, its light pulsating with each passing second as if urging her onward.
The other students watched in a mix of terror and helplessness. As Fresia climbed, anxiety radiated off her, even through the mask. The students below shared the same sinking feeling, watching with morbid anticipation as she trudged up the spiralling stairs, her steps heavy with dread.
One by one, they would follow, lambs to a slaughter masked as a ceremony.
Fresia’s breaths grew more laboured as she ascended, gaze sweeping over each figurine with an intensity that bordered on desperation.
Her eyes flitted from one display case to another, frantically searching for some distinguishing mark, anything that would indicate her face. But each figurine was as amorphous and faceless as the last, and her scrutiny only made her more light-headed. The air grew thin, the higher she climbed, as though the tower itself sought to drain her resolve.
A faint tremor settled in Fresia’s hands as her heart raced faster, each thud a grim reminder of the countdown ticking away from above.
Down below, Roos called out, her voice strained, “Hey! Get a hold of yourself, there’s no more time left!”
Her words, however, barely penetrated the invisible barrier between the outer hall and the tower. Inside, the oppressive silence only fuelled the woman’s paranoia. Fresia continued her futile search, oblivious to the pulsing timer approaching its end.
Then, the clock hit zero.
The ground beneath her vanished, and in one sickening instant, Fresia was free-falling, her body disappearing into the tower’s abyss.
As Fresia plummeted, the world around her became a blur, time stretching painfully before her blurring vision. Her eyes, wide with fear, darted frantically across the crowd of masked, indistinguishable faces. As the swirl of imagery flashed before her eyes, she caught a glimpse of a student among all in the crowd, who was staring at her in apprehension.
Found you.
Fresia wasn’t sure how, but even in a sea of faceless students, she could tell it was him. Maybe it was the way he stood, just a bit taller, shoulders tense yet protective, as though he was still trying to shield her from the unrelenting cruelty of this place.
Although by the second day, she’d felt him slip away, watched him turn distant and blank; although he’d become unable to recognise her even as she whispered his name, she still kept hoping.
Indeed, she had clung to the hope that if they could just make it through these seventy-two hours, he would come back to her, and they’d be able to leave this nightmare behind.
But she knew, deep down, that she’d lost parts of herself too, that the Labyrinth had begun to strip her of everything familiar. And yet, even with her identity barely clinging on, she still felt something real—a pulse, a memory, a feeling she couldn’t shake.
Found you.
Perhaps it was self-reassurance, a desperate trick her heart played to bring comfort. But she wanted to believe it was love—a force strong enough to transcend even the Labyrinth’s cruel design.
“Thomas…” she whispered, her voice swallowed by the hollow air as she fell. “I’m sorry.”
And then, with a final, heart-wrenching silence, her fall came to an end. The sickening thud echoed through the chamber, leaving only an empty stillness where Fresia had once been.
“How unfortunate.” Moss shook his head in feigned pity, his voice dripping with condescension. “Who’s next?”
One by one, more students ascended the staircase, each met with the same impossible choice. They had no other options; many of them only had so much [AFFINITY] left upon entering [GRADUATION], and simply remaining in this space was causing it to drop even lower.
If this kept up, they'd lose themselves before they could even use up their chance at living.
One after another, the students climbed and fumbled to discern their identity among the faceless figurines, their panic mounted, a communal anxiety rippling through those waiting below.
The success rate was abysmally low, as though the odds had been stacked against them from the beginning. Each failure only tightened the knot of dread in those waiting for their turn.
About halfway through, a student strolled toward the stairs with a self-assured gait that seemed to mock the tension in the air, utterly out of place with the rest of the atmosphere. Striding by Ace, she even took time to cast the man a sidelong glance, her eyes glinting with a challenge that sent a rush of discomfort his way.
It was then Ace realised that the student was Beatrise—or more accurately, Dove.
He didn't have the chance to confront her, as the woman stepped feet into the Dread Chamber promptly after.
Unlike the other students who'd gone so far, Dove navigated the spiral of stairs with ease, as though she was taking an evening stroll. Around two-thirds way to the top, her steps halted as she turned towards a case.
With barely a moment’s hesitation, Dove chose a figurine, selecting it with unnerving confidence. The students collectively held their breaths as she disappeared up the stairs. But unlike the others, there was no sickening sound of a body falling.
"Let's all congratulate this student on her successful [GRADUATION]!" Moss's empty applause, the only applause, sounded throughout the tower.
Her success sparked a flurry of envious murmurs, stirring faint hopes among the remaining students. Moss surveyed the crowd, his gaze settling on the next unfortunate soul.
“Who’s next?” he prompted.
"Me."
A smooth voice cut through the crowd, and both Ace and Owein stiffened.
The voice belonged unmistakably to Edris—or rather, the Shadow impersonating him.
“I’ll go next,” [EDRIS] declared, stepping forward from the diminishing crowd.
Ace and Owein exchanged a look of alarm. They both knew the imposter wouldn’t hesitate to select the wrong figurine. If he did, Edris—wherever he was—would lose his chance to complete the [MAIN QUEST].
Owein opened his mouth, prepared to call out, when someone else stepped forward.
“I will go.”
Among the hoard of identical faces, a hand rose with calm certainty, accompanied by a voice unfittingly steady against the pervasive tension.
“I will go,” the voice said again.
It was Roos.