The countdown hung on the blue-tinted sky, flickering and intermingling with the thickened [ANCHOR HOUSE] air.

The group stared outwards in silence. With the 24-hour notice given for the next Labyrinth pull, their time to explore this place had been drastically condensed. There was no time to dawdle; every hour counted.

Owein was the first to move.

“Where are you going?” Roos peeked over, her tone laced with curiosity.

“To rest.” The man didn’t look back. “Tomorrow, we enter the next Labyrinth. It’s better to prepare for the worst in our best state."

Celio, who had been standing to the side, also stepped forward in response. "Then in that case..."

Owein paused, turning his gaze to meet the boy’s eyes. He raised a hand, his long fingers brushing the air as he glanced at the group through his lashes.

"You're all free to do as you like,” he said. "We’ve been doing things together the last Labyrinth, but we are not a team. Just companions who’ve shared the same path for a time."

Owein had to plan a step ahead. The Lucid Clan had trained him for this. He had walked the path of the Labyrinths since he could remember, and in that time, he had learned better than anyone to keep others at arm’s length.

The words hung between them like a sheer as Owein made eye contact with Edris.

He had already broken his own rule by forming an alliance with the dark-haired traveler, and that decision had already cost him more effort, more energy, than he cared to admit.

Now, it was time for things to return to their original state.

“People like me…” Owein began, gazing at the countdown, “are bound to the Labyrinths. We don’t walk the same path as you.”

Celio’s brows furrowed. "You didn’t have to put it like that…"

Owein’s voice was cold, almost detached. "And now that we know players are allocated at random, I suggest you all make plans on your own. If you’re not in the same Labyrinth, you’ll be alone. There’s no point in getting too attached. Not when the Labyrinths are so... unpredictable."

Before anyone could respond, Owein’s gaze swept over them one last time, his face betraying no emotion.

"Good luck in the future Labyrinths," he said, eyes stopping at Edris.

The man responded with a gentle smile. “Likewise.”

The door closed behind him as Owein turned on his heel and left without another word.

The room seemed quieter now, somehow emptier. The weight of Owein’s words still lingered in the air. Watching the tall figure walk away, Celio turned to Roos, who was leisurely sipping on yet another cocktail.

"You leaving too?" he asked, his voice softer, more careful than usual.

Roos glanced at him, a grin curling on her lips. She lowered her glass, still half-full, and raised an eyebrow in mock surprise.

“Me? Why would I? You lot are pretty interesting people, and besides…” She scanned the room, looking at the faces gathered around them. “At a chaotic place like this, the more the merrier, am I wrong?”

Celio, already feeling the tension of Owein’s departure, visibly relaxed. He nodded, more at ease than before. "That’s right!"

Roos’s gaze flickered to Edris, who was leaning against the edge of the table, his face as unreadable as ever. Her smile softened.

"You wouldn’t mind if I stayed, right?"

Edris lifted a shoulder in a casual shrug. "My pleasure."

Roos chuckled, finishing her drink in one go. She stood up, stretching lazily before slapping Celio on the back. "Great! I’ll stick around. Looks like it’s going to be an interesting few days."

She ruffled Ives’s head as she passed him, sending a wink to the young girl. Ives smiled back, but there was a glimmer of something deeper behind her eyes—perhaps a little curiosity, perhaps something else.

Roos’s eyes flickered toward Ace, who, as usual, seemed detached, his expression stoic.

“Anyway, I hope to work together with you all in the next Labyrinth then, if we end up in the same one. But for now, I think I’ll turn in,” she announced with a yawn. “The alcohol’s hitting me...”

Without waiting for any response, she spun around and exited the restaurant, her laughter ringing out behind her.

With Roos gone, it was just the four of them again.

Ives, who had been quiet for most of the evening, suddenly tugged at Edris’s sleeve. She glanced up at him with a doe-eyed look that was hard to ignore.

“What now?” she asked.

Edris’s gaze softened as he turned to her. "You should go to bed. Prepare for the next Labyrinth. We’ll need our strength."

The seven-year-old shook her head. "I want to come with you."

Edris didn't refuse. He considered for a moment, his eyes turning toward the balcony, where the city stretched out below them.

Celio, noticing the direction of his gaze, spoke up. "Master, do you have somewhere in mind?"

As if responding to his words, Edris’s gaze drifted to a floor just below them—through the lavish windows, he could see flashes of gold and figures moving, socializing. His eyes lingered on the glittering scene below. It looked like a world entirely different from the one they had just walked through.

The silence between them stretched for a beat too long.

A tad too intentional.

"I’m leaving."

Ace, who had been observing the exchange with his usual impassivity, suddenly spoke up, his deep voice breaking the quiet.

Edris slid in front of him, a sly smile tugging at his lips—one that Ace had seen far too many times. "Aren’t you curious?"

Ace’s face remained expressionless. "No."

Edris’s smile only widened. "Just once," he said, his voice smooth and almost playful. "Since we’re here, why not?”

Ace’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing. He turned to leave, but not before casting a final glance at Edris. There was something in that smile that made it impossible for him to resist.

"..."

Standing before him, the dark-haired man’s eyes twinkled.

“Who knows? We might gain some new discovery."

***

The elevator doors slid open with a soft, melodic chime, revealing the Golden Room in all its opulent splendor.

The red carpet beneath their feet stretched toward two golden doors, each flanked by towering bouncers, their faces obscured by featureless masks. Their eyes, however, gleamed with a cold authority, sizing up each newcomer’s approach.

As the group made their way forward, a low hum of murmurs and distant laughter reached their ears. The air was a mix of tension and excitement. Dozens of players milled around, each caught in the pull of this decadent world.

As they approached the entrance, the bouncers gestured toward a nearby table where masks lay waiting. Each player was handed one, their choice seemingly random.

Edris received a turtle mask, its edges curved and smooth, almost serene in appearance. Ace’s mask was a dove, with a sharp contrast of white feathers spread across the horizon. Celio, his brow furrowed slightly, took over a tiger mask, its fierce expression almost glaring. Finally, Ives was handed a delicate butterfly mask, brimming with a spectrum of light lavender.

“Enjoy your stay,” one of the bouncers said.

As the group passed through the doors, the heavy golden panels closed softly behind them.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Celio let out a subtle breath of awe. He took in the lavish surroundings with wide eyes, noting the contrast between the calm exterior and the undercurrent of tension that threaded through the crowd.

“It’s my first time in one of these…” He leaned over to Edris, speaking quietly, “I didn’t think they’d let Ives and me in. Back in Odeen, they only allowed those over sixteen.”

Edris shot him a glance, the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “They usually don’t, but this is the Labyrinth we’re talking about.”

Celio tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Have you been in places like this before?”

The dark-haired man didn’t immediately answer. Instead, he glanced at the space, an almost-foreign look spreading across his pupils.

“More or less.”

The Golden Room was an arena of excess, a sprawling space that could have been designed to intoxicate the senses. The scent of expensive cigars lingered in the air, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the rhythmic sound of machines whirring to life.

Players moved between stations, some laughing as they played for mere relief, others focused and determined, eyes narrowed as they planned their next move.

The room was divided by columns of polished marble, with game-like stations set at intervals, each glowing softly under lights. Voices blended into a low hum, punctuated by the occasional shout of frustration or joy. The purple machines, labeled with odd numbers, stood to one side, their glowing screens inviting those who sought nothing more than a distraction, a momentary escape from the tension that always lurked in the air.

On the opposite side, the black machines towered, their screens dark until touched. These machines were different, more exclusive. To approach them, players needed more than luck; they needed “bids”—money, cards, information—things that were more than tokens of chance.

Edris’s eyes flicked to the left, where a few players were already gathered around the purple machines. He pointed in that direction.

“Those are just for fun,” he said casually. “The purple ones. For people looking for a quick fix, no stakes involved.”

Celio watched the players with the different masks, each pressing their palms to the machine screens, the games on display simple and lighthearted. His eyes were drawn back to the black machines across the room, where the air felt thicker, charged with anticipation. “And the black ones?”

Edris’s eyes glinted with something unreadable. “Those are for the serious ones. You’ll need to bid before you can even play.”

Just then, a low hum interrupted their conversation. A game was starting at one of the black machines. Two players stood across from one another—one wearing a horse mask, the other a fish mask. They pressed their palms onto the screen, and a confirmation beep echoed as the game began.

Moments later, the game was decided. The fish-masked player groaned in frustration as the screen flashed, showing a transaction fee being deducted. The horse-masked player’s profile popped up, and an announcement echoed through the room:

“CONGRATULATIONS TO MISTER HORSE AT STATION NO. 75 FOR WINNING THE BID. 20,000,000 YONES HAVE BEEN DELIVERED.”

Celio’s eyes bulged visibly, the number too large to even grasp at first. He instinctively turned to Edris, his voice squeaky with surprise. “How much?”

Edris’s eyes had visibly lit up at the number, the gears turning behind his gaze. “That’s quite the sum.”

Beside them, Ives glanced around, her eyes tracing the glittering lights on the second floor. Ace had already begun walking off on his own, unfazed by the spectacle.

Celio’s throat went dry, and he nervously adjusted his mask. “Master, you’re not thinking of... playing, right?”

Edris blinked slowly at him, as though he had said something absurd.

“Why else would we come here?”

Celio scratched his head.

Frankly, this was out of his depth.

As the son of the Imperal Army’s Commander, he had been raised under the strict codes of the military, his every action weighed by etiquette and discipline. The Commander had always scorned such indulgences, as had his mother.

Forget about the “games,” this world—this gambling den—was something he had never been exposed to.

His Master, however, seemed unfazed with his concerns. It was to be expected. After all, Edris was a creature of unpredictability, one who moved through worlds with ease, playing by his own rules.

The next second, Edris shoved Ives toward Celio. He glanced at the two gently, smiling as though a weight had been lifted from his own shoulders. “Take care of each other for a while.”

Ives frowned at the mention of being "taken care of" but made no protest. Instead, she fixed Celio with a look.

“I don’t want to be babysat,” she muttered, but her gaze softened when she saw Celio’s confusion.

Edris didn’t miss a beat. “Go check out the purple stations. Find a game like Archivist’s Answers. They’re friendly for children, and you might actually have fun.”

Ives huffed, pouting as she crossed her arms. Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Celio, silently challenging him.

Celio blinked. “What’s Archivist’s Answers?”

“Let’s go.” Ives sighed. “You’ll figure it out.”

***

The two weaved their way from the bustling crowd surrounding the black machines, where the energy felt unnervingly intense, to a calmer section bathed in subdued purple lights. The entire atmosphere seemed gentler here—friendly banter replaced tense glares, and the whirrs and chimes of the machines produced a lighthearted tune.

Once they reached the rows of purple machines, Ives hopped onto the cushioned stool in front of a free console, its screen flashing a rotating array of game titles. She jerked her head for Celio to sit next to her on the adjacent stool.

At her expectant look, Celio blinked twice. He tapped his own chest.

“Me?”

Ives nodded. Ironically, her voice held the exasperation of an older sibling explaining the obvious.

“Naturally. That’s why Mister Edris had us come here together.”

“...Fine.” Taking a breath, Celio scratched the back of his head. Tentatively, he lowered himself onto the stool beside Ives.

The machine before them flickered to life and halted on a neon label:

MARBLE WAR.

“Just a game, no big deal. No stakes are involved, anyway.” The golden-haired boy’s mumblings echoed beside her, and Ives let out a small groan

“Scaredy cat.”

“I am not,” Celio shot back, straightening his shoulders defensively. “Do you even know how this works?”

“Naturally,” Ives said with a tilt of the chin. “Darc—my sister—used to play this with me all the time back in Nolmes.”

The sound of smooth wheels whirring cut between their banter. A station host slid into view—her silver bob gleaming under the soft lights, white gloves, and a tailcoat making her resemble some kind of robotic butler.

Another one like the server at the bar, Ives thought, noting how only the Caretaker seemed to sport that distinctive magenta streak in her hair.

The host offered a graceful bow.

“Sir Tiger and Miss Butterfly, welcome to Marble War,” Her voice was sweet, almost musical. A jaunty tune poured from the machine in response, setting a playful tone.

She explained the rules in that same chipper manner. “Each player starts with five marbles on their side of the small, square field. The goal is to flick your marble so that it lands closest to the red point in the center—or to knock the opponent’s marbles out to maintain your advantage.”

Celio found himself relaxing a fraction.

“That is quite simple,” he said, crossing his arms. A small, confident smile tugged at his lips as he motioned for Ives to go first. “Ladies first, right?”

Ives shrugged, already positioning her first marble. The host stepped back, letting them play. Despite the basic premise, Marble War proved to be more than just flicking marbles in the right direction. One unfortunate flick with too much force and marbles flew out of bounds. Without enough force, they barely moved from the starting line.

Ives, to Celio’s growing frustration, maneuvered her marbles with surprising finesse. More often than not, her carefully measured flicks ended up pushing his marbles aside or sending them off the board entirely. By her fifth and final marble, she knocked out Celio’s fourth one with a practiced ease.

On the opposite side of the square prism, Celio raked a hand through his golden hair in exasperation.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes at Ives’s smug grin. “How are you so good for a beginner?”

She turned to him. “Who told you I was a beginner?”

Celio set his jaw, taking aim with his last marble in a final, desperate move. But, just like the others, it sailed out of bounds. The golden-haired boy slumped in defeat.

“This can’t be real,” he groaned. “How are you so good at this?”

Ives leaned back, placing her marbles in a neat row and flashing him a self-satisfied smile. “Told you, I learned from the best.”

Celio took a moment to breathe, then planted his hands on his knees, preparing to start another round. However, the station host interrupted him with a polite cough.

“Pardon me, young guest, but there is a rule in the Golden Room: the same players cannot face each other two times in a row.”

“What?” Celio frowned. “What kind of rule is that?”

“We must follow regulations here, Sir Tiger,” the host answered with an apologetic bow. “It prevents unfair monopolies on a single opponent.”

“So, will we get paired randomly next?” Ives asked.

The host offered a slight nod. “Yes, Miss Butterfly, if you desire to continue playing.”

Before Ives could respond, Celio had risen from his seat, shaking his head adamantly. “I’m over it. I can’t be playing at this level against others when it comes to kid games. It’s embarrassing.”

With Celio stepping aside, Ives glanced around, half expecting Edris or Ace to appear. Both were nowhere to be found. She pursed her lips, turning back to the host.

“Fine. I’ll play another match. Pair me with someone else.”

“As you wish, Miss.” The host made a subtle gesture at the console. A flicker of neon rippled across the display.

After a few seconds, a phantom-like silhouette, about Ives’s height, appeared as a hologram on the opposite side of the machine.

“Your new opponent is also within the Golden Room,” the host explained, “but to save the trouble of finding each other manually, the system is enabling a virtual interface.”

Ives blinked. The image was a diminutive figure with rabbit ears protruding from the top of her mask. The label beneath read:

Miss Rabbit.

“Miss Butterfly,” the host said, referring to Ives by her butterfly mask, “you will now face Miss Rabbit. Please press the green button to confirm.”

Slightly taken aback, Ives peered at the other side of the console. At that same moment, the masked figure glanced up. A quiet voice chimed through: “Are you Canary’s new playmate?”

“Canary?”

Ives flinched, momentarily perplexed by the cheerful innocence in the speaker’s tone. The question took her off guard. The name didn’t ring a bell—at least not yet. But something about the child’s demeanor unsettled her.

Meanwhile, Celio watched with folded arms, concern and anticipation playing across his face.

“Are you?” The voice asked again.

“...Sure.”

Despite the odd greeting, Ives pressed her own green button. The previous match had awakened her competitive drive. On the other side of the hologram, Miss Rabbit did the same, and the screen glowed brighter, spinning a brilliant wheel of icons.

Finally, the wheel stopped on a blue book symbol.

“Congratulations,” the host announced in a sweetly melodic tone, “you have been selected for Archivist’s Answers!”