The tunnel walls seemed to close in on Alastor as he ventured deeper into the heart of the Pyramid’s first trial. The dim, golden glow of the hieroglyphs flickered, casting long, shifting shadows that twisted into strange, unsettling shapes. Each step forward felt heavier than the last, the air thickening around him as if the weight of the ancient stones was pressing against his chest. Nyx moved beside him, silent and composed, her presence a dark, steady anchor in the sea of uncertainty.

Alastor’s instincts screamed at him to stay sharp, to anticipate the next threat, but something was different here. There was no clear enemy to outsmart, no tangible danger to fight. The feeling of something lurking, just out of sight, gnawed at him.

Then, without warning, the tunnel began to shift.

The stone floor under his feet rippled like water, the walls bending, warping, as if the entire space were alive. Alastor froze, his heart pounding, his mind struggling to process what was happening. The once-straight path began to twist, spiraling in on itself, splitting into multiple corridors that all seemed to stretch endlessly into the darkness.

"Nyx?" Alastor’s voice was steady, but a note of unease crept into his tone.

She didn’t answer.

He turned to where she had been walking beside him, but the space was empty. Nyx was gone.

His pulse quickened as he spun around, trying to make sense of the shifting walls, the maze that had materialized around him. The path ahead and behind twisted like a living thing, the walls curling inward, creating false passageways and dead ends. Every direction looked the same, the glowing symbols on the walls swirling in dizzying patterns.

A maze.

But it wasn’t just a maze of stone. It was a maze of his mind.

Panic flared in his chest. He’d read about these trials—the Pyramid’s ability to manipulate perception, to warp reality. This wasn’t just a test of physical endurance or skill; it was a trial designed to break him mentally, to force him to confront his deepest, most primal fear.

The loss of control.

Alastor had spent his entire life controlling everything—his empire, his wealth, his image. He had engineered his rise to power through careful manipulation of events and people. Losing control was not just a fear; it was the one thing that threatened to unravel everything he had built.

And now, here, in this labyrinth of shifting realities, he felt it slipping away.

His footsteps echoed unnaturally as he moved forward, his mind racing to keep track of the twisting hallways. He tried to focus, to maintain control over his breathing, his thoughts. But with every turn, the maze seemed to change. Passageways that had been there moments before vanished, replaced by dead ends or spiraling tunnels that led nowhere. His surroundings blurred, the lines between reality and illusion becoming indistinguishable.

Then the visions started.

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Out of the corner of his eye, Alastor saw movement. His breath caught in his throat as he turned, his heart pounding. There—at the end of the hall, a figure appeared. A man, standing in the shadows. Alastor narrowed his eyes, the flicker of familiarity making his blood run cold.

It was him.

An image of himself—disheveled, broken, defeated—standing in the distance, staring back at him with empty, hollow eyes.

Alastor blinked, and the figure was gone. But the feeling remained—an overwhelming sense of helplessness, of being trapped in a situation he couldn’t control. His pulse quickened as he moved deeper into the maze, the walls tightening around him like a vise.

The maze twisted again, this time splitting into three identical passageways. Alastor tried to think, tried to analyze, but his mind spun in a hundred different directions. He was losing his grip. No matter which path he chose, it felt wrong, as if the Pyramid itself was mocking him for thinking he could control his fate.

You can’t win this.

The thought flashed across his mind unbidden, and for a moment, he felt the crushing weight of failure pressing down on him. His vision blurred, the walls of the maze distorting even further. His heart raced, panic seeping into his veins as he stumbled forward, his confidence eroding with every step.

Then came the voice—soft, seductive, dripping with venom. "You're not in control here, Creed."

The sound of Nyx’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and clear. Alastor whipped around, scanning the shadows, but she was nowhere to be seen. Her voice echoed through the twisting hallways, growing louder, closer.

"You think you can control everything, don’t you? Your empire, your enemies… even death itself." Her words slithered through the darkness, each one a challenge to his carefully constructed reality.

"I’ve done it before," Alastor muttered under his breath, forcing himself to push forward. "I can do it again."

But as he moved, the walls shifted again, and he found himself trapped in a dead end. The corridor stretched out in front of him, a blank, endless void. The ground beneath his feet rippled like water, the stone melting into something unsteady, unstable.

Alastor’s pulse pounded in his ears, his chest tightening with frustration. He couldn’t win.

"You think you’re different from the rest?" Nyx’s voice taunted him, this time closer, almost whispering in his ear. "You’re just like everyone who’s come before you. You can’t control this, Alastor. That’s the whole point."

The walls around him began to close in, the ceiling lowering as if to crush him. His breath came in ragged bursts, his vision narrowing as panic clawed at the edges of his mind. He felt the crushing weight of helplessness, the realization that no matter how hard he tried, the maze was out of his control. He couldn’t solve it with logic. He couldn’t manipulate it. It was built to defeat him.

And then, Nyx appeared—her form materializing out of the shadows behind him, close enough that he could feel the heat of her breath against his neck.

"If you want to survive," she whispered, her voice low and dangerous, "you have to let go."

Her words sliced through the panic, sinking into his mind. He had spent his life fighting for control, for dominance. But here, in this maze, the more he fought, the more he was trapped. The Pyramid wasn’t just testing his skills—it was testing his ability to surrender.

To trust.

Alastor clenched his fists, his knuckles white with tension. He could feel the pull of the maze tightening around him, waiting for him to resist, waiting for him to fail.

But for the first time, he did something that went against every instinct he had. He let go.

His breath slowed, his mind quieting as he stopped trying to control the maze. The shifting walls around him blurred, their oppressive weight lifting as he relinquished the need to dominate, the need to win. For the first time, he allowed himself to trust Nyx, to follow her lead.

The shadows around him began to shift again, but this time, they didn’t close in. Instead, they receded, opening up into a wider corridor, the path forward illuminated by the faint glow of the hieroglyphs on the walls.

Nyx’s voice was soft, but there was a hint of satisfaction in it. "That’s better."