I roused beneath the water to distorted visuals of the lantern discarded on its side. It was distant and growing smaller, and I realised I was being dragged.

My limbs were still too heavy. Fumbling at my neck with difficulty, I found an object attached to my collar, which turned out to be Fascina’s hand.

Upon feeling the movement, she stopped to pull my head out of the water and turned my chin towards her. “Are you going to be reasonable now?”

“What did you do?” I gagged, bits of canal streaming from my nose and mouth.

“I’ve explained it already,” the ghost answered calmly. “Once again, I replaced your curse with a different one. It’s hardly a one-time-only procedure. Especially not with that vortex in your chest. On the plus side, now all your chairs will be steady again.” Because there were so many of those in the labyrinth.

Speaking took effort. “That was your death extension.”

“And thanks to you, I had to waste it.”

“How?”

“I mentioned that, too,” she responded, jiggling my chin to approximate a much cheerier nod than the situation warranted. “I told you it was dread sigil behaviour. They can be absorbed inwards, or,” she paused briefly, “projected. That’s why they’re called 'dread', after all. Of course,” she added, “you have to know the grim commands.”

A multitude of protests swam through my head I didn’t have the energy to voice. “Reverse it.”

“I’d love nothing more! But I do need your solemn vow you’ll stick with me till one of us shatters.”

“What is this, a marriage proposal?”

“You know what it’s for. And believe me, I can do better.”

“Sure,” I muttered. “You have my vow.”

Fascina grinned. “There we go! Now, you do understand if you break your word, it goes right back on, capiche? I was the caster, so I’m in control.” Her lips moved again, but this time it wasn't a voice that came out:

RESTORE.

There it was again. That magic. It was a different word to the first, and in no language I knew – which was odd, because the dead spoke them all. Vigour returned to my frame in a flood. Shifting to my feet, I stood on the grass and frowned.

What the nether had just happened? “Dread sigils are a fiction,” I declared, trying not to dwell on the blow to my ego as I steadied myself against the wall.

“Sorry to dispel your illusions,” Fascina said, “but I’m not sure why you’re surprised when you haven’t been out in a thousand years. That’s a lot of time for things to change. If the labyrinth is truly infinite, it must house all kinds of interesting secrets.”

“But the chaos bubble –”

“I’m from a bubble,” she interjected. “If I could make it here, why not also one of its sigils?”

“Because a sigil isn’t a person,” I stated definitively.

“It was, though. You need to improve your active listening. I told you Aggranda split his consciousness among them.”

“But you went back in time to when that only included the phylacteries.”

“Okay, maybe you were listening.”

“I always do,” I said. “But we’ve had liches arrive before. Their soul fragments cluster together before making it into the afterlife. They don’t always come back together correctly –” judging by some of the patchwork horrors I’d served drinks to, “– but come back together they do.”

“I hope you’re right,” said Fascina. She started swimming into the deeper water. “I’ve had just about enough of Aggranda. Although I really should have predicted I’d run into him when we were dead. Has that happened before, incidentally? Hero-slash-dark-lord reunions?”

I tried my best to remember. “Maybe once or twice. I think they had a fistfight.”

“Hah. We all just assumed it would be over when we died. Nobody mentioned a labyrinth. Divine tenets were clear on separate heavens and hells, and that all that moral worth business would be decided well ahead.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“If it’s any consolation, it isn’t decided here, either. But that sigil,” I pulled us back on target, “is the mark of the labyrinth. It existed before I came here. How could you possibly know how to activate it with a spell? How could it possibly work?”

“That sigil,” Fascina echoed, “is from my world. Or my version of it,” she corrected herself before I could intercept. “It’s the dread sigil of Constitusse. The first time I laid eyes on it, it was inscribed on an obsidian pillar at the centre of a nascent apocalypse. The curse I used on you just now is the same that laid waste to a continent. On a smaller, less contagious scale.”

Of all the potential excuses, this I hadn’t predicted. Devices from Soddit couldn’t appear in the afterlife. More likely it had travelled the other way around, shadows cast as reflections in a window. But as far as I knew, there was only one way that could happen, and it still didn’t explain how the magic had worked. Fascina’s knowledge was real, and had somehow transferred.

Strangest of all, it had actually affected my constitution.

Two impossible deeds had now occurred in the space of hours, and my companion was the common factor. I struggled to remember if there was something I should know; a trend to do with heroes or a different chaos iteration.

Nothing.

The labyrinth hadn’t liked me being near Fascina – perhaps it hadn’t been jealous. It could have been a warning.

But it was also the labyrinth’s sigil. What secrets did it know?

“You have me rather upended,” I confessed, running my fingers along the wall so that the shower diverted around them.

“I don’t know why it’s here, either. I hoped you’d know the answer. Dread sigils in the wrong hands are bad news. And in the right ones, to be honest. But this does explain how it works as a death extension – absorbing one has a similar effect on the living. Though, again, much more powerful.”

“Immortality?” I guessed.

“Bingo. Dark lords always pick it first, which is why it’s so well-guarded. That and Constitusse being first in the prophesied order.”

I pulled a face. Prophecies didn’t make for interesting stories.

“Don’t besmirch it,” Fascina challenged, noticing. “Prophecies are how we know we’re on track. They’re useful guides to follow once you’ve figured out the cryptic bits. And you just fulfilled one, hero.”

“You just made that up.”

“If you don’t believe me, the next one is Intelligia’s.”

Sighing, I examined the corner ahead as it bent in a curving bulge. Unlike all the previous turns, the twist was smooth and convex, edging slightly in from the left before moving on. Abandoning the conversation, I flew on ahead to see more.

Not all of the landmark was visible from a single angle – it could have been part of a circle. One into which there was no door. Probably because it had been the one I’d earlier refused.

“This is it,” I announced as Fascina drew level. “This is what I saw.”

“Are you sure?”

“Chaos, no.”

Fascina tilted her chin back to examine the walls above, then ducked beneath the surface to repeat it below. When she didn’t find a hint in either location, she re-emerged and placed her hands flat against the pouring water in two small splashes. They smoothed themselves out through her arms again as she reached intangibly inwards.

Of the stories spectres brought back, this was the most common. I’d seen it in action myself many times from the bar's door. Fascina’s hands sunk into the stone like mud, slowing as resistance grew. She pressed her weight against it, earning perhaps another inch of progress, but the labyrinth wouldn’t admit her.

Then the kicker – it refused to let go. Her sockets widened in realisation. Placing a foot on the wall for purchase, she strained backwards, but the action made no difference.

“A little help?” she tossed at me over the boot.

“Nothing I can do,” I said truthfully. “You’re the one with the magic around here.”

She grunted and redoubled her efforts, tugging at her wrists in increasing panic. Her limbs phased in and out of tangibility, neither state having any impact. I let her try for several more minutes before leaning casually against the wall beside her.

“There’s only one, maybe two ways out of there,” I informed her.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“I did warn you.”

“I’m surprised you’re telling me anything at all,” she said, slumping backwards. “Seeing as how even if I reactivate the sigil now, we’re both stuck here. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“I definitely considered it.” I held up a finger. “The first method is to wait until your wrists shatter. If you’re lucky, it could be early. More likely it won’t be for a while. You’ll get out, but there might not be a whole lot of you left to enjoy it.”

“Let’s hope the second way’s better.”

“The second one might not exist,” I said, watching her face fall. “I mentioned tests. If there’s one nearby, completing it will release you as a reward.” I placed a palm against the curve of the wall, examining the resulting spray of water. “The fact this wall is distinct means we might be lucky. It'd be subtle rather than obvious, and easy to miss. But they come in all forms.”

“By that logic, we probably are. It’s far too early for our journey to end.” Her face paled to a lighter blue. “That said, I am your senior mentor figure.”

“Hold on, I’m far older than you, you runt.” The audacity! “Plus I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It’s quality, not quantity. And mentors have a habit of… not making it to the end. Or even much past the beginning.”

“Well, by the time they arrive here, it all looks much the same,” I commented. Now that she mentioned it, however, I could identify the trend. It annoyed me. Another bone to pick with Kaedhrakthys. “In any case, it doesn’t apply to the afterlife, so you don’t need to worry.”

“You keep saying that,” she noted.

I shook my head and looked for tests. Backtracking to the darkened tunnel wouldn’t help; I doubted Fascina would allow me out of hearing range, and chances were it wouldn’t be where I’d left it. I could see if there was another tunnel above us, but the first had felt like a sanctioned cheat. After its earlier infractions, the labyrinth couldn’t have many of those cards left to play. It, too, was a prisoner.

To Rules, as Fascina might say.