What had I done?

The echoes of the explosion reverberated in my skull — the screams, the splintering wood, the heat searing my back. The hollow eyes of those children, glazed with fear and resignation, stared at me from behind my eyelids, refusing to be blinked away.

My knees buckled, the weight of guilt crushing my chest. A nauseating wave of shame churned in my gut. We thought we were delivering justice. We thought we were the heroes.

But heroes didn’t leave ashes and broken bodies in their wake.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to drown out the chorus of accusations that weren’t coming from Elizabeth this time — it was all me, my own mind, my own unforgiving judgment.

Was I really any better than the monsters I fought?

I swallowed hard, but the lump of regret wouldn’t go down. My hands trembled, fingers tightening around the bow. It felt heavier now, like it knew the truth too.

A whisper of cold, mocking laughter curled in the back of my mind.

{Regrets already? We’ve barely started.}

I shoved the voice away, bile rising in my throat. My pulse pounded behind my eyes, and the maze’s cold air seemed to close in tighter. I was choking on my own choices.

What had I done?

What was I going to do?

The path ahead was darkness, but turning back wasn’t an option.

I had to keep moving — even if I no longer knew whether I was running from my past or toward my damnation. Maybe I really did deserve to be here.

The glow deepened, guiding me into a chamber where the walls pulsed with a quiet, rhythmic light. My breath caught as my eyes took in the vast mural — a tapestry of woven carpets stretched across the stone, threads shimmering with a life of their own. Each panel told a story in patterns and forms that danced between clarity and obscurity, truth and illusion. It was a magical mural. I felt drawn to it, whether because I wanted to punish myself or something to do with its magic, I didn't know.

In the first section, Light and Shadow collided — two forces locked in eternal opposition. One radiated a brilliance that seared the edges of the fabric, strands of gold and silver unraveling in its wake. The other coiled like ink bleeding through cloth, jagged shapes devouring the space they touched. Between them, a thread of resolve stood defiant, a thin blade of light barely holding back the evil.

I squinted as my gaze traced the woven lines. A sharp, sudden pain lanced through my temples, like needles driven into my skull. I winced but couldn’t look away. The threads seemed to tighten, the patterns vibrating with silent intensity.

Around the central thread, Others emerged — hints of motion and purpose. A swirl of lines suggested a flowing robe. A jagged edge whispered of a battered shield. Twin arcs gleamed like fangs of steel poised to strike. A pair of trembling hands cupped a fragile glow.

The pain in my head pulsed in time with the glow, sharper now, each throb a spike driven deeper into my mind. I gritted my teeth, my breath coming faster, but the mural refused to release me.

The scene shifted — threads folding into themselves.

The figures receded, their forms breaking apart into fading strands. The woven light dimmed, footsteps unraveling into shadows. And yet, they returned. The threads twisted back into shape, tangled but persistent. Bent, frayed, incomplete — but still returning. Words appeared below the mural and then burned in my mind, sending me to my knees.

Leave. Return. Resist. Again.

The sequence repeated, the patterns looping into infinity. The threads grew darker, the fraying lines bleeding into each other, fatigue woven into the very fabric. My headache deepened, a vice tightening around my skull, hot needles piercing behind my eyes.

Time distorted in the panels — a blur of unraveling lines and splintering colors. The figures were no longer distinct, just symbols of struggle and relentless return. The brilliance dulled. The darkness thickened. My vision swam, my pulse hammering in my ears.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

The pain spiked, white-hot and blinding.

In the final panel, the threads constricted. The central figure — now just a whisper of light, a hairline crack in the darkness — remained. The edges of its form trembled, worn to the point of breaking. Yet still, it held. Still, it faced the consuming void.

My head felt like it might split open, but I couldn’t tear my gaze away.

An endless cycle woven into silence.

The threads whispered of exhaustion, inevitability. But beneath that — perhaps — a quiet defiance.

Or was it simply a reminder that no thread ever truly unraveled until the loom itself was broken?

I gasped as the pain reached a crescendo, a final, piercing note that left me breathless.

And then, like a snapped string, it was gone.

[Reward unlocked: Aerlyntium Scan: Tells you what materials a monster will drop. Does not affect drop chance for other loot.]

I grinned. Not only had I survived the mural, but the boon I received from it seemed pretty solid. Taking a moment, I glanced around the area. The air was thick, tainted by lingering magic, but defeating the mural would surely help me fix this floor again.

Aurentum emitted a faint grinding sound, like stone scraping against stone. His edges seemed to dull slightly as he spoke, his voice brittle and dry.

{That’s it. You nearly die, and they hand you… this.} A crack split across Aurentum's surface, and he chuckled—a sound like crumbling slate. For a moment, the fissures almost formed a face. Gods are weird.

{A trinket for scavengers. You’re unlucky.}

I shook off the gloom clinging to his words. No time to dwell. I needed to clear the rest of the maze. If I could track down an Aerlyntium, at least none of the materials here would go to waste. Aurentum floated beside me, his sharp presence oddly reassuring, and for once, he offered some surprisingly good advice. We were already on course to finish the second floor.

But after two grueling hours of navigating twisting corridors and dead-ends, there was still no sign of an Aerlyntium. I did, however, stumble across a spout jutting from a ruined wall. With a sigh, I grabbed it and tucked it away for later.

Frustration simmered beneath my skin. The sheer time sink of these runs was starting to grate. “Well, since there's still no Aerlyntium I'm probably gonna have to rely on luck if we want to get through this place,” I muttered.

Aurentum pulsed faintly, his voice like brittle stone. {Then don’t rely on luck. Just manually harvest the room.}

I blinked. Sometimes, the crystal actually made sense.

I glanced at the worn, mold-ridden carpets lining the maze floor, their once intricate patterns now a muddled mess of decay and grime. The idea of harvesting them made my skin crawl, but Aurentum's suggestion was, annoyingly, the most practical.

"Harvest the carpets, huh?" I muttered, grimacing. "Sure, why not? I've survived worse."

Aurentum floated closer, his fractured surface pulsing dimly. {“Efficiency over pride, Penitent. The filth doesn’t care about your feelings.”}

With a sigh, I focused on the nearest stretch of damp, discolored carpet. I stretched out my hand, thoughts aligning with the intent to collect. A faint tug, like an invisible thread, connected my mind to the material. The carpet shimmered briefly before disintegrating into motes of dull light, flowing toward me and sinking into the nebulous space of my inventory.

[Material Acquired: Moldy Woolen Fibers]

The notification pulsed in my mind. Not exactly a prize, but better than leaving empty-handed.

I moved to the next section, reaching out mentally. The moment I made contact, the fibers resisted, clinging to the floor like they were trying to stay behind out of spite. The dampness oozed through my gloves, and a rancid stench of mildew filled my nose.

I gagged. “Gods, that’s vile.”

Another thought, another shimmer, and the foul material was gone. More [Moldy Woolen Fibers] and the occasional [Decay-Touched Weave] slid into my inventory, each addition a gritty, thankless step toward the third floor.

{You’re disgustingly thorough,} Aurentum remarked, his voice grinding like dry stone. A hairline crack spread across his surface, as though the very act of watching offended him.

“Yeah, well, when life gives you disgusting carpets…” I muttered, pulling another rancid strip free. My hands felt like they’d never be clean again, but I kept going. The maze didn’t reward half-measures, and I wasn’t about to waste anything that might help me survive.

Piece by piece, the carpets vanished. My inventory grew heavier with scraps of rotting cloth, each one a silent reminder that survival wasn’t glamorous. Finally, I straightened, wincing as I stretched my back. The floor, walls, and ceiling were bare now, stripped down to cold, unyielding stone. The air felt colder without the carpets, a damp chill seeping up from the stone and gnawing at my bones.

{You’re learning,} Aurentum said, his jagged form glinting faintly in the dim light. {Maybe there’s hope for you yet.}

I wiped my hands on my pants, the grime clinging stubbornly to my fingers. As I exhaled, a shimmer in the center of the room drew my gaze. The Aerlyntium appeared, hovering just above the floor where the thick carpets once lay.

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Wool: 1500/1500

Cotton: 400/400

Silk: 100/100

All material requirements met.

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