Christopher's body was violently thrown around the car.

He screamed in pain as something sharp pierced his abdomen, but he didn’t suffer for long. Moments later, his head jerked against the side of the car, and he lost his senses.

When he regained consciousness, he was no longer inside the car. Or perhaps it would be more correct to say the car was not more. He dragged himself out of a pile of scrap metal and took in his surroundings–smoke, plastic debris, and twisted metal.

His eyes paused on bloody, shaking hands.

Is it my blood?

If so, he couldn’t feel any pain. To be honest, he could barely feel anything at all. He was surprised he could even stand up.

Dizziness attacked him, but he forced himself to stay awake.

Where are they?

Christopher's eyes frantically moved around the wreck, searching among the debris. He tried to call for them, but his voice refused to obey him.

He found his father first, his neck bent at a weird angle, his face facing away from Christopher. A massive, horrifying wound cut through the right side of his torso, revealing his innards.

His heart accelerated in his chest, and he gasped for air. Cowardly, Christopher tried closing his eyes, but no matter how much he willed them to, they refused to obey him. He suddenly had the urge to puke, but his body was frozen, unable to react.

It’s my fault. I did this.

Against his will, his eyes darted back and forth, searching through the debris. Christopher panicked, dreading what he might find. It didn’t take him long.

He found Cristine’s body hidden under a pile of smoking scrap. Only her head and one of her arms were visible, her cute, tiny fingers now dripping with scarlet blood. Her eyes were open, completely rolled back into her skull, and from her open mouth, blood and saliva were slowly dripping.

They’re dead. I killed them.

In terror, Christopher tried to look away but was unable to, his eyes frozen in place, staring at his dead daughter. Finally, something broke inside him, and the dizziness soon returned, even stronger than before. This time, Christopher lacked the will to resist it.

─ ⴵ ─

The electronic beeps of the hospital machines were unbearably loud, tormenting Christopher. It was almost too insufferable to endure.

Trapped inside his own body, he stared at an eternal void. Nothing had changed. He was still lying on the hospital bed, alone.

A violent coughing attack assaulted Christopher, causing his feverish body to jerk painfully. He grimaced in pain until he realized what had just happened.

He could move!

He tried moving his arms and legs but soon found them restrained. He heard the sound of the leather tightening as he pulled on it. He could move, but someone had restrained him.

Suddenly, Christopher became aware of his bare back lying against cold, uncomfortable metal.

What kind of hospital bed is this?

A whirlwind of memories crashed into his mind, almost overwhelming him, until one memory drowned all the others. His last confrontation with the monstrous four-eyed wolf replayed in his head.

His battered body, the metallic taste in his mouth, and pain. So much pain. And fear. The wolf’s aura still lingered in Christopher, haunting him.

Christopher tried once more to get rid of the restraints but without success.

Where am I?

He repeatedly tried summoning the runes but without success. He tried removing the bandages that covered his eyes by brushing his head against his shoulder, but he had no luck.

“Hello?” He tried to shout, but his voice was barely audible. It was hoarse and feeble, as if he hadn’t used it in a long time.

“Help, please!” He shouted again; his voice was projected across the room before he broke into another coughing fit. He cried as his whole body ached. And yet, he could tell most of his wounds were healed. If not, he would be in much more pain.

Not far away, he distinctly heard the clink of metal keys, accompanied by two distinct sets of footsteps, and a minute later, a nearby door opened with a painfully acute creak.

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Christopher's head ached. Something was different; he was sure of it. But before he could understand what it was, someone hurriedly approached his bed.

“You’re awake,” a raspy, manly voice spoke with an awkward English accent.

“Where am I?” Asked Christopher.

“Aeymenchuk,” the man replied dryly. “Do you remember who you are?”

“Yes, I’m Christopher. Christopher Deveraux,” he replied, wishing the man could lower his tone. He waited for a moment, but the man didn’t bother to introduce himself.

“How did I end up here?” Christopher asked, but his question was ignored. He could hear the man by his side, scrolling rapidly through a stack of papers.

“Christopher Deveraux, twenty-six years old,” he stated. “Were you involved in a car accident?”

Christopher suppressed the knot on his stomach and nodded. Beside him, the man scribbled something down.

“Can you remove my restraints, please?” Asked Christopher. They were uncomfortably tight, and he couldn’t help but feel defenseless. Besides, his body was sore and stiff, not only from his injuries but also from laying in the same position for so long. Each time he coughed, discomfort ensued.

“I’m sorry, Mister Deveraux. I don’t have the authority,” the man apologized. “Now, can you tell me where you have been for the last few days?”

Christopher hesitated before insisting. “Where am I?”

“You are at a secure facility,” the man replied. “Don’t worry, you are safe. Now, please, Mister Deveraux. This is important. The faster you answer my questions, the faster I can free you from those restraints. Where have you been for the last few days?”

“A swamp,” replied Christopher after some consideration. “I woke up in a swamp.”

“Good,” the man said while taking some more notes. “And how long did it take for you to find a jaw?”

“A what?”

“I’m sorry. An entrance to the maze.” The man clarified.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” confessed Christopher.

“It’s ok,” he said patiently. “While you wandered the swamp, you must’ve found a large cave with man-made walls and dimly lit pathways lit by fluorescent moss, correct?”

“No?”

“I beg your pardon?” The man asked, confused.

“I never left the swamp,” confessed Christopher. “The last thing I remember was drowning in mud.”

The man tapped his foot nervously on the floor.

“Are you sure?” He insisted, “You might have forgotten. I’m sure it must’ve been a traumatic experience.”

Christopher pondered. “No,” he finally said. “I’m sure I never found anything similar to what you’re talking about.”

“Mister Deveraux, I need you to go over your memories again and–”

“That’s enough!” shouted a feminine voice in a commanding tone.

Light steps approached Christopher’s bed, and with them came a gentle scent of roses.

Christopher knew there was someone else in the room from the beginning. The woman had arrived at the same time as the man but chose to wait in the corner of the room. He had been hearing her slow, controlled breathing this whole time.

“You can leave now, Luca,” she ordered. “I’ll take it from here.”

Luca left the room with fastened steps while the woman pulled a chair and sat by his side.

“Hello, Christopher. I’m Lisa.” She introduced herself. “Can I call you Chris?”

Her voice was calm and collected, yet something stirred inside Christopher–his instincts told him that woman was dangerous.

But only for a moment. She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and his worries quickly dissipated. The cold, metal bed felt comfy, the restraints ceased to bother him, and he felt at ease, even though he was still trapped in darkness.

Christopher nodded, and she continued.

“You’ve arrived nearly two weeks ago,” Lisa said. “Thirteen days, to be exact. You were a mess when you got here. Broken arm, broken ribs, a mangled chest, and a deep, ugly cut across your face.”

Christopher kept his silence, his questions stilled by her soothing voice.

“We’re used to most of those injuries around here,” she admitted, “To be honest, I’ve seen far worse. But that festering curse you carried… I have no idea how such a thing ended up on the 4th Floor. You truly are a Lazarus.”

“C-Curse?” Christopher fought through his slurring thoughts and uttered a single word.

“Yes, a curse, Chris,” Lisa replied with amusement. “Don’t worry, we took care of most of it.”

Silence reigned for a moment, and Lisa used her fingers to comb Christopher’s hair.

He took a deep breath, breathing in a gentle whiff of her perfume. Intoxicated, a foolish smile spread across his face as he comfortably sank into the metal bed.

“It is quite a feat what you accomplished.” Lisa praised with enticing words. “At best, only half of the drafted survive their first bout with the Labyrinth. And a Lazarus… Only one in the last three centuries.”

How does she know I’m a Lazarus? Wondered Christopher. Was she able to see his runes?

“L-Lazarus?” He struggled to utter a single word.

“Yes, Lazarus,” confirmed Lisa. “You’ve died, Chris. You died in a car accident, and the Labyrinth brought you back.”

Lisa’s words brought back that cursed memory. For a moment, not even Lisa’s touch could dull the guilt he felt.

He rose his head and stared at the void by his side, where Lisa watched him calmly.

“My daughter, Cristine.”

“What about her?” Asked Lisa. “Let’s talk first, and then we can reach out to your family.”

“I need to know if she’s alive,” he pleaded.

Lisa's eyes locked onto his gaze-covered face, and her bottom lip quivered. The smile she had been wearing ever since she entered the room turned into a frown.

“That car accident…”

Christopher didn’t reply for a long time. But he didn’t need to. His silence spoke louder than any words. If he could see, he would’ve noticed the sorrow on Lisa’s face, her blue eyes home to bottomless sadness.

“I’ll have someone check it out,” she assured him. “But first, I need your help.”

She leaned forward and placed both of her hands on his left arm. Christopher’s strength abandoned him, and his mind numbed, spiraling out of control. The hundred questions he wanted to ask disappeared.

“Let’s go from the beginning,” continued Lisa. “You opened your eyes and found yourself in a swamp. What next?”