Christopher stared at those arcane runes, lost in deep thought.

They were skillfully carved into the stone and exuded an air of ancientness and mystery. He had definitely seen them before.

A lightbulb went off in his head. He took out his Tale and opened it on the oily, dark page he had obtained from the four-eyed wolf. There! Some of the orange runes on the page were similar to the ones on the cave.

“Are you okay?” Sarah asked. She and Michael watched him with a worried look. Christopher had been staring at those runes for more than one minute, completely enthralled by them.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I just knew I had seen similar runes somewhere. They are identical to the ones on one of my pages,” he said, pointing with a finger.

“I see,” Michael smiled. “Indeed, they are similar because they are both written in Ancient Labyrinthian.”

“Do you know how to read it?” Christopher asked with hope. The sooner he could learn about the wolf page, the sooner he could learn of his new power.

“No, not really,” Michael replied. “Sarah knows a couple of those runes, but don’t get your hopes up. Ancient Labyrinthian has thousands of different runes with different styles and grammatical rules. Few are those who can read it.”

“Can’t we use my page to help us decipher it?”

This time, Michael laughed heartily. “Yes, that’s how most of the runes are translated. We find a page written in Ancient Labyrinthian, wait for the system to translate it, and match the runes to the ones on the wall. But as I’ve told you, there are thousands of different runes, and pages written in Ancient Labyrinthian are rare.”

Christopher thanked his explanation with a nod, and they kept moving along the tunnel.

“Where are all these people headed?” He asked, watching as groups steadily moved towards the opposite end of the tunnel.

“They are going to the Apex,” replied Sarah. “It’s what we call the passages to the floors below. Basically, they are going to the 2nd floor.”

Michael nodded towards the end of the tunnel. “And that's our way out–the Crossroad.”

Christopher followed his gaze, his mouth dropping just a moment later.

A massive onyx formation blocked the tunnel ahead. Grand steps had been carved into the rough gemstone, etched with intricate, twisting patterns. The steps glistened under the flickering torchlight, but what caught Christopher’s attention was the faint, eerie glow that seemed to emanate from the steps themselves.

Despite the constant stream of people moving up and down, Christopher’s enhanced vision could not pick up a single speck of dust on their polished surface.

A blurry, dark void loomed atop the stairs, a gaping maw from which people either appeared or vanished. People walked toward it fearlessly, but Christopher couldn’t help but be wary.

Tendrils of black mist slithered from the void, writhing and curling around those who approached as if dragging them into the belly of a monster.

“Let’s go,” encouraged Michael as Christopher hesitated. He put a hand behind his back and pushed him up the steps.

Christopher tried not to panic, but things were happening way too fast. Not even an hour ago, he was stuck inside a prison cell, and now he was about to step through some kind of magic portal.

He awkwardly made his way up the steps, and as he reached the last one, Michael gave him a strong push, causing Christopher to trip inside the blurry hole.

Christopher wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe the sensation of breaking through the surface of a lake, a rush of loud static noise in his ears, or even a surge of intense, unimaginable pain. But none of those happened.

In a moment, he was stepping into an ethereal void, curling tongues of black mist reeling him, and in the next, he was looking at the end of a short tunnel. Outside, the radiant afternoon sun stood among a beautiful blue sky.

“See, it was easy.” Behind him, Michael was laughing. He gestured for Christopher to keep moving along the tunnel.

“Luckily, Sarah and I also used this entrance the last time we entered the Labyrinth. Otherwise, we would have been split from you.”

“There are more entrances?” Asked Christopher as they approached the exit.

“Yes,” replied Sarah. “Not thousands, but at least a couple hundred. Most are under the control of governments or powerful organizations. The others are hidden, and unless there’s an outbreak, we have little chance of finding them.”

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“What’s an outbreak?” Asked Christopher.

“Let’s talk about that after we settle you in,” suggested Michael.

When they reached the exit, Christopher surveyed his surroundings. The small cave they had emerged from was enclosed by a ten-meter-high circular wall reinforced with thick metal plates. Atop the wall, two rows of barbed wire flanked massive, weaponized turrets, their barrels pointing directly at them.

“Stop,” shouted Michael. “Give them a moment.”

Christopher’s gaze followed Michael’s, and he noticed a patrolling officer nearby. Clad in a military vest, he carried a massive rifle and had just noticed their arrival. The man picked up his radio and, after exchanging a few words, raised his hand and signaled for them to approach.

“What is this place?” Asked Christopher as they approached the officer.

“The European Author’s Center,” replied Sarah. “It will be your home for the next week.”

The officer greeted Sarah with a friendly smile before leading them to a not-so-busy lobby. After Michael and Sarah identified themselves as E.A.D. agents, it was time to register Christopher.

The clerk’s eyes were full of confusion as Sarah and Michael tried to explain that Christopher was a drafted.

For some reason that Christopher couldn’t understand, the middle-aged woman refused to believe that a drafted had come out of the Labyrinth, and only after a long hour of convincing did she agree to it.

Sarah mentioned that not all Authors were registered with the E.A.D.; however, if they wanted to use one of their entrances, they would have to.

The process dragged on for what felt like an eternity, most of it spent on changing Christopher’s status from “Presumed Dead” to “Alive”. Finally, after the clerk reassured them that she would handle the rest of the paperwork, Christopher was assigned a room in the drafted wing. Michael and Sarah, who were already familiar with the place, led him there.

The room wasn’t great. It was small and cramped, with yellow paint peeling off the walls and a musky, old smell. It was furnished with an antique wooden bed, a bedside table, and a wardrobe, clearly too large to fit inside such a tiny room.

It was a hundred times better than the cell he had spent his last weeks on, but Christopher couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed.

“Why is everything so cramped around here?” he asked. The ceilings were low, the rooms were small, and the corridors were narrow. Even the office where they had spent the last three hours was awkwardly tiny, and they barely managed to fit inside.

“Old building,” laughed Sarah.

“No, that’s not it,” interjected Michael. “It was intentionally designed this way. The goal was to acclimate the Authors to the claustrophobic nature of the maze.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “But there are barely any Authors living here.”

“I know,” replied Michael. “The plan was to keep Authors of different ranks around here in case there was an Outbreak. But it ended up being only the drafted and a couple of fabled. And even then, most leave as soon as they complete their Prelude.”

“What is a Prelude?” Asked Christopher, causing Michael and Sarah to exchange an apprehensive look.

“Sit down,” Michael ordered, pointing to the bed.

Once Christopher sat down, Michael turned to Sarah and requested, “Can you repeat my words, please? I don’t want him to forget what I’m about to say.”

“Why would I forget?” Christopher questioned, but they ignored him.

“Do you know how one becomes an Author?” Michael asked, and Sarah repeated his words right after.

Christopher shook his head. He had asked Lisa a similar question, but she hadn’t given him much of an answer.

“Every few months, the Labyrinth randomly transports people to one of its Outskirts. Most are between the ages of eighteen and thirty, though there are some exceptions.” Michael explained, Sarah, echoing his words right after.

“Occasionally, an E.A.D. oracle will divine the names of some of these individuals months before they are cast into the Labyrinth. Those are the lucky ones, as we can use whatever time is left to train them.”

“What is an oracle?” interrupted Christopher.

“It's the name we use for people who can commune with the Labyrinth,” Michael replied before continuing. “When someone enters the Labyrinth for the first time, they become a drafted–the initial rank of an Author. However, unlike the other ranks, drafted is a temporary rank.”

“Temporary?”

“Yes, a drafted rank is only temporary,” Michael said. “Didn’t you notice the clerk’s confusion earlier? Usually, a drafted cannot exist outside the Labyrinth. The only exceptions are those like you–Lazarus.”

“What happens to the others?” Christopher asked. He could tell Michael was hinting at something, but he did not understand what.

“The Prelude,” Michael said with a stern voice, “is a trial all drafted must undergo upon entering the Labyrinth. There’s no escaping it, and only those who survive can become fabled.”

“So I’m special because I didn’t have to go through the Prelude?” Christopher asked. He wasn’t sure if he should feel lucky.

“No,” said Michael dryly. “As I mentioned, every drafted must face their Prelude… Yours just hasn’t happened yet,” He paused, watching as horror slowly crept into Christopher's face.

“You’re going back to the Labyrinth, Christopher.”