How is the Prelude an opportunity?

“What do you mean?” Christopher asked.

“To most, it isn't,” Jules continued. “Yourself included. Your only goal should be to survive.”But there are always exceptional people–most of them are Legacies, but not all.”

“Legacies?”

“Heirs of Ancient and powerful families,” Jules explained. “The Labyrinth is just like any other place–where there are powers and riches, greed follows.”

“Why is the Prelude an opportunity for them?”

“It’s not the Prelude itself, but its location. Though The Prelude always takes place on the Outskirts of some beginner floors, its area is almost inaccessible to regular Authors. Inside, there are not only exotic loot and ingredients but even rare pages! Even lower-ranked pages can fetch you a high price since it's so hard to obtain them.”

Jules paused, hesitating for a moment.

“Especially those from Crete,” he added, “but I really hope our Prelude is not on Crete. It always ends up as a blood bath.”

“Crete, are you talking about the Greek island?” Christopher asked, confused.

“No. Crete is the name of the capital city that rules the 5th floor.”

Christopher was reminded of Sarah’s words. She had told him the fifth-floor Outskirts were forbidden to outsiders. No wonder the Prelude’s there were harsh.

“Crete is the Prelude I’m most afraid of getting,” Jules continued. “That or the one on the Ruined floor–the 3rd Floor,” Jules added upon seeing the look on Christopher’s face.

“What about it?”

“I’m not sure. But there have been eleven years since a Prelude occurred there.”

“Is that bad?”

“Yes,” Jules replied with a somber look on his face. “The Labyrinth always distributes the Preludes, so they happen at around the same rate of times in every floor. In the last eleven years, no fabled has returned from the Prelude on the Ruined floor…”

Jules didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to.

They are all dead, Christopher realized.

“Maybe a couple of Legacies made it out and kept it a secret. But it’s unusual for no one to find out for so long.”

A shiver ran through Christopher when he tried to think about what abomination could have killed all the drafted. The memory of a terrifying tentacle appeared in his mind.

“What’s stopping other Authors or dwellers from going inside the Prelude?” He asked, trying to distract himself from that memory.

“A Guardian watches over the Prelude area.”

“A Guardian?”

“A Titan,” Jules said, the word resonating with familiarity. “A formidable terror, sent by the Labyrinth to enforce its rules–and this one is simple: do not interfere with the Prelude. Even the most powerful Authors avoid crossing that line. The longer you stay inside the Labyrinth, the more you learn not to defy its will.”

“You sound almost as if it has a conscience.”

“It does,” Jules said with an ominous voice. “Not like yours or mine, but it does have some kind of cruel and twisted awareness. That’s why higher leveled Authors don’t clear the beginning floors or why the Keepers don’t allow parties with more than five members when exploring the 3rd maze onwards.”

“Are there actual consequences?” Christopher asked, trying to figure out if it was only superstition.

“Yes. The most common punishments are maze surges,” Jules explained. “The terrors go into breeding frenzies and can easily turn an easy floor into a nightmare. That’s why Authors never lower their guard, even when going through floors they cleared long ago.”

Christopher scowled as he remembered the gunk they encountered upon arriving on the 2nd floor.

“Surges happen quite frequently, at least two or three times a year, but are mainly contained to a couple of floors.”

“That’s sounds bad enough,” Christopher nodded.

“That’s the lighter of the punishments,” Jules whispered, lost in thought, his hand carefully caressing his sharp blade.

“Then come the Titans. Unlike the Prelude Guardians, who never stray far away from their zone, most are sent as punishment to those who dared to cause havoc on a floor.”

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Titan? The word resonated with Christopher once more, and then he remembered. His new page had mentioned a Titan. According to it, the wolf he had defeated in the swap had the bloodline of one.

“Lastly, there are Calamities,” Jules's voice was now a fleeting wisp, his fingers dancing daringly on the edge of his blade.

“What are they?”

“I don’t know much about them–but I’ve heard they are the Labyrinth reincarnate. A cloud of pain and suffering that can cover tens of floors and corrupt everything inside.”

Jules shook his head and approached Christopher.

“Let’s focus on my technique again. No matter how much you improve in the next few days, there will be people far superior to you at the Prelude–and if you’re unlucky enough, some of them will want to kill you.”

Christopher rolled back his eyes but didn’t interrupt Jules.

“Some Legacies have been training since the moment they were born and will come bearing hundreds of years of power and knowledge. To be honest, not even I can defeat them easily,” Jules warned. “The easiest way to defeat a spear user is to close the distance, and they’ll all be aware of it–and that will be your chance.”

Christopher watched the handless dagger in his hand with a frown. He could see where Jules was going but doubted he could catch someone off guard, especially if they were much faster than him.

“Watch this,” Jules said, swiftly kicking in the air. As he finished his motion, a four-inch blade extended from the tip of his boot with a loud click, catching Christopher by surprise.

“It’s cool isn’t it?” He smiled and took a small gadget from his pocket, throwing it at Christopher.

It was a band of rough, used leather with a small bronze buckler attached to a small metallic contraption. There were four slits in the metal, and peeking through them, Christopher could see a spring inside. He followed the spring and found a small latch and a gap wide enough to fit a short blade inside.

“I don’t have time to set you up with a boot knife like me, so you’ll have to use it on your wrist,” Jules said. “As long as you keep wearing those gloves, the mechanism should be concealed.”

“A hidden blade?” Christopher asked, mounting the handless blade on the contraption. He had mixed feelings.

On one hand, he was certain he didn’t want to hurt anyone. But on the other, it was every little boy’s dream to wear a hidden blade on his wrist–he felt like an assassin.

He removed his glove and fiddled with the leather wrap, trying to secure it in place. Jules kneeled down and extended his hands to help him.

Christopher’s heart almost jumped out of his chest as he saw the boy’s hand approaching his. Adrenaline and heat surged through his body as he jumped back with fright.

“Don’t!” He shouted, moving his hand away.

Jules looked at him, confused.

“Don’t touch me,” Christopher requested, breathing haggardly. “I’m sorry. It's just… dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Jules mocked with a weird gaze.

“Yes, it’s something with my synopsis. I can’t control it.”

“Is that why you wear those flashy gloves?” Jules asked, and Christopher replied with a nod.

The boy gave Christopher enough space and time to attach the mechanism to his wrist properly. Once he was done, Christopher slid a small, wooden ring onto his finger, which was connected to a thread.

The mechanism was designed so that raising his finger would trigger the blade to pop out. It would require some practice to avoid triggering it at inconvenient times, but it should prove useful to catch his opponents off guard–if he ever needed to.

Christopher tried it a few times until he was satisfied, each time resetting the blade by pressing the latch and pushing it back to the ridge.

“Great!” Jules watched him play with the hidden blade. “Let’s keep going. Assume your stance again. We will do some practice runs.”

The next hours were exhausting.

Jules didn’t just force Christopher to practice the basic spear thrust and Jules’ Ultimate Technique over and over; he also insisted that he practice using the Triangulation Beam every time he needed to rest from the exhausting drills.

By the end of their training session, Christopher had come to see Jules in a new light as a relentless, cruel, unforgiving instructor.

Christopher forced himself upon the stone ledge they had rested on the night before and shared a parch meal with Jules.

Watching him so downcast, Jules thought of a way to lift his spirits.

“I almost forgot to show you,” He started, taking something out of his pocket.

Jules opened his dirty hand to reveal a small, irregular, dark object covered in blood and grime.

“What is it?” Christopher asked, his interest peaked.

“Here,” Jules let it fall onto Christopher’s hand, and when it did, a set of bright runes appeared in Christopher’s vision.

[Name]: Infected Morman Molar

[Type]: Consumable (1 use remaining)

[Description]: The Morman were cursed long before the one of Countless Hands ensnared them in his grasp.

Would one choose death or an eternal curse of defilement? Only the Morman might hold the answer.

Ingest to temporarily surround yourself with an eerie, irresistible aura to nearby terrors.

“Why on earth would someone consume this?” Christopher asked with disgust.

“Hahaha, not very useful, is it?” Jules mocked. “Keep it. It will be a memento of your first round through the Labyrinth.”

Christopher thanked him, stuck the molar in his pocket, and patted down his backpack before using it as a pillow. Exhausted, he fell asleep almost immediately.

They woke up hours later, feeling more rested.

“What do you say we aim for the Apex?” Jules asked.

Christopher didn’t ponder on it for long. After all, he had come to this place to get stronger. Strong enough to heal Christine.

“Let’s go. Should we follow the other Authors?”

“No. Let’s do our own thing. Besides, it would be hard to hide from them that you’re a drafted and I’m a dweller.”

Christopher nodded.

They packed up their things and climbed down the ledge onto the entrance of the dark tunnel.

Christopher watched it carefully, every fiber of his being begging him to turn around and leave. He shivered sickly, with his back covered in cold sweat.

I need to do this. For Christine, he convinced himself, clenching his fists.

But there was something… something sinister lurking inside the tunnel. His eyes might not see it, but his instincts screamed that it was better to stay away.

He looked at Jules, who stood just beside him. The boy faced the tunnel fearless, with a torn smile on his face.

“How are you not afraid?” Christopher asked.

Jules's torn smile grew even wider.

“This is nothing,” he mocked, stepping into the darkness.