Ben grunted as he popped out of thin air and fell face first to the ground outside the obelisk tower. “Ugh. I can’t feel my legs.” He scuffled to a sitting position and waited for the subtle, telltale fizzle that signaled Sybil would soon materialize beside him.

Hiss. Sybil fell backward, midway through the motion of being hurled away. She landed with a painful thud, knocking the air out of her lungs. While she recovered for a couple of minutes, Ben used the time to give the adults a vicious look. Sweeney was fast asleep on a chair, mouth open and head lolling backward; Orangier simply observed their attempts, as expressionless as ever; as for Wilhelm, he had been absent for the past three days, out in Society business.

Ben sighed wearily. After three weeks of trying to make it to the top, they still struggled to make it past the third floor. To say they had underestimated the challenge was an understatement. Today marked their final opportunity to reach the goal, and they were resolute in their determination to achieve it. However, they’d been struggling all morning, as always.

Battered, bruised, and exhausted as they were, neither of them hesitated to press on. Ben’s legs felt as if pricked by countless needles, but it was a staunch improvement over not feeling them at all. As for Sybil, she had stopped writhing in pain from her turbulent landing and simply stared vacantly at the sky, her body sprawled as she breathed heavily.

She lifted one arm and made a pinching gesture with her hand. “I was this close to clearing the third floor, Ben.” She let her hand fall and then swung back to her feet. “There’s no way we let that chunk of rock get the better of us.”

Ben’s face lit up with a triumphant smile as he hauled himself upright. His legs were good enough for another run now. “It’s not happening. Come on, let’s show these geezers how it’s done.”

“We stick to the same plan for the first and second floors.” Sybil instructed.

Ben nodded, pulling magic toward him. Both legs. Core. Lower back. He exhaled, preparing himself to cast a spell at a moment’s notice. “What about the third?”

“We’ll come up with something,” Sybil offered, and she made her way to the entrance of the gauntlet. She held a hand to her stomach as she did, still hurt from previous attempts.

“Right. There’s always the next attempt, I suppose,” Ben replied, and he got into position to join her once she gave him the signal. He got into a crouch start posture and fixed his eyes on the entrance, waiting for its inner darkness to light up with magic.

Sybil composed herself as she turned to Ben. “There won’t be a next attempt. We’ll get all the floors in one go,” she said resolutely, then spun around and slipped through the entrance.

One, two, three… Ben counted as he saw her go. It normally took Sybil seven seconds to engage the first wave of homunculi guards. He had calculated it to the letter. His muscles tensed; Ben was itching to join her. Four, five, six... A glimmer of light made the interior visible, and a whirring sound attracted his attention toward the middle. Sybil pounced on the automata, her arms two deadly water whips.

Seven. Ben exhaled, then uttered a single word in a plain voice. “Quicken.”

The world turned into a blur as he closed the distance between them in the space of a single breath. He unsheathed the wyrdknife as he sped toward the nearest target, plunging its dull blade into the homunculus’s chest. His tempo back to normal, Ben turned his attention to the relic. You’re not a dagger, but a sword. The wyrdknife bid his command and changed while still embedded within its mark, instantly incapacitating it.

Another homunculus rushed to its aid, and Ben, absorbed with it, failed to notice. He swore under his breath as he pulled the sword out and flailed, a desperate attempt to parry on time.

I won’t make it, Ben thought in a panic. He flinched instinctively as he prepared to receive a clay mace to the face, but just before it connected, a water whip ensnared it and pulled it off its trajectory. He turned to Sybil and nodded in silent gratitude—there was no time to exchange pleasantries.

“Interrupting another man’s duel, are we?” Ben asked the automaton. It whirred in defiance as it raised its flail arm and prepared for a second attack. He clicked his tongue, a devilish smile playing on his lips. “Have it your way, then.”

The weapon is an extension of your arm. The homunculus swung at Ben, who did not make any effort to get out of the way. Instead, he grabbed the sword with both hands and intoned another armspell. “Bolster.”

He met the clay mace head on with a mighty thrust, tearing it to pieces. He spun on his front foot without losing momentum, bringing the blade toward its neck with a deadly backward arc. The magical construct’s head rolled on the floor before it could comprehend what had happened.

Ben made an attempt to assist Sybil, but she was already on her way upstairs. A trail of disabled automata sprawled lifeless in her wake. She jumped halfway through her ascent and intoned a highspell while midair. “Flit, Wind Walk.”

Air drafts gathered beneath her soles in almost tangible knots, and she hovered the rest of the way up, avoiding all rune traps.

Spotting her, he immediately knew his next move. His legs enveloped by Quicken, he sprinted toward the stairs and rode the coattails of Sybil’s spell; combined with his speed, he skipped all stairs steps with a single jump. They landed almost simultaneously at the entrance to the second floor.

“That’s one down.” Ben said.

“Yet three remain.” Sybil added morosely.

Ben sighed in despair. “Don’t remind me—I hate this part.”

“Best to avoid it altogether, then.”

A disorienting sight met them as they entered the chamber. There was a maze of rock walls separating them from the stairs leading to the third floor. Not only that, but these walls constantly shifted their orientation in erratic ways, hindering navigation.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Ben could see homunculi patrolling the maze in between its movements. What he couldn’t see, but knew awaited them in bucketfuls, were countless rune traps ready to send them back to the starting line. They had tried to cross the labyrinth for an entire week and always failed; in the end, they had to come up with an alternate method of clearing the floor.

Sybil took a few deliberate steps forward and crouched low by the maze’s edge, her hand pressed against the ground. She took a deep breath and let out an incantation. “Tremble, Seismic Sense.”

Nothing happened. At least, that’s what it seemed like at first glance. Ben could feel a subtle shift in Sybil’s demeanor—he crouched beside her and watched her face closely. Her eyes fluttered from side to side with an almost convulsive intensity.

She’s listening to the maze’s rhythm, waiting for our chance. Ben moved in front of Sybil and began to draw magic. “Right. Better get ready for my part.” My entire body. He exhaled and spoke with a low voice. “Fortify.” His whole body glistened with a magical sheen.

As if on cue, Sybil lifted her hands and broke the highspell. “Now’s our chance!” Her urgent command spurred Ben into action, who immediately broke into a mad sprint and charged forward. She stood up and followed close behind.

The maze walls seemed to shift and undulate around Ben. They could block his way, but he ran straight ahead without colliding. The rocks danced lethally around him, which he avoided by a hair’s breadth.

His heart beat fast and sweat accumulated on his brow, but Ben kept running as if he were untouchable. He might as well have been, for they had almost made it to the other side when disaster struck.

A familiar cerulean light flashed from beneath. Ben looked down, met by the familiar inscriptions of a rune trap. He stopped abruptly, and Sybil rammed into his back. Better for my shield to absorb it than for her.

The trap exploded, hurling him toward the base of the stairs. His armspell broke as he landed, but it had thankfully absorbed most of the damage. He lay there sprawled as relief flooded him.

“Now, that’s some literal bodyguarding right there,” Sybil quipped as she offered him a hand. “It’s not our most sophisticated plan, but we can’t argue with results.”

“Ouch. Thanks. Godsdamned maze,” Ben grumbled, accepting her help and getting back on his feet.

Ben and Sybil ascended the flight of stairs to the third floor, their footsteps more tentative this time. The weight of past failures burdened them, for this was the floor they were yet to conquer.

They halted their advance as they arrived, examining the room. It was simpler than the past one: a collection of unmoving homunculi, the obstacle between them and the stairs on the other side. The space separating them from each other was wide enough for one person to pass through.

Ben gazed at each homunculus. “If only there weren’t trap runes inscribed on them.”

“If only they weren’t suicidal maniacs,” Sybil corrected. “Myself, I hate this part.”

He concurred. “So, I ask again. What’s the plan here?”

Sybil paused, her face contemplative. Her expression brightened with an idea after a moment’s pause. “We’ll zigzag.”

“Zigzag?” Ben echoed incredulously.

“There’s always the next attempt, or what was it that you said earlier?” Sybil retorted, a touch of irony in her voice.

Ben chuckled and conceded her point. “Touché. Let’s get going, then. We’ll zigzag.”

They positioned themselves parallel to each other on both sides, not far from the first row of homunculi. Ben stared intensely at the space between them, lost in thought. What should I go for? Speed? Endurance? Strength? It was nice to have options.

“Go!” Sybil’s voice broke his reverie as it cut through the silence in the room, and they both bolted forward. As soon as they did, the nearest automaton whirred into life. Magic spread through them like wildfire—one became ten, and ten became too many to count. The familiar inscription of the rune traps glowed ominously on their clay bodies.

Ben felt an explosion on his left flank as he weaved and dodged his way across the somnolent homunculi. That made up his mind for him. He breathed out and used the magic he had gathered. “Fortify.”

As soon as the magical coating enveloped him, Sybil shouted for them to change places. His heart raced as he followed her lead, a chain of explosions cascading around them like falling dominoes. They were almost past each other when one of them, in the midst of detonating, suddenly pivoted and lunged at her.

Ben reacted swiftly. He charged forward and intercepted the automaton’s path—the explosion hit Ben straight on, hurling him backward. He landed with a painful jolt, his ears ringing and his vision blurring.

As he regained his bearings, Ben panicked as he saw an army of automata that was almost upon him. He struggled to get to his feet, but he wouldn’t make it in time. Just as danger closed in, a forceful tug on his ribcage pulled him up to his feet and away from harm.

He immediately eased into a sprint as soon as he landed. Ben could see Sybil in the distance, keeping the self-sacrificing homunculi at bay with her water whips. Once he matched her pace, he noticed the remaining enemies gathering in front of them, intent on barring their way. Behind them, the other ones chased them relentlessly.

Caught in a pincer again, Ben thought. This is how their recent attempts usually ended. However, an air of determination clung to Sybil that went beyond her usual bravado.

“Change!” Sybil shouted, and he swiftly complied. As they passed by each other, she put a hand on his arm and stopped him. “Let’s blow these pinheads out of the way.”

Momentarily puzzled, he quickly grasped her meaning. He grinned in response to her. “Follow-up is on you.” He inhaled deeply and tugged at the magic currents around him.

“Repel, Void Push.” Ben commanded, extending his arms outward as he unleashed a formidable wave of magic.

Sybil leaped into action simultaneously. She gestured as if holding a bow and arrow while midair, and she cast a spell as she let go of an imaginary bolt. “Shear, Tempest Arrow.”

A pressurized wind missile materialized before her. It shot straight at Ben’s spell and merged with it as soon as they came into contact, amplifying its force. Sparks of darkened electricity coursed through the composite highspell as it barged at the bulk of the homunculi head on.

When they were hit, the rune traps triggered, and the spell carried them away in a U-turn, pushing them against their pursuers. Explosions rippled through their ranks as they staggered into chaos.

Ben and Sybil leaped forward and slid to the safety of the other side. As the fiery cacophony subsided, they stared at each other with a mix of exhilaration and relief.

“I can’t believe that worked.” Sybil gasped between laughs.

Ben chuckled, catching his breath. “What about we never do that again?”

Their moment of levity was short-lived, as they both slowly turned toward the stairs leading to the fourth floor.

“What do you think is in there?” Sybil asked, a note of uncertainty in her voice.

Ben’s expression turned resolute. “There is only one way to find out.”

Together, injured but determined, they ascended the last stairs. An ominous sense of foreboding settled upon them as they entered the next room.

Puzzled, Ben raised an eyebrow. Sybil opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t find the right words. In front of them, a comfortable-looking coffee table dominated the middle of the room. There, Sweeney, Orangier, and a group of homunculi were enjoying tea time as if they weren’t at the top of a dangerous, trap-laden tower.

Sweeney noticed them and raised his cup in salute. “Congratulations, children! You have surmounted my challenge. I never doubted you.” He shook his head as he said this, handing a snickering homunculus a handful of groats.

“Uh, weren’t you outside just now?” Sybil asked, her confusion understandable. Sweeney simply waved her off without an answer.

Orangier, who sat next to him, clapped his hands in approval. “Superb teamwork, both of you.” he commended.

“Enough to make a difference between life and death, I’d wager.” Ben replied, elated by their accomplishment.

They approached the coffee table and slumped down on a pair of empty seats, accepting the offered yarrow tea. It’s certainly an unorthodox picnic, Ben thought. But one took what was offered, accepting it as it came. He drank a hearty swig from his cup, and immediately felt it soothe his aches away. Given the choice, he’d opt for tea over traps any day of the week, a small victory after their trials.