The wind whistled through the camp, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and the pungent metallic aroma of blood. Captain Siward Reiner stood at the entrance to the medical tent, seemingly staring blankly toward the still-dark horizon. The storm that had struck the camp overnight had left everything soaked, and even now, long after the rain had ceased, the clouds still hung heavy and oppressive, obscuring the faint rays of morning. The air was thick with a cold moisture, pressing down on the camp like an invisible hand.
He turned, pulling back the thin canvas curtain of the tent and stepped inside. The oppressive atmosphere of the camp felt even more stifling in the enclosed, crowded space of the medical area. The dim light of the oil lamps cast deformed shadows over the rows of narrow beds, where soldiers lay crammed together. Some groaned softly in their sleep, while others stared blankly at the ceiling of the tent, their eyes glazed and their tongues lolling from the excessive use of mushroom-based sedatives.
In the far corner, Alchemist Babat Musur worked furiously at a table, the faint sound of glass vials and the circular movements of a mortar filling the air. His sharp features were tense with concentration, and his dark skin glistened with sweat, despite the cool air.
"Captain," said Babat without looking up. "I assume you’ve come with bad news."
Reiner crossed the room, his boots sinking into the muddy ground that served as a floor. "You're about to run out of supplies," he said, glancing at the scattered equipment and the dwindling piles of ingredients. "How long do you have before you’re out of everything?"
"Five days," muttered Babat, grinding what was left of a yellow root into powder. "Maybe less. And with the storm delaying the carriage from Uruk..." He trailed off, the frustration evident in his tone. "If it doesn’t arrive soon, I’ll have to decide who to treat."
Siward frowned, his eyes drifting to a young soldier lying in a nearby bed. The boy looked no older than twenty. His face was red, and beads of sweat slowly trickled from his forehead down to his cracked lips. His chest was tightly wrapped in bloodstained bandages, and his stomach was covered in scratches, as if a wild beast had mauled him.
"Will he make it through today?" asked the captain.
The alchemist spun around, searching for one of his small glass vials. He grasped it with two fingers, lifted it to eye level, and shook it a few times.
"If this is enough to break his fever, then perhaps."
The captain shifted uneasily, visibly dissatisfied with Musur’s answer. He pulled a pipe from his belt pouch and clenched it between his teeth. After a few puffs, he began to move the pipe from one corner of his mouth to the other, revealing his yellowed teeth.
"What about the forest?" Reiner asked in a low voice. "We've sent men to gather ingredients before. If I send a few soldiers now, we might—"
"No!" Babat shook his head sharply and turned fully toward him. "It’s too late for that. Even if they find what we need, it will take too long to prepare. And we can’t risk more injuries. We don’t have the time or space for more wounded. The herbs must be carefully processed, and the salves brewed for days, not hours. These men need immediate care, and the forest can’t provide that now, no matter how much I wish otherwise."
Siward pursed his lips, his mind searching for solutions that didn’t exist. They were trapped, not only by the labyrinth surrounding Gora, but by the heavy weight of time, dwindling resources, and the relentless loss of lives. He had seen more deaths in the last few months than in years of war.
"Captain!"
Reiner’s head snapped up as a young woman burst through the tent entrance, her face red and smeared with mud. She was one of the camp’s runners, barely old enough to enlist, but already hardened by the realities of life on the edge of the labyrinth. Her chest heaved as she waited for Reiner to acknowledge her.
"What happened?" he asked, keeping any emotion from his voice.
"A group of scouts just returned, sir," she said, her voice tight. "They suffered heavy losses, but..."
"But what?" Reiner asked, puzzled.
"They’re not our men, sir. They’re from Lieutenant Mur’s camp in the east. They’re entering now through the main gate."
The captain exchanged a quick glance with Babat, whose expression darkened even further, then gave a curt nod.
"Prepare the medics," he ordered, striding quickly toward the exit. "I’ll go meet them."
The runner nodded and disappeared back into the camp as Siward stepped out into the cold morning air. The camp was unnervingly quiet, as if even the remaining soldiers could feel the oppressive sense of fear that had settled over everything. The rows of tents sagged under the weight of the rain from the night before, and the muddy paths between them squelched underfoot as the captain made his way toward the main gate.
At the gate, he was greeted by a grim sight. A group of soldiers staggered through the thick, viscous mud, walking single file toward the tents. Their faces were scratched and muddy, their armor torn and stained with blood. Some leaned heavily on their comrades, barely able to walk, while others limped forward with haunted, vacant expressions. Their eyes told the story before their mouths could: another mission lost to the labyrinth.
One soldier, his arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage from his uniform, which was already soaked through with blood, stumbled toward the captain. His face was slick with sweat and dirt, and his eyes were small, bloodshot, with heavy, dark circles under his lids.
"Captain..." the soldier gasped, his voice hoarse and trembling. "It was a disaster. The mission... we lost everything."
Reiner stepped forward, grabbing the man’s good arm to steady him.
"What happened?" he asked, though he already felt in his gut that he wouldn’t like the answer. "Where is Lieutenant Mur?"
"He didn’t make it out. We were the only ones to escape," the soldier panted. "We were inside for three days..."
The soldier grimaced, his knees buckling slightly as he struggled to stay on his feet.
"The supply carts... gone. We lost them all. The labyrinth... it shifted again. We thought we were on the right path, but..." He trailed off, shaking his head weakly. "They were waiting for us. We lost... twenty-two men."
"Impossible," Reiner responded. "Didn’t you enter the labyrinth after the light signal from the city? You should have had 24 hours to get back."
"Yes, sir. Lieutenant Mur gave the order to enter two minutes after the city signaled the change. There should have been 24 hours, but it shifted again too soon. I don’t think we even had the full 24 hours before it changed. The lieutenant ordered the retreat, but it was too late. We didn’t find the exit until today."
Reiner’s heart clenched, though his face remained impassive. Twenty-two men. Gone. He had already lost too many, and now there were twenty-two more to add to the ever-growing list of casualties. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself a single breath to push down the grief that threatened to surface.
Behind him, Babat Musur emerged from the medical tent, his dark eyes narrowing as he approached the wounded soldiers.
"More losses," he said, though his voice held none of the surprise that should have accompanied such news. Only a resigned acceptance. "Did you find anything? Anything that explains why the labyrinth keeps shifting?"
The soldier shook his head weakly, his eyes hollow. "No, sir. It's even worse than before. I think it's changing faster now. We barely managed to escape . It’s like the labyrinth is alive. Like it knows where we’re going and cuts us off before we can get close."
Reiner stared at the soldier, his mind racing. He had heard the same words before, from dozens of men who had returned broken from the labyrinth’s depths. It was always the same. The shifting walls, the feeling of something watching them, manipulating the paths, cutting off any hope of escape. Every mission felt like another step deeper into the gaping maw of a monstrous beast.
As the conversation between Babat and the soldier continued, Captain Siward’s gaze drifted toward the horizon. The city of Gora loomed in the distance, a faint silhouette against the gray sky. From this distance, only the tallest towers of the city were visible, their tips just peeking above the ivory walls of the labyrinth that surrounded them. The rest of Gora was hidden, swallowed by the twisted ivory labyrinth that had appeared without warning months ago, cutting the city off from the outside world.
The labyrinth itself was a nightmare. Its walls were smooth and pale, like bones bleached by centuries of sun. The paths within shifted constantly, reshaping themselves in ways that defied logic or reason. Every attempt to map it had ended in failure, and every mission to resupply the city had resulted in more deaths.
And yet, they kept trying. The last time a mission had successfully resupplied the city had been two weeks ago, led by Captain Siward Reiner himself. They had managed to bring enough food for a week, but they had lost the cart carrying clothing, and with the first snow fast approaching, the daily number of missions had increased. Now, three scout teams set out at dawn, but they were lucky if even one returned.
"Captain!" A voice called, pulling Siward from his thoughts. He turned to see a small group of soldiers approaching him. One of the men, tall and broad-shouldered with a rough beard, stepped forward and saluted.
"The transport is ready, sir," the man said firmly. "We’re waiting for the signal from the city."
Reiner shook his head, his mind returning to the task at hand. Another transport. Another group of men ready to enter the labyrinth, knowing full well that many of them might not return. And yet, he couldn’t shake the words from Lieutenant Mur’s soldier. He feared the labyrinth might shift again sooner than they were used to. But what choice did they have? The city needed supplies even more than the camp. They couldn’t afford to wait any longer.
He turned his gaze back to Gora, just in time to see movement atop one of the tallest towers. A silhouette appeared, outlined against the pale sky, its shape barely discernible from this distance. Slowly, the figure raised their hand into the air, and for a moment, everything was still.
Then, the sky exploded in color.
Flares of red, blue, and green streaked across the clouds, lighting up the dreary morning in a dazzling display of brightness. This was the signal they had been waiting for. The labyrinth had shifted. The clock had started. They had 24 hours to deliver the supplies to the city and return.
The captain turned to the waiting soldiers. "You know your orders," he said, his voice carrying over the quiet camp. "Deliver the supplies to the city. No deviations. No delays. And return as quickly as possible. Let’s meet again, boys."
The men saluted in unison, their faces set in determined grimaces. They had done this before. They knew what awaited them inside the labyrinth. And yet, they would go.
As the soldiers began loading the carts, preparing for the journey ahead, Reiner couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in his stomach. Something was different this time. The air felt heavier, the silence more oppressive. The labyrinth, with its twisting paths and ancient walls, felt more alive than ever.
He watched as the men disappeared into the mouth of the labyrinth, the ivory walls swallowing them whole. And for a long moment, he stood there, staring after them, wondering how many would return.
Behind him, the camp was silent. Only the faint groans of the wounded broke the stillness that had settled over the tents like a velvet blanket. But in the distance, beyond the camp’s walls and the city’s, the labyrinth waited, shifting and watching.
And Reiner couldn’t help but wonder if this time, the labyrinth would take everything.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
