He was a dying soul at eighteen saved by someone he once called master before he was transported into this place. For seven years he had one job to do and that was to shepherd. He was satisfied with shepherding and had been sufficed with rewards such as bread and milk, and he never asked for anything grandeur. Until the last day of the year when he was told he could finally meet his master whom he never had a chance seeing. Even when he was saved during his dying moment before coming to the manor, he only saw a blurry frame of his master, and so desperation took him to eventually meet him and his sevenfold reap.
His master introduced it as a blessing, but perhaps, because of being too late to open it, he was rewarded by a curse. He had a foil gold blindfold instead, but contrary to being blind, he still could see through it!
What was worse?
He was chased by a beast and had some doppelganger attempting to kill him. He almost got murdered! If not for his special abilities he would be dead. He even thought the griffin, who suddenly disappeared after taking him in this odd and mysterious place, would eat him. But now, he almost died falling and drowning, only he wasn't. He had met a woman with strange clothing appear before him.
She was claiming that such a ridiculous place filled with towers were The Towers Below.
And he was . . . a child?
Maze coughed the last of the water he swallowed and wiped his lips. "If you call a man living for twenty-five years a child, then that would make things hideous for the world, you see."
The lady only chuckled and moved her offered hand closer to his face. "I never meant you are a child, but a Child that is an existence for someone who awakened."
"What do you mean?"
"It's simple if I ask you this question." The lady smiled and winked, causing Maze to flinch. "You have gained some sort of power that is beyond human's capacity to understand, haven't you?"
Maze nodded.
"Then that power is awakened in you, and thus, making you a Child, like me." The woman shrugged her shoulders and looked at him. "So, aren't you gonna accept my hand?"
He first looked at it but . . .
Maze squinted through the stinging salt in his eyes, trying to make sense of the strange garb the woman wore. He only knew the simple hang of tunics or the heavy silverplate of the city guards and high-ranking officials who sometimes visited the manor. Those men always clanked in polished metal, but this was something entirely new and odd.
Her shoulders were encased in a short, quilted mantle of thick cotton that stopped well above her waist, laced tight across her chest with cords. Was it a breastplate made of fabric? Or just a heavy vest? He could not tell. Beneath it, her arms were wrapped in sleeves so fine and smooth they clung to her skin like a second layer, disappearing into sturdy trousers that tapered down her legs.
It looked . . . refined.
It looked as if it belonged to a time yet to come.
Then there were the leather straps.
A heavy band of leather slashed diagonally across her torso, and a thick belt was cinched at her waist. Maze stared at the empty loops and the hollow pockets of leather hanging from her hips. Were they for tools? Or perhaps for blades? They looked like the scabbards he had seen on city guards, but they were empty. The leather was molded and worn from use as if it had carried something heavy for a long time.
He looked at her knee-high leather boots that reached just below her joints. He had never seen such a way of dressing. Every strap and every empty holster made him hesitate. Was she a traveler? Or was she someone he should fear?
He remained in between his deductions, as he was unsure of her standing.
"Hey, I've been lending you a hand and it's turning stiff now." The lady knelt and grabbed his hand before pulling him to stand. "I knew my fashion is strange and also out of the ordinary," she shook her head as Maze stood in front of her, "but when a lady offers you a hand, you must be quick to accept it, otherwise that would make you ungentlemanly."
Maze's head rung and his vision dizzied. "Pardon me."
"Oh, don't bother." The lady took his arm and slithered it on her shoulder. "After all, there is always a second time to change one's impression."
They began walking, and Maze now could see the three Towers.
Is this what master talked about? Maze asked finally, but ache filled his sorrow even more. I . . . appear to not be able to know what he thinks. What exactly is this new life for me? It's . . .
Before he could even complete his wonders, he eventually surrendered to keep up his consciousness and fainted.
The lady stared at him with a concerned expression before she tried to maintain Maze's weighty body to remain in a standing position.
This man had a calm look, and for the lady, was in resemblance with being a flower-face. Though she did not grasp whatever eyes the man had, for her, they were attributed as sleepy, and perhaps, weary at the same time. After all, she had observed him talking about slumbering, when he was initiating to conversate with the griffin that could merely growl.
"You are a soul filled with . . . despair and sadness, aren't you?" The lady scrutinized Maze. "Now I am wondering what will turn out of you after a while."
She averted her eyes ahead and noticed a tall, lean figure walking toward their direction.
"A little help here, please. And also, fasten your pace!"
When this new figure closed the gap and was beside her, he took the unconscious Maze before he asked sternly: "What is his reaction, Miss Olivia?"
This tanned man was the same height as Maze, both inches taller than Miss Olivia, wearing the same suit as the lady. His black raven hair had hints of gray, and his eyes were ocean blue, unlike the deep emerald of Miss Olivia.
Miss Olivia sighed, as if burdened, before gazing at Maze's countenance. "He pretty understands the gist . . . but I wonder how he will cope. After all, we were like him when we went to this place. Let's not be rough to him from now on, Sir Azaniel."
"What did you see when you looked at him?" probed Sir Azaniel.
He tried to understand the unconscious man as he carried him with Miss Olivia toward the tower on the far left, located behind the one in the middle. They already passed the central tower and were near their destination.
"When I look at him, even with his blindfold, I can clearly know he has a Sigil. Its origin is unknown to us, since what we only saw through the griffin's eyes was a glimpse of him finally possessing it." Her shoulders were as if carrying the weight of the world. "This poor soul, who thought the griffin was gonna devour him . . . We cannot look for clues with regards to his mark, because that seems to be pretty unnecessary. Especially since obtaining such a thing comes with a price."
"That is a fair point, and the rest of us also concluded with that decision while you were gone to meet him." Sir Azaniel nodded and glanced at the lady. "It's only good that it was you who fetched him. Look at how he gave up and just let himself faint in front of you. He'd only be overwhelmed had we all gathered to meet him. This will be too much for him."
When they stood in front of the tower that was gigantic and black, hidden in dark fog, Miss Olivia pushed the double-doors of the entrance and opened them.
Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.
"Let's let him rest for a while, since it is clear his path is unfinished and not properly opened, making it more terrible to his spirit."
"What else can we do?"
"It seems like we have got so much to teach this man."
A LABYRINTH.
He was always called that.
But what did they know?
"Mizmaze. . ."
Pitch-darkness pressed in from every side.
"Mizmaze . . ."
His eyes darted through the void, but the source of the voice remained hidden.
"Look behind."
He turned toward the empty dark.
"Mizmaze."
The blackness shattered. He stood on a small plain where knee-high grass lashed against his shins. A warm breeze swept over him, catching his short treacle-black hair. Ahead, a lone tree grew from the soil, its branches heavy with hanging dice. The land was tiny, a mere two hundred meters of earth surrounded by an endless expanse of black water.
Someone leaned against the tree.
The figure was a silhouette of pure black, yet a blood-red aura bled from its edges. It wore a white tunic inside a draped cloak, a girdle, and black sandals, mirroring his own reflection. Even the short, wavy hair was a perfect match.
"You finally came to your senses." The voice matched his own, carrying his exact cadence. The figure crossed its arms. "Welcome back, Mizmaze."
"What do you want this time?" Maze asked, his brows creasing into a hard knot.
"Hmm, shouldn't you be asking yourself that, little labyrinth?" The air shifted as if the faceless shadow were grinning. "For seven years, we have not met. Without you, this dream was lonely."
Maze fell silent.
"I have become wary that you have avoided for this dream, to not surface anymore.
He could not answer that.
"That you do not want anything related to this place anymore."
He would not answer that.
"That you want this hidden for the rest of your life and live a simple reality."
He must not answer that.
"I see." The dark figure nodded. "You may have believed you could escape the way you want it to be, but you may have mistaken fate for something so small."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Mizmaze." It straightened and stepped away from the tree. "I am utterly disappointed."
Maze retreated, his heels digging into the soil as he stepped back several times.
"You are still obsessed with living a simple life — but stop the act, could you?"
It appeared that the disappointment lingered, even in the air.
"You poor old soul."
The wind surged, nearly tearing the grass from the earth.
"This dream will always be a part of you."
?
MAZE'S EYES snapped open. His chest heaved in quick, shallow pulls while sweat slicked his forehead and gathered in the hollow of his collarbone. He stared at the ceiling, tracing the uneven edges of the cobblestones lit by a dim lantern. The mattress beneath him was thick and soft, as there is warmth that made his body comfortable. He had collapsed in front of that lady, and now he was tucked away inside the tower.
"You finally woke up."
To his side, a tall man moved by a wooden table, who carried such silken yet emotionless voice when he spoke earlier. He was busy sliding flower stems into a base. These were strange, large blooms with petals the color of a deep, bruised crimson. The centers of the flowers were dark and swollen, almost like a bulbous eye, and a tiny bit of milky sap wept from where the man had trimmed the green stalks.
"The lady who you met earlier. Well, she said she did not introduce herself, but she will do so formally later, and I respect her for that."
He tucked a heavy, red petal into place, and Maze caught the glint of a silver ring on the fourth finger of his hand that was broad and lean, with prominent corded muscles beneath the skin.
"She also said these flowers will help you rest for a while. Perhaps, to replenish your strength. By looking at you, your face is appearing frail and pale."
The man, who Maze assumed to be married, glanced over, and he noticed those ocean blue eyes.
"You can call me Sir Azaniel."
Sir Azaniel walked toward the door this time, his boots thudding against the cobblestone floor.
"You are at the infirmary, so it's best you rest for a while."
A thick, earthy scent drifted from the table, smelling of crushed stems and something bitter. Maze felt his lids grow thick, dragging down over his pupils as if a hand were pressing them shut. The deep red of the unknown petals was the last thing he saw before the room began to blur into a haze of gold and shadow.
"I believe you have experienced your Phantasm already."
The man stopped right in front of the door, his hand resting on the latch.
"I know things are quite haywire, but that dream is necessary as a Child, and you cannot avoid it for long."
He pulled the door open, his shoulders rising with an anxious sigh.
"After all, you need to confront it."
Must he?
But then, he slept.
?
HE WAS THERE yet again.
Under the tree-bearing dice fruit.
When he looked up, several meteors streaked across the sky, leaving long tails of light behind them.
However, this time, the shadow man who wore his face was nowhere to be found.
Was it ever safe that he was not around?
Probably not.
Probably, he was just stressing it out.
Maze embraced his own knees, pulling them tight to his chest as he tried to savor the silence. He recalled what Sir Azaniel had stated. This dream, whatever this was, was a part of him he might need to confront.
What was it called again?
He tried to recall.
When he finally did, he mouthed, "Phantasm."
Was there any special matter he must note in this place? It was so lonely to return here. For seven years, this had never appeared, not even once. While he was shepherding, he had almost forgotten he could be conscious within a dream.
He thought it was weird, but now that Sir Azaniel and the rest of the Children shared the same situation, he felt a bit better. But what exactly was better at this point? It could be a better worse, or even a better good.
"I can only breathe here and . . . " He closed his eyes, his heart filling with sorrow. "Do I really have to stay at this place?"
Each second he spent here, he felt vulnerable. There was nothing to do in this void. Nothing special about being trapped on a small island surrounded by black waters. Come to think of it, when he was transported to the Towers Below, he had almost drowned in black water as well. Was there a reason the dark depths were significant to a Child?
Questions piled upon questions in his mind. But what surfaced to keep him at bay was the thought of his master.
"Master, I can only hope that you are doing well. That you are also thinking whether I am fulfilling the life you want for me."
He was always this sentimental.
It was a part of him that revealed itself whenever he got carried away.
The letter . . . the chest. . . If only those things — Forget it. I guess the predicament that I am stuck with at present is befalling.
Maze imagined the pasture, the sheep-cote, and the herd of sheep. He wished he could keep shepherding, hoping all of this was just an illusion. Yet, what could he do? He was hurt and bruised and wounded. Those marks were enough to indicate that his life was having a drastic change.
There is no way out for me, huh.
To be honest, it was unfair. He never desired anything far-off like this. He did not want to be a fake blind man, nor did he want to be a Child with special abilities. An awakened person. But these people promised that they would explain this new life he was about to tread once he replenished his strength.
Sadly, Maze was . . . unprepared.
He could he be, when he came unprepared at firsthand?
Waking up from this dream once more . . .
It meant facing the truth he would be living from now on.
The truth that might set him free.
Or the truth that might be the cause of his damned future.