Rhys approached the brownish-grey fruit first, extending her palm above it without touching.

  White sparkles flowed between her hand and the fuzzy surface—a strong stream, nearly opaque. Her eyes widened slightly.

  "Strong connection," she said. "Very strong. Almost as strong as Cade's connection to his Oath essence was." She moved her hand in small circles, testing the boundaries. "Definitely compatible with my profile."

  "Earth essence, probably," Zyrian said, eyeing the brownish-grey coloring. "The color matches the spears and construction materials. Makes sense the labyrinth would reward us with something from the scenario."

  "Probably," Rhys agreed, withdrawing her hand. "Your turn."

  Zyrian took her place, hovering his palm over the fruit. The stream that emerged was similarly dense—white light flowing between flesh and fruit in a steady torrent.

  "Strong for me too," he said, nodding with satisfaction. He studied the flow for a moment longer, then stepped back. "I want this one. Check the other—see if it suits you."

  Rhys moved to the peach-colored fruit, hovering her palm above its smooth surface. The sparkles that emerged were strong—not quite as overwhelming as the first fruit, but substantial.

  "Good connection," she reported. "Not as strong as the earth fruit, but solid." She withdrew her hand, considering. "I won't know what it actually is until I consume it.”

  "But it works for you?"

  "Well enough."

  Zyrian was already reaching for his choice. "Then it's decided."

  Cade watched them reach for their respective choices, a thread of frustration winding through his chest.

  "My Oath essence hasn't been useful at all," he said. "The whole time we've been here, the beetles, the fire people, the negotiations, the siege, I haven't felt it do anything. No progression, no unlocked abilities, nothing."

  Zyrian paused mid-bite, the earth fruit halfway to his mouth. "You may not feel it, but there's likely an amplifier at work. Your strength in that last fight—taking on sixty creatures with minimal damage—that's not normal for a tier-four, even against tier-threes."

  "That was just... fighting. Skill. Speed."

  "Partly. But Oath essences often provide passive enhancement when you act in accordance with their principles." Zyrian took his bite, chewing thoughtfully as the fruit's essence flowed into him. "You haven’t done anything against your oath, so it likely remains in effect. The essence would have been supporting you throughout."

  "But there's been no progress," Cade pressed. "No new oaths unlocking. The ability description said there would be stages."

  "It is said that Labyrinth creatures are outside the scope of most covenant-focused triggers." Zyrian swallowed, reaching for another bite. "Some scenarios give them more freedom for communication and personality, but at their core, they're designed to feel no pain. They live for battle, respawn stronger than before, derive pleasure from combat. They literally cannot suffer anything beyond frustration."

  Rhys nodded, taking a bite of her own fruit. "It makes sense that your essence wouldn't activate against them. There's no suffering to minimize."

  Cade considered this. The explanation made logical sense, but it didn't ease his frustration. He'd taken the Oath essence because it felt right—because the First Oath aligned perfectly with his values—but so far it had been the least useful of his abilities.

  Maybe outside the labyrinth, he thought. Maybe when I'm dealing with real people who can actually suffer.

  The thought settled into his mind, took root there.

  Maybe that's where I'm supposed to be.

  The fruits were consumed. The essences absorbed.

  Zyrian spent a few minutes experimenting with his new ability. He held out his palm and focused, his brow furrowing with concentration. A small stone materialized in his hand—rough, gray, maybe the size of a marble.

  "Earth essence," he confirmed. "As expected."

  He threw the stone across the cavern. It shot from his hand with surprising speed, striking the far wall with a sharp crack.

  "Projection is excellent," he observed, already manifesting another stone. "That's my primary affinity—I can feel it. The speed and distance come naturally."

  He tried making a larger stone. The result was disappointing—a lumpy, porous thing barely bigger than his fist, and it took visible effort to create.

  "Manifestation is a weak point," he admitted, letting the rock dissolve back into nothing. "I can barely create enough material to be useful, and nothing dense. It’s the density of the rocks in this room, at best—maybe if I really push. Nothing like those steel-hard spears the overseer was throwing."

  He turned his forearm to rough granite and back again, the transformation smooth but clearly incomplete—patches of red skin visible through the stone coating.

  "Transmutation is decent, fits my somewhat strong affinity. Good enough for armor, not good enough for full transformation yet." He flexed the partially-stone arm experimentally. "And I can feel an anchoring aspect—absorption affinity. Weaker than I'd like, maybe sixty percent, but enough to root myself when I need leverage."

  "Still useful," Rhys observed.

  "Very useful," he agreed.

  Rhys's essence manifested differently. She held up her palm and focused, and a shimmer appeared in the air before her. A translucent disc maybe a foot across, glowing faintly with pearlescent light came into being.

  "Some kind of barrier essence," she said, studying her creation. "Interesting. Manifestation controls the size, and that's my weakest affinity." She gestured at the small disc. "Hence... small."

  "But watch," she added.

  She gestures for Zyrian to the stone Zyrian had manifested in his hand and then at the barrier. Zyrian immediately throws it at the barrier—hard, using his new projection ability. The rock shot toward the shimmer at lethal speed.

  It stopped dead. Momentum absorbed completely. The barrier flickered but held.

  "Strong," Zyrian admitted. "Stronger than stone would be at that thickness."

  "Absorption affinity," Rhys explained. "That's one of my better ones. The barriers are small, but they're resilient."

  She dismissed the first barrier and created another one ten feet away, hovering in empty air.

  "Projection is of similar strength. I can place them at good distances from myself." She created a third barrier, then a fourth, spacing them around the cavern. "But I have to maintain focus on each one. They're not permanent manifestations like your stone or Cade's water. The moment I stop thinking about them..."

  The barriers winked out of existence.

  "Still useful for blocking attacks," Cade said. "Protecting allies. Creating platforms mid-air."

  "Exactly what I was thinking." Rhys manifested another barrier beneath her feet and stepped onto it, hovering a few inches off the ground. "Lightweight, quick to create, strong for their size. A superior shield compared to stone or water obstruction for the effort involved, just temporary."

  "We should discuss your... situation."

  Rhys's voice was matter-of-fact, but her gaze dropped pointedly to Cade's midsection. The mist skirt had been maintaining itself automatically—a small blessing—but it couldn't hide the obvious distension pressing against the fog.

  Cade felt heat rise to his face. "I was hoping it would calm down on its own."

  "Has it ever?"

  "Never completely, not here."

  Zyrian, who had been examining the cavern walls with apparent disinterest, turned around. "You should address it now. While we're all the same height." His expression was calculating rather than salacious. "The egg from last time was extraordinary. I'd like to taste another."

  "That's—" Cade started.

  "I'm offering to help," Rhys cut in smoothly. "Not Zyrian. Unless you'd prefer—"

  "No." The word came out too fast, too emphatic. "No, I... with you is fine. Good. I just..."

  He trailed off, unable to articulate the discomfort that had been gnawing at him since their first intimate encounter. Rhys was beautiful—her silver skin, her curves, her centuries of experience evident in every graceful movement. But there was also the other aspect of her anatomy. The part he'd been carefully avoiding looking at.

  Rhys noticed. Of course she did.

  "Sit," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "Sit back and enjoy. Let me handle everything."

  Cade lowered himself to the stone floor, legs splayed out in front of him, hands planted behind for support. The mist skirt he’d been maintaining dissipated as he focused on creating something different—a cylindrical wall of dense fog, curving around behind him, blocking Zyrian from view.

  The mist wavers when he separates the column from his body. He struggled to maintain it, bring it back closer, eventually settling for a configuration where his back and shoulders connected to the cylinder's edge. From inside, Rhys could see him from the head and chest down, shoulders and arms obscured in the mist. From outside, Zyrian could see nothing.

  Good enough.

  Rhys approached, her lithe, naked form moving with practiced grace. She turned away from him, facing the same direction he faced, and lowered herself to her knees.

  Then she leaned forward, hands splaying against the stone, and backed toward him.

  Her positioning was deliberate. Intentional. Her feet slid under his bent knees, her hips aligned with his, and her back was all he could see—the curve of her spine, the silver sheen of her skin, everything he found attractive presented while everything that made him uncomfortable remained hidden.

  She reached back with one hand, found him, and guided him inside her.

  Cade's breath caught.

  It was better than anything he'd ever felt. Better than his hand by far, better than any experience from Earth, better than he'd imagined possible until not too long ago. The physical sensation alone would have been overwhelming, but there was something else—a pressure against his awareness, warm and insistent.

  Rhys's anima, pushing into him through the point of their connection.

  He responded instinctively, pushing his own anima back through the channel she'd created. The energies met and mingled, flowing between them in a continuous circuit, and the sensation intensified severalfold.

  Rhys began to move.

  Up and down, slow at first, building rhythm. The friction was exquisite, the anima exchange amplifying every nerve ending, every point of contact. Cade thought about how quickly he'd finished last time—alone, onto the corridor floor—and prayed that had just been from the long build-up.

  He didn't want this to end.

  Rhys increased her pace. Her tail extending, wrapping around Cade's neck for leverage, pulling herself down onto him faster than gravity would allow to match her upward speed. The pressure, the speed, the coiling appendage around his throat—

  Cade released one hand from the floor and grabbed her waist instead. Not because she needed help—her movements were perfectly controlled—but because he needed to feel her. The muscles tensing beneath her skin, the rhythm of her body, the physical proof that this was real.

  He lasted longer than he'd feared.

  Not nearly as long as he'd hoped.

  The orgasm hit like a wave—building, cresting, crashing through him with force that whited out his vision. He felt himself release inside her, volume after impossible volume, the minute-long climax that had shocked him before now feeling almost natural.

  Rhys collapsed backward against his chest, burying him deep, her own climax triggered by their shared anima connection. She twitched and moaned, her body spasming with pleasure.

  He wrapped his free arm around her, holding her against him as his orgasm slowly wound down, hers persisting. The anima exchange faded naturally, the circuit closing, leaving Cade gasping in the aftermath as Rhys’s continued atop him. The last of the mist disappearing from his lost focus.

  Then Cade felt something firm pressing against him from inside her.

  He let himself gently fall backward, extending the arm that was backward out to the side, Rhys still on top of him, and shifted her body upward, her posterior moving to his sternum, so he could withdraw. The egg emerged as he pulled free—blue and gray, falling onto his stomach with a soft weight that felt somehow satisfying.

  A physical manifestation of our coupling, he thought. Or maybe this planet has just rewired my brain to find its weirdness attractive.

  He hoped nothing else would change. But he wasn't optimistic.

  Rhys stirred as the egg settled, sliding back down his body as she rolled onto her side. She turned her head and kissed him—deep and passionate, nothing held back.

  "Thank you," she murmured against his lips.

  "Thank you."

  Footsteps approached, Zyrian's hand reaching down and snatching the larger egg from where it had fallen between Cade's legs with practiced efficiency.

  "Finally," he said, already cracking the shell. "I've been waiting."

  Cade found that he was suddenly quite hungry.

  The egg was even better than before.

  "Denser," Zyrian observed, scooping out a portion for each of them. "More flavorful. This is what happens when both partners contribute directly."

  Cade took his share, the rich taste spreading across his tongue. It was remarkable—better than any food he'd eaten on Earth, better than the jungle fruits, better than the essence fruit. A delicacy that justified every awkward moment that had led to its creation.

  "So, all of that,” gesturing somewhat lewdly about the material component of his side of their coupling, “nothing... leaked out... because it all went into making this?" Cade asked, holding the egg fragment he had been consuming up.

  "Essentially. The anima exchange facilitates the conversion. Everything contributes to the egg's formation." Zyrian licked his fingers clean. "It's why eggs are so valued. They're not just food—they're concentrated essence of two people's combined energy."

  Guess that explains the volume, Cade thought.

  "The eggs are mostly sized on tier, not physical size," Rhys added, correctly interpreting his thoughtful expression. "A tier-four egg is usually a tier-four egg, regardless of whether the participants are two feet tall or seven."

  Cade shot a look at Zyrian. "You told me I'd produce a massive egg if I took the feminine role."

  Zyrian's smile was entirely too innocent. "Did I? I don't recall the exact phrasing."

  "You were messing with me."

  "I was providing motivation. The egg could have been larger—your size is inexplicable—it’s not impossible." The smile widened. "Though I maintain my position in it would be delicious."

  "Never happening."

  "Never is a long time."

  They decided to stay.

  The cavern was safe, cleared scenario room, protected from the labyrinth's dangers, provided with sustenance whenever they grew hungry. They had essence types to develop, combat skills to refine, and no pressing reason to face tier-five advancement unprepared.

  "Tier-five is where everything changes," Zyrian explained during one of their early training sessions. "The shadow versions become genuinely dangerous. Their strength varies randomly—sometimes weaker, sometimes matching your own, sometimes exceeding it. And they gain abilities from whatever labyrinth creature the labyrinth merges them with."

  "Randomly?" Cade asked.

  "Seemingly. There's no pattern anyone has identified. You might face a shadow with fire breath, or extra limbs, or elemental abilities beyond your own, or enhanced speed. No way to predict, no way to prepare for anything specific."

  "That seems unfair."

  "Advancement isn't fair. It's a crucible." Zyrian manifested a stone in his palm, examining it critically before letting it dissolve. "Those who survive learn to adapt. Those who don't..."

  "Respawn and try again."

  "With more memories to draw from next time, an extra advantage on the previous tier self."

  The days blended together. Then weeks. Then months.

  Cade and Rhys continued their intimacy regularly, her millennia of experience providing an almost non-stop supply of techniques Cade would never have dreamed of.

  It wasn't just about satisfying his urges anymore—though that remained a persistent factor, the drive returning within hours of each coupling no matter how thoroughly they'd addressed it. Something deeper had developed between them. Something that made Cade's chest tighten when Rhys laughed at one of his jokes, or when he caught her watching him train with an expression he couldn't quite read.

  He was falling for her. He knew it, could feel it happening, and found he didn't want to stop it.

  Rhys was harder to read. She enjoyed their encounters—genuinely, enthusiastically—and she sought out his company even when intimacy wasn't involved. They talked for hours sometimes, sharing stories from their respective pasts. At first, Cade had been careful, framing his Earth memories as "impressions from before" or "feelings that seem like another life."

  But after weeks of intimacy, of shared vulnerability, of Rhys trusting him with centuries of her own memories, the pretense felt wrong.

  "I need to tell you something," he said one evening, the three of them sitting around the pool Zyrian had constructed. "About where I actually come from."

  Rhys and Zyrian exchanged glances but said nothing, waiting.

  "I have memories of another world. Complete memories—twenty-six years of them. A place called Earth." He watched their faces for shock, for disbelief. "I remember growing up there, going to school, having a job. I remember my family, my friends, the life I lived before I woke up here."

  Zyrian nodded, his expression thoughtful but unsurprised. "A sphere migrant. That makes sense—the portals connect worlds, not just locations within them. Sometimes people come through from other worlds, intentionally or accidentally. Most larger cities have a handful of non-Kindred residents at any given time."

  "That explains some things," Rhys said slowly. But her eyes had narrowed, and Cade recognized the expression from their months together—the look she got when pieces were fitting together in ways she didn't like. "Though I'm curious how a sphere migrant would know about satellites and orbital weapons platforms—words that are beyond even me. Those concepts don't exist here. They barely exist in the labyrinth scenarios, and even then..." She let the implication hang.

  Zyrian glanced between them, clearly missing whatever subtext Rhys was tracking. "Labyrinth scenarios draw from all connected spheres, don't they? If his world had that technology, it could have influenced the scenario generation."

  "Perhaps." Rhys's gaze stayed fixed on Cade. "Is that what happened? Your world had satellites?"

  Cade hesitated, then decided on honesty. "Yes. My world had satellites. And much more." He thought about how to describe it. "My world wasn't exactly harsh. Well, maybe in a different way than here. We had cities, medicine, global communication networks. Violence existed but wasn't constant, though we often had to struggle more for basic necessities." He shook his head. "But that's not the strange part."

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Zyrian's brow furrowed. "You seem to think we should find this surprising. Migrants come from all kinds of spheres—peaceful ones, violent ones, technologically advanced ones. Maybe you came here on one of your early lives as a tier-zero, died, and your other memories are still locked away. You didn't leave yourself a message for some reason, so you only thought you were a true fresh soul."

  "The migrants, sometimes they're waiting to die," Rhys added. "Once they do, they respawn as Kindred, with Kindred bodies. And you just came out funny, from a weird world."

  Cade stared at her. "I don't think that's plausible. I have no memory of a labyrinth until after I was in a Kindred body." He paused. "And Earth doesn't have portals."

  The casual acceptance on their faces froze.

  "What do you mean?" Rhys asked slowly.

  "I mean there are no portals. No labyrinths. No cultivation, no tiers, no essence types. People are born, they grow old, they die once and that's it. No respawning, no memories carrying forward. Just... one life."

  Silence stretched between them.

  "That's not possible," Zyrian said finally. "Every sphere has portals. Every sphere has a labyrinth. No one dies forever unless they choose to."

  "I'm telling you what I remember. Twenty-six years of memories, and not once did anyone mention portals or labyrinths or any of this." Cade spread his hands. "We didn't even know other inhabited worlds existed. Some people believed in them—religion, speculation—but there was no proof. No way to travel between worlds, at least outside of our solar system."

  ‘Solar system’ got him puzzled looks. Rhys was staring at him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "Then how did you get here?"

  "I don't know. I was exercising in my house on Earth. I woke up here, in this body, changed into a Kindred body." He touched his chest, feeling the now-familiar contours of his Kindred physiology. "I didn't walk through a portal. I didn't choose to come. I was just... moved."

  "By what?"

  "I have theories. The planet—the world itself—I think it did something. Brought me here for a purpose." He thought about the Coordinator's cryptic words, about the unusual labyrinth scenarios that had felt like a messages. "But I don't know the details."

  Zyrian was pacing now, his rust-red form tense with agitation. "A sphere with no portals. No labyrinth. That would mean no cultivation, no advancement, no way for souls to grow. How do people there become stronger?"

  "They don't. Not the way you mean. They build machines to do things for them. Tools, vehicles, weapons. Their bodies stay the same—fragile, temporary. They compensate with technology."

  "And when they die?"

  "They're gone. The body decays. Whatever made them who they were just... stops."

  Rhys shuddered. "That sounds horrifying."

  "It's just normal there. You don't miss what you've never had." Cade paused, considering. "Though now that I know this exists—cultivation, respawning, the possibility of living for a million years, going back would feel like a death sentence."

  "You can't go back," Zyrian said flatly. "If your world has no portals, there's no path to reach it. You're here permanently."

  "I know."

  The weight of that truth settled over them. Cade had known it intellectually since he arrived, but saying it out loud made it feel more real. Earth was gone. His family, his friends, his entire previous existence—inaccessible forever.

  "The sphere brought you here," Rhys said quietly. "Specifically, you, from a world that shouldn't be reachable, in a body that shouldn't exist. There's a reason behind that. There has to be."

  "I think so too. I just don't know what it is yet."

  "Then we'll figure it out together." Rhys reached out, taking his hand. "Whatever you were brought here to do, you don't have to do it alone."

  Zyrian nodded, his pacing finally stilling. "A fresh soul from an impossible world, with abilities that shouldn't work the way they do, and a sequence of odd scenarios in the labyrinth. You're a mystery, Cade. And I've always enjoyed solving mysteries."

  Cade looked at his companions—at Rhys, whose silver eyes held something warm and fierce; at Zyrian, whose curiosity had replaced his agitation. He'd been alone with this secret for so long. Having people to share it with felt like setting down a weight he hadn't realized he was carrying.

  "Thank you," he said. "Both of you."

  "Don't thank us yet," Zyrian replied, a hint of his usual humor returning. "We're going to have a lot of questions. Starting with: what exactly is a 'satellite'?"

  Cade laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound. "How much time do you have?"

  "Months, apparently. Start talking."

  The conversations continued over the following weeks.

  Cade found himself explaining things he'd never had to articulate before. Electricity. Combustion engines. The internet. Concepts that were so fundamental to Earth life that he'd never consciously thought about how they worked—now he had to break them down for people who'd never seen a lightbulb or a car.

  Rhys was fascinated by medicine. The idea that people on Earth had developed ways to cure diseases, repair injuries, and extend lifespans without cultivation seemed almost magical to her.

  "But if they can't regenerate through advancement," she asked, "how do they heal major wounds?"

  "Surgery. Doctors cut you open, fix what's broken, sew you back up. The body does the rest over time."

  "That sounds barbaric."

  "It saves lives. Millions of them."

  Zyrian was more interested in weapons. When Cade described nuclear bombs—devices that could destroy entire cities in a single blast—his expression shifted from curiosity to something approaching horror.

  "Your world developed weapons capable of ending all life," he said slowly, "and you're still alive?"

  "Barely. We came close a few times. There's a concept called mutually assured destruction—if everyone has world-ending weapons, no one uses them because the retaliation would be equally devastating."

  "That's insane."

  "That's Earth."

  The conversations helped Cade process his own situation. Putting his memories into words, explaining them to people who'd never experienced anything similar—it made him think about things he'd taken for granted. About what he'd lost and what he'd gained.

  And it brought him closer to Rhys and Zyrian in ways that simple companionship couldn't have.

  Rhys was harder to read when it came to emotions.

  She enjoyed their encounters—genuinely, enthusiastically—and she sought out his company constantly. They trained together, talked for hours, slept curled against each other even when intimacy wasn't involved. But sometimes, mid-conversation, her eyes would go distant. A name would surface in her stories—Therin, Opal, Korith—and her voice would soften with something that wasn't quite nostalgia. Past lovers, Cade realized. People she still carried feelings for, people who were still out there somewhere, separated by tiers and territory and the cruel mathematics of the Kindred lifespan.

  She never said she loved him. He never asked her to.

  But when she curled against him after they'd finished, her silver skin warm against, those moments felt like something close to love, even if neither of them named it.

  Cade found himself appreciating his new body in ways he hadn't expected.

  On Earth, intimacy had been... fine. Pleasant enough when it happened, but limited. Two bodies, a handful of configurations, the same basic mechanics every time. He'd enjoyed it without ever feeling like he was discovering anything.

  This was different.

  His body could do things now that would have been impossible before. The tail, for instance—he'd never imagined using an appendage like that for intimacy, but it added dimensions he couldn't have conceived of. Wrapping around Rhys's waist for leverage, trailing along her spine to make her shiver, holding her in place while his hands were otherwise occupied. The water transformation opened other possibilities—sensations that blurred the line between pressure and flow, touches that could be firm or yielding depending on his focus.

  And the anima connection changed everything.

  Back on Earth, intimacy had been about two separate people trying to coordinate their pleasure. Here, the pleasure was shared directly. When he touched Rhys in a way that made her gasp, he felt an echo of that gasp in his own body. When she moved against him in a rhythm that built toward her climax, he could feel the building too, could adjust his movements to amplify it, could experience her pleasure layered on top of his own.

  It made him a better lover than he'd ever been. Not through skill—though that was developing too—but through connection. He could feel what worked and what didn't, could sense the difference between "good" and "transcendent," could guide their encounters toward mutual satisfaction with an intimacy that would have been impossible with separate nervous systems.

  "You're learning quickly," Rhys murmured one evening, her body still trembling with aftershocks. "Most fresh souls, the closest we have to compare to you to, take years to develop that kind of sensitivity to anima flow."

  "I'm motivated."

  She laughed—a genuine, unguarded sound that made his heart clench. "Clearly."

  "The feminine role receives a different kind of pleasure," she explained another evening, lying beside him in the aftermath. "Longer. More... encompassing. The egg's formation and release are their own kind of climax, layered on top of everything else."

  "Do you ever wonder what it feels like from my side?"

  Rhys was quiet for a moment. Her hand traced idle patterns on his chest, her silver fingers leaving trails of warmth.

  "Sometimes," she admitted. "But I've spent a very long time working toward this body, this presentation. Taking the masculine role would undo some of that progress." She touched her diminished component of her anatomy—nearly invisible now after weeks of regular coupling. "I'm finally becoming what I've always felt I should be in this new body."

  Cade understood. He watched her body change over time, the male aspects shrinking with each encounter, the female aspects becoming more pronounced. It was exactly what she wanted, and he found himself increasingly attracted to the result.

  "I like watching you become yourself," he said quietly.

  Rhys's hand stilled on his chest. She looked up at him with an expression that was almost vulnerable—a rare crack in her centuries-old composure.

  "Cade..."

  "You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

  She was silent for a long moment. Then she shifted, pressing closer against him, her head finding the hollow of his shoulder.

  "There are people I remember," she said finally. "From before. Lovers who are still out there somewhere, living lives I'm not part of anymore. They would only recognize my—I've changed bodies, changed tiers, changed in ways they haven't seen." Her voice was barely audible. "I don't know how to reconcile what I feel for them with what I feel for you."

  "You don't have to reconcile it."

  "Don't I?"

  Cade turned his head, pressing a kiss to her head. "The Kindred live forever. Love doesn't have to be exclusive across all that time. It just has to be real in the moment."

  Rhys made a sound that might have been agreement or might have been pain. She didn't say anything else, but her arm tightened around him, and she didn't pull away.

  That was enough. For now, that was enough.

  They always shared the eggs with Zyrian afterward. It felt wrong to exclude him, even though neither Cade nor Rhys had any interest in including him more directly.

  "I appreciate the consideration," Zyrian said once, cracking open his portion. "Though I'll admit to occasional envy."

  "You could find someone when we leave," Rhys suggested.

  "Perhaps. My strongest connections are locked behind higher tiers, I suspect. Lovers I don't remember, friends whose faces I've forgotten." His expression flickered with something that might have been loss. "Sometimes I wonder if rushing through the lower tiers was a mistake. Building new relationships before recovering old ones."

  "You have us," Cade offered.

  "I do." Zyrian's smile was genuine, if tinged with melancholy. He glanced between Cade and Rhys—at the way they sat close together, at the unconscious touches they exchanged, at the connection that had grown between them over the months. "And watching you two... it reminds me why those connections matter. Even if I hopefully just can't remember mine."

  Training filled most of their waking hours.

  Cade and Zyrian sparred regularly, their matched heights making the sessions productive in ways that would have been impossible before. Zyrian's earth essence let him harden his skin against impacts, absorbing Cade's strikes without serious injury, while Cade practiced the techniques they'd drilled in the corridor—the water transformations, the tail work, the grappling that Zyrian still criticized but had grudgingly admitted had tactical value.

  "Your striking is improving," Zyrian observed after one particularly intense session. "Still not natural, but functional."

  "High praise."

  "Don't let it go to your head. Your footwork is still terrible."

  Zyrian manifested stones of varying sizes and shapes, launching them at Cade from different angles, forcing him to transform his body quickly and precisely. The practice with his tail had been prescient—it remained his fastest transformation, the appendage flowing to water almost before he consciously decided to shift it.

  "The tail is easier because I have no history with it," Cade explained, echoing the insight he'd had months ago. "My arms, my chest, my hands—a lifetime of expecting them to be solid. The tail is only a few months old. My mind hasn't built up assumptions about what it should be."

  "Interesting theory. It would explain why fresh souls sometimes adapt to transmutation faster than experienced ones." Zyrian launched another stone, faster this time. "Their bodies haven't accumulated decades of rigid self-image."

  Cade caught the projectile with his water-tail, letting it pass through the liquid flesh before solidifying to trap it. "Any other advantages I should know about?"

  "At tier-five, you'll start to be able to reinforce your body with anima directly. Concentrate it at impact points, empower your strikes, provide targeted resilience." Zyrian retrieved the stone from Cade's tail. "The speed of internal manipulation grows exponentially with each tier. By tier-five, it reaches combat-compatible speeds."

  "So I could reinforce my shoulder with anima instead of turning it to water?"

  "Exactly. Or both, depending on the situation. The anima reinforcement is faster, requires less focus. The water transformation is more complete, more efficient, better against certain attack types." Zyrian paused, considering. "It's always a tradeoff. Anima powers your essence abilities and regenerates at a fixed rate per tier. Use too much on defense and you won't have enough for offense."

  "What about my Oath essence? Does that use anima?"

  Zyrian's expression shifted to something more cautious. "Covenant types are... different. They're actually considered the weakest for direct anima utility. The contracts can be awkward to construct, and the punishments for violation are severe without an essence type backing them."

  "Great. So my one non-water essence is the least useful type."

  "Not useless. Just different." Zyrian manifested another stone, tossing it lightly from hand to hand. "Covenant essences excel in situations involving other people. Binding agreements, enforced promises, social leverage, and the benefits often alter your baseline anima regeneration, efficiency, or actual power, which other types don’t do. In the labyrinth, fighting constructs that can't truly suffer or make meaningful oaths... yes, it's limited. But outside?"

  "Outside might be different."

  "Outside will definitely be different."

  Zyrian constructed a pool.

  It took him several days—his manifestation ability was weak, limiting how much stone he could create at once—but eventually he'd built up enough material to form a basin against one wall of the cavern. Cade filled it with water, the liquid flowing from his palms in steady streams until the pool was deep enough to submerge in.

  "This is actually pleasant," Rhys observed, floating on her back, her silver skin gleaming beneath the surface.

  "I can purify it too," Cade said, demonstrating by forcing impurities to the surface—dust, loose stone fragments, the inevitable biological contributions from three people sharing a small space. The contaminants rose to the top and spilled over the pool's edge, leaving the water crystal clear.

  They spent hours in the pool between training sessions. Resting. Talking. Occasionally more than talking, though Zyrian learned to make himself scarce when the mood shifted in that direction.

  Rhys practiced her barriers underwater, creating platforms at various depths, testing whether the medium affected her ability. It didn't—the shimmering discs manifested just as easily submerged as in air.

  Cade was sitting on the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water, when Rhys's voice reached him from somewhere near the bottom. They're not physical. Pure energy constructs. Water doesn't interact with them any differently than air.

  He looked down. She was fully submerged, several feet beneath the surface, her silver form distorted by the ripples his legs made. But her soul voice had come through perfectly clear—no muffling, no distortion, as if the water between them simply wasn't there.

  "Did you know soul voices work underwater?" he asked when she surfaced.

  Rhys tilted her head, water streaming from her head. "Of course. Why wouldn't they?"

  "On Earth, sound doesn't travel well between air and water. If someone spoke to you from underwater, you'd barely hear them. The barrier between mediums reflects most of it."

  "Soul voices aren't sound," Rhys said. "They don't travel through air either, not really. They travel through..." She paused, searching for words. "Through whatever connects us. Anima, essence, will. The physical world is irrelevant."

  Cade filed that away. Another difference. Another reminder that the rules he'd grown up with didn't apply here.

  "Can you create them inside things?" he asked. "Inside people?"

  Rhys's expression turned thoughtful. "I've never tried. For people, I would have to overpower the target's will and internal anima, which is almost impossible without at least a tier advantage, probably two."

  She focused, and a small barrier flickered into existence inside one of Zyrian's discarded stones. The rock shattered, fragments flying outward.

  "Useful," Cade observed.

  "Situationally. It requires concentration, and the barriers are small. And Zyrian's rocks are not very dense, which helps."

  "Still. Something to develop."

  The months passed. Training, intimacy, rest, repeat. A rhythm that became comfortable, almost domestic, despite the alien surroundings.

  Two oddities emerged as they settled into routine.

  The first: Cade was heavy. Not just muscular—dense in a way that defied explanation. Rhys discovered it during a grappling session, when she tried to shift his weight and found him immovable in ways that had nothing to do with technique. Zyrian confirmed it through his earth sense, frowning as he pressed a palm to Cade's chest.

  "You feel like stone," Zyrian said. "Compressed. Like there's more of you packed into that frame than should fit."

  "I'm the same height as both of you now."

  "You shouldn't weigh three times what we do."

  Cade thought about his advancement compressions—how his body always returned to exactly five-foot-seven, never the starting height for his tier like the others. Maybe the mass that should have made him taller was being crushed down instead. Density instead of height. The same amount of Cade, squeezed into a smaller space.

  The second oddity followed naturally: he was always hungry first. The green fruits bubbled up in response to need, and his need came twice as often as Rhys's or Zyrian's. Same tier. Same activities. Same anima expenditure during training.

  "At least that one makes sense," Zyrian said. "More mass to maintain, even compressed. Your body is doing more work just existing."

  It was a reasonable theory. Cade wasn't sure it explained everything—his Earth body had needed more calories than smaller people, but not this disproportionately. Still, it was something. A connection between mysteries, even if the underlying cause remained opaque.

  He filed it away with the other questions: his unchanging base height, his resistance to contracts, his essence that seemed designed for problems the labyrinth couldn't provide. Questions for later. Questions that might never have answers.

  "We should advance soon."

  Zyrian's words broke the comfortable silence of another post-training afternoon. They were lounging near the pool, letting their tier-four bodies recover from a particularly intense sparring session.

  "We've been here somewhere between nine months and a year," he continued. "Our abilities are developed enough. Delaying further is just... delay."

  "You're bored," Rhys observed.

  "I'm restless. There's a difference." But his expression suggested she wasn't entirely wrong. "I have memories locked behind higher tiers. People I don't remember. A life I can't access. Every day we spend here is another day I'm cut off from who I am."

  Cade understood the impulse. He had his own reasons for wanting to move forward—the Oath essence that might finally become useful outside the labyrinth, the civilization he'd barely glimpsed before diving into this dungeon, the purpose he could feel waiting for him somewhere beyond these stone walls.

  "All together?" he asked. "Advance at the same time?"

  "Why not? We are safe here."

  They settled into meditative positions, arranged in a loose triangle so each could see the others. The familiar process of gathering anima, compressing it, preparing for the threshold crossing.

  Cade closed his eyes and reached inward.

  The mindscape was the same. Gray ground, white sky, the black line crossing the floor between him and his opponent.

  But the shadow had changed again.

  This version of himself stood tall—his height, his proportions—but with massive black wings extending from its back. Not the leathery bat-wings of some monster, but feathered things, angelic and terrible, each longer than the height of the shadow.

  The shadow waited. Patient. Almost expectant.

  Cade didn't immediately attack.

  Instead, he positioned himself at the line's edge, studying his opponent, remembering that these shadows could communicate. That they had responded to his questions before.

  "Do you have desires?" he asked.

  The shadow nodded.

  "Does fighting me hurt you?"

  A shake of the head. No.

  "Do you desire to win?"

  Yes.

  "Do you get rewards for winning?"

  Yes.

  "Are those rewards important to you?"

  A shrug. Ambivalent.

  "Do you care about me?"

  The shadow nodded. Yes.

  Something cold settled in Cade's chest. "But you want to win, even if winning means I die?"

  Another nod.

  "Do you care about anyone else?"

  Yes.

  "Do you know why I'm here? In this world, I mean. Not just the mindscape."

  The shadow shook its head.

  "Do you know I'm from Earth?"

  Yes.

  "So you have all my memories?"

  Hesitation. Then a slow shake. No.

  Cade remembered Zyrian's explanation from months ago. "Just the ones until our last fight?"

  Yes.

  "But you have other memories. Knowledge of your rewards, your purpose, reasons to fight me?"

  Yes.

  A chill ran down Cade's spine. Copies of him were being created—sentient beings with his thoughts, his experiences, his sense of self—just to fight and die in these advancement trials. The labyrinth was manufacturing people from his template.

  "If you win," he said carefully, "are you able to stay alive?"

  The shadow nodded. Yes.

  "So our battle is to one of our deaths?"

  Yes.

  Cade sighed.

  There was no good outcome here. Either he killed a version of himself—a thinking, feeling entity that cared about him even while trying to end his existence—or he died and the shadow lived on with his memories, his identity, his place in the world.

  I guess this is a no-win situation.

  He prepared himself, settling into a ready stance, pushing aside the moral weight of what he was about to do. There would be time to process it later. Time to decide whether future advancements were worth the cost.

  Right now, he had to survive.

  Cade sprinted forward.

  The shadow reacted immediately, wings sweeping down in a powerful stroke, launching it into the air. But Cade had anticipated this—had positioned himself specifically to close the distance before his opponent could gain altitude.

  He launched himself off the ground, arms reaching for the shadow's waist.

  The shadow was ready. Its leg lashed out in a vicious kick, aimed at Cade's side, timed to intercept his tackle.

  Now.

  Cade manifested water across his right flank—a broad layer of liquid flesh, yielding and resistant. The kick connected and passed through, its force absorbed by the transformation, and Cade completed his tackle.

  They spun as they fell. The shadow's wings beat frantically, trying to regain control, but Cade's grip and momentum pulled them both into a clockwise rotation. After a completely barrel roll, connected via Cade’s grip around the shadow’s waist, they hit the ground with Cade on top, the shadow pinned beneath him.

  He released the waist immediately, hands going for the wings.

  The shadow fought back. Its tail was wrapped around Cade's right elbow, pulling, limiting his reach. Its fists drove into Cade's midsection—again and again, avoiding the groin (even shadows inherited his aversion to dirty tactics, it seems), but punishing his gut with rapid strikes.

  Cade's water ability absorbed some of the impacts, but he couldn't protect his entire torso. He felt his breath driven out, felt the pain accumulating, but kept focusing on the primary potential annoyance.

  The wings.

  His left arm grabbed the shadow's tail, overpowering it, ripping it free from his elbow. The resistance had almost torn the appendage apart, causing the shadow’s tail grip to relax enough for Cade to get both hands-on target. Cade followed this up by redirecting his attention to the tail, and ripping it in two, to ensure an unhindered focus on the wings.

  He grabbed a wing in each hand and rolled up and away, twisting as he rolled.

  The shadow tried to twist with him, but Cade was faster, stronger, more practiced. The wings tore free with a sound like ripping canvas, black blood spraying across the gray ground.

  The shadow staggered.

  Cade rolled away, putting distance between them, clutching the severed wings. The shadow lay on its back, bleeding from the stumps, its remaining tail hanging limp and torn.

  Could I wait it out? Cade wondered. Let it bleed to death?

  But no. Tier-four healing would prevent that. The bleeding was already slowing, the wounds beginning to close.

  He had to finish this.

  Use the tail, he reminded himself. Zyrian's been telling you for months.

  Cade rushed forward again.

  The wingless shadow pushed itself up, ready to meet him, but Cade had changed. Months of training, of sparring, of developing techniques he'd never have attempted before.

  He threw a flying front snap kick—not his right leg, which the shadow expected, but his left.

  The shadow's hands came up to block the wrong limb. The kick caught it in the upper chest. At the same time, Cade’s tail reaches down and grabs it by the ankle, yanking the shadows ankle forward while the kick sent the torso backwards, sending it sprawling backwards.

  Cade followed, dropping onto its torso, straddling its chest.

  And began to pound.

  His fists rose and fell, driving into the shadow's face, its skull, its features that looked so much like a silhouette of his own. He cringed with every impact, hated every second of it, but kept going until the mindscape flickered—

  And dissolved.

  Cade opened his eyes to his compressed body. Five-foot-seven again, tier-five, every cell rebuilt and optimized.

  Beside him, Rhys and Zyrian were still in their meditative poses, still advancing. Vulnerable. Defenseless. If anything had attacked while they were in their mindscapes...

  This is why we do it in cleared rooms.

  He waited.

  Rhys emerged first, her body compressing from nearly seven feet to approximately four. Her features sharpened as she shrank, the silver skin gleaming with new vitality.

  Zyrian followed minutes later, his rust-red form settling at the same four-foot height.

  They looked at each other—Cade standing over his compressed companions, his height suddenly significant again.

  "Glad we were all successful" Cade says, relief in his voice.

  Cade looked down at his smaller companions. Four feet tall against his five-seven. The gap wasn't as dramatic as before, nothing like the palm-sized creatures he'd traveled alongside initially—but it was still noticeable.

  "I'm going to miss being the same height," he admitted.

  Rhys smiled. "Maybe next time we'll grow together."

  "Hopefully."

  They discussed options.

  "Tier-six isn't worth rushing," Zyrian said. "The increase in difficulty is significant, and we've only just reached tier-five. Better for Cade especially to spend some time outside, develop his abilities in practical situations, then return when we're ready."

  "Agreed," Rhys added. "And honestly... I'm tired of this room.”

  "So we leave." Cade looked at the portal, still shimmering beside the pedestal. "Any preferences on where we emerge?"

  "Tier-five territory," Zyrian said. "That's the obvious choice. Your height will blend in—five-seven is reasonable for tier-five, which ranges from four feet to eleven before compression."

  "Any specific locations?"

  Zyrian shook his head. "My attachments are locked behind higher tiers. I don't have anyone I'd want to find at tier-five."

  "I have connections," Rhys said slowly. "Friends. Former lovers. People I haven't seen in I don’t know how long in real years." She paused, something complicated passing across her face. "But they can wait. I'd rather stay with you for now."

  Cade felt warmth at her words, but also responsibility. They were deferring to him. Letting him choose their destination.

  He thought about his Oath essence. The First Oath: I will seek to minimize suffering.

  For months, he'd felt nothing from it. No activation, no progression, no sense that it was doing anything at all. The labyrinth creatures couldn't suffer—they were designed that way, built for combat and respawning and the pleasure of battle.

  But outside...

  Outside, there were real people. Kindred who could feel pain, who could experience loss, who could suffer in all the ways that mattered.

  Maybe that's where I'm supposed to be, he thought. Seeking out suffering. Providing aid. Using this essence for what it was meant to do.

  He approached the pedestal, placed his palm against its surface, and let his mind focus on that intention.

  Take me somewhere I can help. Somewhere there's suffering.

  The portal responded, its shimmer intensifying, colors shifting to reflect a destination he couldn't yet see.

  Cade extended his hands behind him. Small fingers found his—Rhys. This time only her, with Rhys reaching back and grasping Zyrian’s hand.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "Ready," Zyrian replies from farther back, Rhys just smiles and nods.

  Cade stepped through the portal, his companions in tow, into whatever the world outside had waiting for them.