“That was just a…what I was doing, that is…” Rowan stammered, trying to explain his actions as the tower marched on toward the maze entrance. Rowan exhaled in frustration, his face flushed in embarrassment as he squeezed his eyes shut. “You can’t even understand me anyway, right? What am I worried about?”
“Ridinr?,” they retorted.
Rowan whined, “I don’t know what you’re saying.” There was so much he didn’t know. Was he talking to a male? A female? Was gender even a concept to whatever the Tower of Zchēve was? Their tone was low and came from the metallic filter of the helm, making it hard to discern any masculine or feminine traits of their timbre. Not that it mattered one way or the other: there were far more pressing matters than sating Rowan’s growing curiosity for the aberration leading him into the labyrinth.
“Hello, my dear shembals.”
Mogrim’s irksome salutations played overhead as the pair stood with the others ready to risk their lives for paltry slips of paper. Rowan saw the familiar girl out of the corner of his eye. Her soft, round face coupled with her small stature led Rowan to believe she was probably at her decade or beginning her second. Her hair was pretty long, almost trailing on the ground as she stepped. It was hard to be certain—the grimy environment and lowlight didn’t exactly make for the easiest environment to properly assess anything—but her hair appeared to be naturally white, which Rowan couldn’t recall having come across before. Her eyes were gray and still, like a sedated animal unmoved by the world around them. The color itself was less interesting, but the lack of emotion in them concerned Rowan. She was too young to be so hopeless. He waved at her, gesturing to her to come over as she stood separated from the crowd. She pretended not to notice Rowan, something he was familiar with, so he walked over to her instead.
“Hey there,” Rowan waved, smiling. “Remember me? Rowan?”
The child sighed deeply and looked at the ground. “Why are you back?”
“It just seemed like a lovely day for a stroll.” Rowan chuckled.
“Did you already forget? You could die.”
“I know. It’s scary in there, right?” Rowan said. He looked at the maze and stifled his fears bubbling to the surface.
“It’s not that scary.” Her stoicism defended her claim, but he wasn’t convinced.
“Maybe not for you: you’re pretty brave, after all. Law, I feel braver just standing next to you.” Rowan’s face lit up with an idea he pretended was spontaneous. “Say, could you do me a favor? Could you come with me and my friend over there? I think we could use your bravery.”
“I don’t think they like me very much.” She whispered, still staring at the ground.
Rowan took a knee to meet the child’s eye. “I just think they’re angry. See, it’s my fault they’re stuck here, so they’re in a pretty bad mood. But I like you.”
“You wouldn’t like me if—”
“Oi, you shembals get a move on.” Mogrim said, waving at the crowd leaving the two behind.
The nameless one was long gone. Rowan cursed under his breath, knowing it’d be a hard journey without them. It didn’t matter, though: he couldn’t turn his back on a child all alone.
“Should we get going?” Rowan asked, trying to coax the child to come with him.
“We have to cross the street.” She said, repeating Mogrim’s cruelly simplistic words once again.
The two walked slowly into the maze, Rowan letting the child lead the way. As the last two to enter the maze for the day, the gate creaked shut behind them. Rowan’s eyes narrowed as he panned back and forth across the corridor before him: none of it looked familiar.
“Uh oh,” the child said.
“Uh oh? Why uh oh?”
“I don’t like this one,” she responded.
Her words confirmed Rowan’s suspicions as he continued to keep an eye on both sides of the corridor. There were other prisoners, but the nameless one was nowhere in sight. Rowan didn’t want to stand around and be easy pickings for any creatures.
“Why don’t you like this one?” He asked, watching the prisoners around him.
“Traps.”
No sooner had the word left the child’s lips did an ear-shattering shriek meet a hasty crunch; the two sounds dueled for Rowan’s attention before a sopping pop overtook the other two. He didn’t want to, yet impulse demanded he find the origin of the sound. A square prism of stone jutted out from one side of the corridor to the other, creating a wall where there hadn’t been one before. But that was just the end result; no, the pulpy mass of viscous fluid seeping from the slight gap between the prism and the wall told the actual story of what happened.
“Bad. This is bad.” Rowan said, hastily covering the child’s eyes. Though her prior words already conveyed the notion she’d seen such horror and more, Rowan would have none of it on his watch if he could afford to stop it. His heart quickened in pace, the air around him already starting to seem so far out of reach. No, this wasn’t the time for that. He had to stay strong, and he’d do so by focusing on what he could handle.
“You should hide while I—”
“From what?” The absurdity of the child’s question briefly halted Rowan’s own panic.
“I don’t know, from monsters and such?”
“No monsters.”
Rowan cocked his head. “How can you be sure?”
“Monsters or traps, but never both.” Her confidence was oddly comforting to Rowan.
How did this wall come to be? There had to be a rational explanation for this ‘trap.’ He stepped closer to it, observing what he could from its extant condition. There was no spring to propel it, there was no creature to toss it, and it all happened in the blink of an eye. It had to be a matter of vi, likely the Tavernus-Alteration equation. The Tavernus-Alteration equation was mostly used in architecture and renovation; it was a major proponent in the creation of Reinholdt Spire, if Rowan’s sieve of a mind recalled correctly. There were limitations depending on the one who made the gate, of course, but generally the equation was able to reshape any stone regardless of size or makeup.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“There, there.” The child said to Rowan, patting his back.
He felt the moist trails on his face and wiped away the tears he hadn’t noticed. It wasn’t fair. All these people are stuck here, unable to see the sky, dying as a source of entertainment for some unknown audience. He had to calm down and focus. He needed to save as many of them as possible, and that meant understanding how this all worked. So, the Tavernus-Alteration equation was likely the culprit for this, but the rapidity left Rowan perplexed. Such a gate can’t just persist or enact its sequence without a Scholar to write the equation.
“Stop crying. Focus,” he muttered to himself.
The wall wasn’t there when they’d first arrived inside the maze. Some unfortunate soul triggered it when they walked by; but the Tavernus-Alteration equation doesn’t work like that: it requires active writing. So what equation could explain it? Records existed of the Tavernus-Alteration equation being used defensively to structure ramparts and the like amidst the battlefield. When the Great War occurred, there was a legendary Scholar named Ramin? who would seemingly reshape the ground beneath her in the blink of an eye—she was the first to use the equation in such a way. According to the records, she did this by combining it with the Stasis equation. The Stasis equation suspends all movement and momentum of an inanimate subject. The equation can be ended via the Scholar, a lack of vi, or when a stipulation set in the equation has been reached. Ramin? carried herself like a spontaneous brute, when she was actually a master strategist: she never made her battlements and defensive structures appear out of thin air, she led the fight to where she’d already set up the equations prior. She layered the Tavernus-Alteration equation with a Stasis equation, imprinted the vi in the surfaces of choice, set her personal parameters, and bam: structures would appear out of thin air. If this worked the same way, then Rowan would be able to find the imprinted equation.
He paused to look over at the child, ensuring she was safe; sure enough, she was still right behind him. Was she not worried about getting through the maze? Or perhaps she was content letting others set off the traps first? The intent behind her still eyes was difficult to judge.
“Almost done,” Rowan said as he jumped and caught the top of the square prism with his hands. He wasn’t exactly the physical specimen the nameless one appeared to be, but even Rowan could manage hoisting himself up on the prism. Or not. He sputtered and heaved, but couldn’t get completely onto the top of the wall. The best he could muster was pulling up to his shoulders, but that gave him enough height to see the top of the prism. Thanking Law that the nameless one wasn’t present to judge his inadequacy, he quickly scanned the top of the prism before his arms gave out. Sure enough, there was an imprint of vi across the top layer. Rowan released his grip and dropped back to the ground, mostly sticking the landing.
“I get it. We just have to walk where there isn’t any vi.” Rowan said this aloud, to which the child didn't respond. Another offscape hole filled from firsthand experience: commonfolk didn’t seem to be aware of vi. “Nevermind. Just follow me, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
The child had a pensive look about her for a moment before returning to her usual phlegmatic face. Perhaps it was just Rowan’s imagination? Crossing the street was going easy enough this time around. The child’s words held true: there didn’t appear to be any creatures, just traps. And, thanks to Rowan assessing the traps were utilized with vi, avoiding them and heading toward the exit was a simple matter. It was an interesting notion, though, an ever-changing labyrinth. He figured that too must have taken advantage of the Tavernus-Alteration equation, but there was still a cavalcade of inquiries marching about in Rowan’s frazzled mind. Was this all being actively written up as they traipsed about? What sort of monster would assist in such a despicable endeavor? And, if it wasn't a matter of active equations being written in the present, what was this place originally? Perhaps questions he could actually get answers to would suffice, for now.
“We could have earned five tickets yesterday by staying put in that fissure, right?” The child nodded to Rowan’s question. “Then why did we go anywhere? Why does anyone? Right now, couldn’t we just all stand still and earn another five tickets?”
“No monsters in this game: no tickets for standing around. Besides,” the child paused as if she debated continuing her sentence. “Mogrim gets mad if we don’t entertain.”
“Entertain…” Rowan scoffed.
“Yeah,” the child responded, oblivious to Rowan’s tone. “Like the lady at the start.”
Rowan wasn’t sure what she was talking about at first, until he realized she had to be speaking of the person whose remains were spread along the square prism.
“What happened to that person was horrible.”
“Why?”
Rowan snapped in the child’s direction, ready to bite her head off. Then he remembered he talking to a child, one that likely hasn’t lived a normal life, and exhaled the hostility.
“Why do you think it’s horrible?” Rowan asked, trying to determine the child’s rationale.
The child took another moment to consider Rowan’s question before responding, his shoulder tap and gesture telling her they were taking a right around the corner they’d reached. “It wasn’t me. I’m still here: that makes me happy.”
“It shouldn’t have to be anyone, though. If it was you, that’d make me sad.”
“It would?” She seemed confused by Rowan’s statement. He opened his mouth to respond and stopped walking when he saw more vi imprinted on the upcoming wall: they’d have to turn around.
“It would. And it happening to that person makes me sad, too.”
“...But it’s not you,” the child said, as if she was refuting Rowan’s words the only way she knew how.
“But it’s , fig.” He stopped them again, finding more vi imprints. Damn, another option dashed.
“Fig?” The child asked curiously.
“Yeah. Where I’m from, there are these little tarts sold in bakeries. They have different fruit fillings and the figs are my favorite. They’re small and sweet, like you.” Rowan smiled.
“I’m not—”
“And some bakers dress them up with pretty, white icings or powdered sugar, just like that mop on your head,” Rowan said, giggling and patting the child’s head.
“They do?” Her eyes sparkled with a curiosity, making Rowan grin. Law forsake the environment and atrocities, she was a child after all.
“They . And when we get out of here, I’ll take you to a bakery myself and you can try one. Deal?”
The child’s face softened from the composure she normally kept, her lip quivering and eyes dropping as the weight of Rowan’s words washed over her. She shook her head slowly. “I can’t. I-I have to go.”
The child turned away from Rowan and took off running, desperate to escape his warm gaze.
“Fig, no: it’s dangerous,” Rowan called out to her, beating feet to catch up to her. Her current panic notwithstanding, she avoided the twists and turns they’d come across thus far; Rowan wasn’t even sure if she’d been paying attention, but she was far more astute than he’d given her credit for. Rowan huffed and puffed, his lungs gasping as he caught the child’s hand just as she turned a corner they’d yet to explore and crossed the threshold of an imprint of vi.
Oftentimes, stories of precarious circumstances are told in excruciatingly precise detail, making for great chatter around a campfire. Yet, as Rowan encountered what he’d consider his second life-or-death scenario, he decided such grandiloquent storytelling had yet to fit the circumstances he’d found himself in. There was no magical swirl of chaos overhead for heroes to stop, there was no cataclysmic stakes risking the entirety of creation, there was no lofty love story to garner a crowd’s attention. As the floor gave way beneath the child and their shared momentum made stopping in time impossible, Rowan decided it was a far simpler story to tell, if he lived long enough to tell it. The child was spilling into the pit, Rowan yanked her backwards, released his grip, and fell in instead. The end.
