The pod's glass dissolved into a fine mist, and Lucian stumbled forward into a corridor of haunting beauty. The walls were infinite mirrors—polished to perfection—each reflecting not only his form, but subtle distortions of it. The corridor wasn't static. With every few steps, it shifted like a living entity, mirrors folding in and out like the walls of a Rubik's cube.
At first, the reflections seemed normal.
Then they began to change.
One mirror showed Lucian with lifeless gray eyes.
Another showed him laughing, but with a twisted mouth that stretched too wide.
One whispered silently, mouthing something over and over again: "You're not supposed to be here."
He stepped back, his breath caught in his throat. Every version of him in these mirrors moved half a second out of sync, a slight lag—as if reality was delayed here. Some grinned. Others cried. One bled from the nose.
"What is this?" he whispered.
The corridor shifted. The lights above flickered to blue. Then came the whispers—at first faint, like the sound of thoughts leaking into the air.
"You're just a shadow of your mother."
"You should've stayed hidden."
"You think you're better than them, don't you?"
Lucian clenched his fists, heart pounding. These weren't random insults. These were fears—private, precise. His fears.
He took a cautious step forward. The mirrors suddenly pulsed with glyphs—ancient symbols that changed shape every few seconds, as though syncing with a hidden rhythm.
He stopped, narrowed his eyes.
The whispering is a distraction… The glyphs are the test.
Each glyph lingered for precisely three seconds. Then Lucian noticed it—every seventh glyph emitted a faint dimming of light, a subtle flicker.
It's a countdown, he thought. A language hidden in light.
He pressed his hand against the mirror showing the seventh glyph in the pattern.
The glass rippled.
Lucian stepped through.
---
Second Chamber: The Hall of Doubts
This chamber was dimmer. The mirrors were taller here—monolithic slabs towering upward, like cathedral walls. Instead of reflections, they played memories.
He saw a younger version of himself arguing with his mother. She was telling him to stay home, that he wasn't ready.
"Why can't I know the truth?" the younger Lucian shouted.
"Because the truth has teeth," she replied. "And you're not ready to bleed yet."
The scene looped.
He turned. Another mirror showed him standing over something—something bloody on the ground. A black uniform. A badge that looked familiar. His own eyes were hollow.
"This didn't happen… did it?"
The mirror cracked.
A voice rang out:
"To move forward, you must face the echo of your greatest doubt."
A version of Lucian stepped from the mirror—identical, but wearing a smirk, eyes burning with malice.
"You think this academy will make you stronger?" the doppelgänger sneered. "You're just using them. You don't care about justice. You care about answers."
Lucian didn't reply. Instead, he studied his double's posture—how it stood too confidently. He wasn't just a fear. He was pride. Arrogance. Obsession.
Lucian stepped forward.
"You're right. I want answers. But I'll get them on my terms."
With a breath, he reached into his jacket, pulled out the memory glyph chip he had hidden in his lining, and activated it.
The glyph emitted a pulse of logic—a wave of symbols that swept through the doppelgänger. It screamed and vanished like smoke.
Lucian walked through the next mirror.
---
Third Chamber: Fractured Memory Puzzle
Here, the floor was made of glass panels. Beneath them—dozens of scenes from his past, like videos flickering without control. Some were clear. Others fragmented.
In the center stood a pedestal with seven colored tiles.
A riddle hovered above it in glowing gold script:
"To move forward, assemble the truth. But beware—false steps will shatter your path."
Lucian knelt and began tracing the memories. One was fake—he never had a birthday at a beach. That was a false implant. Another was hazy, but real—a memory of him sneaking into his mother's lab at night.
Piece by piece, he stepped on the correct memories to align the tiles on the pedestal.
When he placed the final tile, a wave of clarity rippled through the room.
A voice whispered again:
"Clarity is the first key. But what will you do when your reflection lies to you?"
---
Lucian emerged from the final chamber of the Glass Labyrinth, sweat soaking his collar. The distorted whispers faded, and for a moment, there was silence.
But deep in his bones, Lucian knew this stage hadn't just tested his logic.
It had tested him—his identity, his secrets, his unspoken rage.
And the Labyrinth had seen it all.
- - -
Nyra stepped through the archway, her boots echoing against the smooth, glass-like floor. At first, it seemed simple—just a long corridor, clear and shimmering, like walking inside a prism.
Then the corridor split into two. Then four. Then eight.
Each path curved in impossible angles, reflecting and refracting her image a hundredfold.
"This is nothing," she muttered, smirking confidently. But as she took a step forward, the walls shimmered, and a mirror version of herself stepped out from the glass.
Not an illusion. A near-perfect double. Dressed the same, standing the same—but the expression was wrong.
Colder. Sharper.
"Why pretend to be someone you're not?" the reflection asked. "You think acting like you care will make them accept you?"
Nyra hesitated. Her eyes narrowed. "You're just a projection."
"I'm the you that doesn't lie."
More reflections emerged—each one embodying a side of her she buried deep: ambition twisted into arrogance, confidence warped into condescension, strength turned brittle by old scars.
She tried to walk past them, but the maze reacted—walls rearranged, mirrors darkened, and each step now echoed with voices she didn't want to hear.
Flashbacks flared in shards of glass:
Her father's disappointed stare.
The moment she got her acceptance letter, yet felt hollow.
Being underestimated, constantly proving she belonged—not just because she was rich, but because she was brilliant.
She clenched her fists, breathing hard. They want me to crack.
At the maze's heart, the final wall showed a mirror with no reflection. Just darkness.
A prompt formed:
"To pass, name what you fear most."
Nyra stood silent, then whispered: "Being invisible."
The maze responded.
The mirrors shattered—not violently, but like ice melting in the sun. The fragments floated upward, forming a spiraling stairway of light that led to the exit.
As she stepped out into the central chamber, her face was calm—but her eyes had seen too much.
Lucian looked at her. "You alright?"
"I'm fine," she lied.
But he saw the tightness in her jaw—and said nothing.
- - -
Silas strolled into the labyrinth with his usual cocky grin, hands in his pockets, whistling some out-of-tune melody.
"Alright, spooky mirror maze. Let's see what you've got."
At first, it looked like a joke—walls of glinting crystal that showed warped versions of his face, winking and making faces back at him. He chuckled.
But the laughter didn't last.
As he turned a corner, he found himself in a massive chamber of mirrors. Reflections rippled like water. Each one showed different versions of him—not just physically, but emotionally.
One was dead serious, dressed in a perfect uniform.
Another was hunched over, crying into his hands.
One sat alone, expression hollow.
And another… grinned with malice.
"Is this supposed to scare me?" he muttered.
But then the voices began.
"You're not really smart—you just pretend."
"You're the comic relief."
"Nobody ever takes you seriously."
"Even you don't."
Silas tried to push forward, but the walls moved like a Rubik's Cube, sealing him in a box of glass. The air thinned. His grin faltered.
One mirror displayed him as a boy—ten years old, sitting in a hospital room, clutching a puzzle cube in silence while his parents argued outside.
"You remember this, don't you?" a voice whispered.
He did. He hated that he did.
The prompt appeared, carved into the air in white script:
"Solve the contradiction. Who are you, really?"
The walls turned into equations. Riddles. Illusions.
Silas stared, eyes sharpening. "Alright. You wanna play games?" He cracked his knuckles.
His hands moved fast—solving riddles by twisting paradoxes back on themselves, answering logic problems with chaotic patterns that shouldn't work—but did.
Every correct answer shattered a part of the illusion, revealing the truth behind each fake self.
Until only his reflection remained—smiling faintly, eyes tired but real.
"I'm not a joke," he muttered. "I just don't like playing by your rules."
A hidden door shimmered open. He walked through it, the grin returning—but softer now.
When he reunited with Lucian and Nyra in the central chamber, he just said:
"Sorry I'm late. Got lost. Then found myself. Very spiritual."
Lucian raised an eyebrow.
Nyra just shook her head.
But neither questioned it.
Because they all knew—everyone who walked through that labyrinth came out changed.