Ymir's heart hammered against his ribs, his chest tightenes, while his muscles locked in place. Sweat carved rivers down his forehead, and his hands trembled so violently he nearly dropped the knife clutched in his white-knuckled hand.
This crippling sensation was no stranger to him—it had marked his life for the past year. Small tremors at first, fleeting moments of breathlessness, then growing in frequency and intensity. Panic attacks that lurked like shadows in his being, and now that shadow had manifested in all its suffocating clasp.
Ymir reeled from the assault. Panic was an old enemy, but fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—it served as an ally now, sharpening his senses even as it threatened to consume him.
Involuntarily, his eyes squeezed shut, and he began counting prime numbers. The ritual usually helped lessen his burden, a Logical familiar lifeline that could pull him from the abyss of his own mind.
It took nearly a minute for his fog afflicted mind to clear. His breathing slowed to a more manageable stable rhythm, though the tightness in his chest and the anxiety clawing at his thoughts still lingered like unwelcome guests, refusing to fade or ever wavee.
Something was fundamentally wrong with him. He could feel the panic attack persisting, as if something was purposefully triggering it, feeding it with malicious intent.
Thinking back to the eye—that colossal, crimson orb suspended above the labyrinth like a malevolent moon—he shuddered. When he had looked at it initially, he'd felt something fundamental leaving him, as if his very soul was being siphoned away piece by piece. Only for his curse to save him from complete dissolution. Ironic as it was, he found himself grateful for that unwanted affliction.
He wondered if this persistent feeling of ever present danger that prowled through his soul was due to that thing watching him, or something else entirely. His instincts whispered it was the latter.
To test his hypothesis, he drew a steadying breath and looked up again, steel in his spine despite the tremor in his hands.
This time, he was prepared for the monstrosity that awaited. When he focused on that massive eyeball several crucial details became clear. His anxiety didn't spike while being under it's gaze—instead, he felt utterly insignificant beneath its gaze, like an ant beneath the notice of a giant. It didn't acknowledge his existence. The realization both relieved and terrified him. He remained unnoticed, but it confirmed his suspicions.
The eye acted as a gate for the labyrinth itself to somehow induce these panic attacks, which meant he was unsafe both physically and mentally. This maze was more than vines, stone, and shadow—it was a living entity designed to break minds before bodies.
The eye was an constant present, its purpose unknown but clearly allowed by whoever oversaw this trial. Its colossal form cast everything in crimson light, like a bloodshot moon reflecting malice onto the twisted corridors below.
"Considering its titanic scale, it shouldn't have a role in the trial it's, right!" Ymir whispered to himself, his voice tinged with uncertainty, the words lacking even as he spoke them.
He sighed in helplessness and diverted his attention back to the corridor ahead, softly illuminated in that unsettling crimson glow. Nausea roiled in his stomach from the mix of intense emotions swirling within him—panic bleeding into fear, fear dissolving into anxiety.
No matter how desperately he tried to calm himself, peace remained elusive.
Shaking his head sharply, he forced his worries into the furthest corners of his mind and advanced forward. Each step echoed softly in the oppressive silence.
He reached the end of the first corridor and turned left, making sure not to catch his clothing on the barbed vines that lined the walls. His steps were deliberate and silent—alerting a lurking predator was not something he want to experience.
Continuing his cautious progress, he reached the middle of the pathway when he saw it—the shadow of his first adversary.
It lurked just beyond the corridor's ending, a distorted silhouette that sent his pulse into chaotic rhythm. Panic flared like wildfire, but beneath that terror flickered something else entirely—a thrill, sharp and unyielding.
He had no idea of what manner of monster awaited him in the crimson-tinted darkness. He knew only that their confrontation was as inevitable.
The shadow moved irregularly, and his steps faltered momentarily as hesitation and doubt crept through his resolve like poison through veins.
The maze's influence seeped into his consciousness like inhaled smoke—a malevolent presence with singular purpose, determined to shatter his mind and soul. It gnawed at him, eroding his sanity with hungry persistence.
But none of that mattered now.
The moment he'd snapped in the hangar and accepted this trial, his fate had been sealed.
There were no alternatives in this place. No negotiations with monsters. No mercy from shadows.
Kill or be killed.
Win or lose.
Break and die—or break, rise bloodied but breathing, and survive.
Nodding grimly to himself—a gesture to cement his concentration on the confrontation ahead—Ymir crept forward on silent feet until he stopped at the corridor's edge, mere meters from his first encounter.
A stench assaulted himlike a physical blow. He lurched backward in disgust, covering his nose as the scent of rotting flesh and decay filled his nostrils.
He needed to gether information before engaging, but simply peering around the corner risked detection. Instead, he opted for cunning over courage, drawing his knife and angling its polished blade to catch the crimson light. The metal gleamed like a mirror, and he carefully tilted it to glimpse the danger that awaited.
What he saw in that makeshift reflection left him utterly motionless.
His mind struggled to process the contradiction between expectation and reality, between the putrid stench of death and the impossibly charming creature that sat peacefully on the mossy ground.
"It's so... adorable," he thought, wonder replacing terror. "How can something so enchanting exist in this place of horrors?"
The creature he'd feared was truly a delight to behold. Its perfectly round head was decorated with vibrant green moss and tiny sprouting plants, providing perfect camouflage.
Most enchanting were its pair of warm, golden eyes that radiated gentle curiosity.
Its small hands seemed designed for tending forest floors, and its compact, with a gnome like stature. This charming being appeared so peaceful and friendly that Ymir found himself refusing to consider it dangerous.
But in a place designed to break minds and devour souls, appearances were the deadliest trap of all.