Gladers choice | TMR | Thomas | Minho

Chapter Ten

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm golden glow over the towering walls of the Maze, Newt and Lyra remained beneath their favorite tree, engaged in a solemn conversation. Their voices were hushed, their words carrying the weight of shared experiences and unspoken fears, the calm of the Glade offering a fragile refuge from the impending turmoil.

"I just can't stomach the way they decide someone's fate," Lyra muttered, frustration etched into her features. "It's wrong."

Newt nodded slowly, his expression troubled as he watched the shifting patterns of light through the leaves above. "I know. It never gets any easier."

Their contemplative silence was interrupted by the sudden appearance of Chuck, breathless and wide-eyed. "Newt! They're gathering for Ben's banishment. It's starting soon."

Newt glanced at Lyra, a silent question in his eyes. "Are you coming, Lyra?"

Lyra hesitated, her thoughts momentarily clouded by the memory of Ben's haunted expression from earlier that day. "I... I think so."

Newt nodded understandingly, offering her a steady hand as he helped her to her feet. Together, they made their way toward the west gate of the Maze entrance, where the Gladers had already gathered in solemn formation. Leaders stood in a silent row on the left, Minho's typically stoic demeanor betraying a rare glimpse of distress.

** **

The Glade lay bathed in the soft hues of twilight, a tranquil facade that belied the tension rippling through the air. Lyra stood beside Thomas and Chuck, their presence a small island of solidarity amidst the sea of solemn faces. They awaited Alby's appearance with a mix of apprehension and resignation, knowing that today, the harmony of their community would be shattered by the harsh reality of their existence in the Maze.

When Alby finally emerged from the towering wooden doors that marked the entrance to the Maze, his usually composed countenance was etched with a solemn gravity. In his hands, he held the collar, a simple yet ominous device that symbolized the Glade's unyielding laws and unforgiving justice. The assembled Gladers fell into a reverent silence, their eyes fixed on their leader as he approached with deliberate steps.

Ben, flanked by two of his fellow Gladers, was escorted forward. His face, once marked by laughter and camaraderie, was now a mask of fear and desperation. The weight of his impending fate hung heavy upon him, evident in the trembling of his hands and the sheen of sweat upon his brow. His eyes darted frantically around the clearing, seeking any sign of reprieve that he knew would not come.

As Alby closed the distance, his voice carried authority tinged with regret as he fastened the collar around Ben's neck. The metallic click of the mechanism seemed unnaturally loud in the silence that enveloped them. Ben's plea broke the stillness, his voice thick with emotion.

"I'm sorry," Ben's words were choked with tears, his gaze pleading with each of his peers in turn. "I won't do it again, please..."

The Gladers, their expressions a mix of sympathy and resolve, stood as silent witnesses to the somber proceedings. Each face bore the weight of their shared burden—the understanding that in the Glade, mistakes carried consequences that were as final as they were harsh.

"What are they doing?" Thomas's voice trembled with fear, his eyes wide with a mix of horror and disbelief at the scene unfolding before him.

Chuck quietly excused himself, his gaze lingering on Lyra with unspoken understanding before he disappeared into the shadows. Lyra managed a weak smile in return, her nerves frayed and emotions raw from the intensity of the moment.

She swallowed hard, her own emotions roiling within her chest. She glanced at Chuck, who met her gaze with a sorrowful nod. There were no words to answer Thomas's question, only the grim reality that they were all bound by the same rules, subject to the same unforgiving fate if they faltered.