𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜰɪꜰᴛʏ-ꜰᴏᴜʀ

The Fallen Figure.

🌎

Rory’s heart thundered in her chest as she pushed forward, her steps quickening as the faint scent of pine and moss drifted into her senses. It was the smell of freedom, fresh and sharp, like a memory from a time before the labyrinth's twisting walls. For a moment, she hesitated, fear prickling at her thoughts. What if it was another illusion, another cruel trick of the maze? But the desperation to escape overpowered her doubts. She had nothing left to lose; her only choice was forward.

She sprinted down the dark corridor, her pulse roaring in her ears, eyes fixed on the thin sliver of light that beckoned at the end of the tunnel. With each step, the air grew cooler, crisper, until she finally broke free, stumbling out into the open night. The cold air of Mount Tamalpais hit her in a frigid wave, sharp and biting, but real. It was like stepping from one world into another, the labyrinth's grip finally falling away.

Rory gasped, drawing in great, shuddering gulps of mountain air as she stumbled forward, her lungs burning from the cold shock of it. The air was thin and biting, sharp as needles, but it tasted like freedom after the stifling walls of the labyrinth. She doubled over, clutching her knees for balance, feeling her heartbeat reverberate in her chest. Slowly, she straightened, letting her gaze drift upward.

The night sky stretched vast and unbroken above her, an endless sea of stars scattered like shattered glass. It was a sight she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages, her eyes having grown so accustomed to the perpetual darkness and flickering shadows of the maze. The moon, half-veiled by wisps of cloud, cast a pale glow over everything, illuminating the rough, craggy slopes and the twisted forms of the pines that surrounded her like silent sentinels. After so much time in dim, shadowed corridors, the moonlight felt almost painfully bright, piercing her eyes and revealing details of the landscape she’d missed.

At the base of the mountain, a thick, swirling mist stretched out like a ghostly ocean, blanketing the ground in a dense, silvery fog. The mist clung to everything, giving the world an otherworldly haze, as though she’d stumbled into a place suspended between reality and dreams. The trees, barely visible through the shifting fog, stood, their outlines distorted and eerie. The mist brought with it an unsettling familiarity, a creeping sense of déjà vu. She knew this place. She had stood here before, right before she had entered the labyrinth’s gaping maw.

The realization struck her like a blow to the chest. She was back where she had started. It was as if the journey through the labyrinth, the blood and sweat, the sacrifices she’d made—none of it had mattered. As though the world had simply reset, wiping clean the horrors she’d endured, leaving her alone in the stillness.

As though Mary wasn't dead. As though she hadn't abandoned Chris. 

Rory felt a sudden, desperate urge to run back into the labyrinth. Chris couldn't be gone. He couldn’t. Not yet. If she could just find him, if she could retrace her steps—make sense of the twisted corridors and cruel traps—maybe there was still time to save him, to atone for the choices she’d made, to rewrite her failures. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to take a step forward, her mind racing with the reckless hope that she could somehow bring him back.

But how would she even find him again? The labyrinth was a living beast, a twisted, unfeeling thing that shifted and morphed with every passing second, creating new pathways and sealing old ones, a maze that allowed no one to retrace their steps. Besides, Rory hadn't been paying attention to where she was going before, too consumed by fear and guilt to notice the landmarks that could have guided her back. And now, as she looked around at the unyielding walls, she knew the truth: it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. It was too late.