Bound by the Moon

Chapter 19

As the second lock clicked open, Astrid's breath came in ragged, uneven gasps. Relief flickered briefly inside her, but it died as quickly as it had come. The heavy lid of the ancient box remained sealed, mocking her efforts. Her trembling fingers, slick with sweat and exhaustion, hovered over the small keyhole, her body nearly spent from the labyrinth's deadly trials and the riddles that had pushed her mind to its limits. One final riddle. She knew it was coming.

The silence in the chamber was suffocating. It pressed in on her, thick and oppressive, the kind of silence that made her own breathing sound deafening, her heartbeat an echo in the void. Sweat dripped from her brow, stinging her eyes as she blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. The flickering light from the torches on the walls sent shadows skittering across the stone, each one twisted and distorted, as if the darkness itself sought to ensnare her. Astrid could feel the weight of the trial pressing down on her, body and mind both on the verge of collapse. She fought to steady her breath.

This trial was about control, not just over her body, but her mind. Clarity. It was the only way through. Yet, exhaustion gnawed at her bones, and her vision blurred with fatigue.

She clenched her hands into fists, nails biting into her palms. I can do this.

The final inscription materialized slowly beneath the box, the words appearing like deep gashes carved into stone, each letter a brutal reminder of those who had come before her and failed.

Feed me, and I live. Give me drink, and I die. What am I?

Astrid's mind reeled as the riddle played over in her thoughts, its simplicity belying the complexity of its answer. The surge of frustration was immediate, overwhelming. She had heard something like this before, but the answer remained just out of reach, a fleeting wisp that danced at the edges of her consciousness. Her pulse quickened, pounding in her ears like a war drum.

"Feed me, and I live. Give me drink, and I die." Her voice was barely a whisper, the words slipping past her lips like a desperate plea. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to think beyond the obvious. She had to—this was the Trial of the Mind, designed to twist logic and reason. To trap her in the folds of her own fear.

Seconds ticked by, each one louder than the last, each one dragging her deeper into the abyss of doubt. The labyrinth had drained her of nearly everything. It had battered her body and fractured her resolve, the physical traps designed to kill, the mental challenges crafted to break.

Her mind struggled against the rising tide of panic. What lived but died when given drink? Frustration twisted into something darker, colder—fear. The air in the chamber seemed to grow heavier, the walls closing in, the flickering torchlight casting the room in a sickly hue. She could almost hear Lucien's voice, cold and detached, reminding her of the price of failure. Death. Always death.

No, she thought fiercely. I will not fail.

Forcing herself to draw in a long, steady breath, she considered the riddle again. It was not literal. None of them had been. She had to look deeper. Push through the haze of exhaustion.

Fire.

The answer hit her like a bolt of lightning. Her eyes snapped open as she whispered, "It's fire."

A final, echoing click reverberated through the chamber, and the box unlocked with a groan, the lid creaking open to reveal a larger key, gleaming coldly in the dim light. Relief washed over her, but it was fleeting, a brief reprieve before the next storm. The walls trembled, dust and small stones falling from the ceiling as the ground beneath her feet shifted ominously. Panic flared briefly in her chest, but she quashed it, focusing on the task at hand.