The Crowns Gambit

❦ Chapter Six: Atlas ❦

The maze seems endless, the walls twisting and curving in ways that make no sense. Every time I turn a corner, it feels like the path shifts just enough to mess with my head. Stone corridors stretch into darkness, with only the occasional flicker of torchlight marking the way. Shadows crawl across the ground, and the silence feels heavier than the maze's towering walls.

I grip the hilt of the short sword I found near the entrance, the cold metal grounding me. It's heavier than I'm used to, and I keep a sharp eye out for anything else that might help.

Beside me, Oliver adjusts the pack slung over his shoulder, sighing loudly as he kicks a rock down the path. "So... how's your first deadly maze experience going, mate?"

I give him a side glance. "It's been... a journey."

Oliver grins, his dark hair a mess from the hours we've already spent wandering. "Well, at least we only ran into Damon once right."

The corner of my mouth twitches. "That's the first good thing that's happened all day."

He chuckles, and for a moment, the tension eases between us. It feels strange, almost out of place—two guys joking around in the middle of a life-or-death trial. But that's Oliver for you. He's easy to be around, someone who can find humour in the worst situations.

We turn another corner, and the path widens slightly, enough to make us slow down. There, tucked into the shadows, is a rack of weapons—swords, axes, shields, even a few bows. They're left like offerings, gleaming under the dim torchlight.

I step forward and pull a sturdy longsword from the rack, testing its weight in my hand. It's balanced, sharp enough to slice through a tree trunk if needed.

Oliver whistles, impressed. "That one looks like it means business."

"Yeah," I mutter, shifting my grip on the hilt. "Here—take this." I toss him the shield, which he catches awkwardly.

He turns it over in his hands, raising an eyebrow. "You sure? You're the one with all the knight-in-shining-armour energy."

I smirk. "I've got the sword. You're better off with the shield anyway. You always seemed like a 'defence-first' kind of guy."

Oliver straps the shield to his arm, grinning. "Defense-first sounds fancy. I like to think of it as not dying first."

We keep walking, the sound of our boots scuffing against the stone floor the only noise around us. The maze twists and winds like a snake, and every now and then, I catch a glimpse of those red-blinking cameras overhead. They're always watching, judging, calculating.

"So, what's the plan?" Oliver asks after a while, glancing at me. "Are we just hoping we stumble into the center of this thing?"

"Something like that," I mutter. Truth is, I have no idea where we're going or how far we've come. I'm just hoping we'll make it before anyone decides to take us out.

Oliver falls silent for a moment, then clears his throat. "Hey... Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He hesitates, fiddling with the strap of the shield. "If we make it through this—if we somehow survive all these trials... what then? You gonna keep going in the Selection?"

The question catches me off guard. Keep going? I haven't let myself think that far ahead—not with everything going on with Charlotte, the rebellion, and the weight of our feelings hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

"I don't know," I admit quietly. "I guess I'll have to see how things go."

Oliver gives me a knowing look, his expression softer than I've ever seen it. "Come on, Atlas. We both know how things are gonna go."