Lyan's voice came sharp and fast in front of me.
"Walk forward three times, face left, walk forward two, face right, walk forward three."
All in one breath. Like a whip.
My brain tried to hold the sentence.
It slipped through my fingers like water.
"W-wait," I stammered. "Three… then—"
"Go," Lyan hissed.
I took one step forward.
My foot hit something.
Chair leg.
My stomach dropped.
"Stop!" Lyan barked.
I stopped too late, and the chair scraped loudly across stone.
Laughter flickered through the room—Finn's, mostly. Lina made a tiny squeak. Milo gasped like the chair had been murdered.
"Penalty," Nanda said, cold and immediate.
Heat crawled up my neck under the blindfold like it could still find me.
Lyan's breath hit my ear, angry. "You can't even walk."
"I c-can," I whispered.
"Then do it." His voice sharpened. "Forward. Three."
I stepped.
Again.
Again.
My toe clipped another chair.
Lyan made a sound like he wanted to bite through his own tongue.
"Left!" he barked.
I turned left.
Or I thought I did.
Without my eyes, the room spun. My stomach flipped.
I stepped forward and my shin slammed into a table leg.
Pain shot up my leg.
Air hissed through my teeth.
Finn's laugh exploded. "He's fighting furniture!"
Lyan's voice turned poisonous. "Stop being useless."
My throat tightened until breathing felt like swallowing rocks.
I tried to listen.
I tried to hold the world steady using only sound.
Lyan rattled the next instructions faster, like speed could fix me.
I stumbled. I bumped. I froze. I moved too late.
The maze felt like it was shrinking.
The blindfold felt tighter.
His voice got harsher.
"Forward. No, idiot—FORWARD. How is this hard?"
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
I could feel eyes on me even in the dark.
Every tiny sound—chair scrape, someone's breath, Finn's snicker—hit like a slap.
I took one more step.
Hit a chair again.
Lyan snapped, "You're hopeless."
His hand grabbed the cloth at my head like he wanted to rip it off.
"Enough," Nanda's voice cut in.
The room went quiet like someone had slammed a lid on it.
Nanda strode into my darkness and yanked the blindfold off.
Light flooded my eyes. I blinked hard, staring at Nanda's chalk-stained hands because it was safer than anyone's face.
Lyan's face was red. His fists were clenched.
Nanda's gaze pinned him. "You are not guiding. You are barking."
"He's slow," Lyan spat.
"He's ten," Nanda said.
"I'm eleven," Lyan snapped, like that proved something.
Nanda leaned in slightly. "Then act like it."
Lyan's jaw clenched.
Nanda straightened. "Swap."
Lyan blinked. "What?"
"Swap roles," Nanda repeated. "Trey guides. You wear the blindfold."
Lyan scoffed. "He'll ruin it."
Nanda's tone went flat as stone. "Then you'll learn something."
Lyan snatched the blindfold and tied it over his own eyes with unnecessary violence. "I don't need lessons," he muttered. Finn whispered, delighted, "This is going to be amazing."
Nanda rearranged the maze again—tighter turns, meaner corners.
My shin throbbed. My throat still felt stuffed with cotton.
Nanda pointed at me. "Guide."
My hands went cold.
Lyan stood at the start, blindfolded, chin raised like he could see through sheer arrogance.
"Speak," he demanded.
I stared at his clenched hands.
My mind sprinted.
If I spoke too fast, he'd crash.
If I spoke too slow, he'd bite.
If I mixed up left and right—
My stomach flipped.
"One… step," I said.
Lyan froze. "What?"
"One step forward," I forced out.
He stepped. Clean. No bump.
My chest loosened by a fraction.
"Stop," I said.
He stopped.
"Turn—"
"Faster," Lyan snapped.
My throat tightened.
"Turn left," I said, voice thin.
Lyan's hands clenched. "MY left or YOUR left?"
My brain stalled.
The chair corner was on his right.
My right.
His—
The world tangled.
"Your… your left," I said.
Lyan turned.
Wrong way.
His shoulder clipped a chair.
Finn sucked in a delighted breath like he was watching a show.
"You said left!" Lyan snapped.
"I— I did."
"You said the wrong one!"
My palms went damp.
"Turn back," I blurted.
"How?" Lyan snapped.
"Turn right!" I said too fast.
He jerked, clipped the chair harder.
"Penalty," Nanda said.
Lyan's face tightened under the blindfold. "Trey."
It sounded like a threat.
My chest went cold.
My brain screamed: Slow. Be careful.
But Lyan screamed faster.
"Say it," he barked. "Say the steps. Not… this. This is stupid."
"I'm trying," I whispered.
"Try faster!"
Something in me cracked—not anger, not bravery.
Just panic.
"Forward, forward, stop—"
Lyan stepped too far.
His foot caught a chair leg.
He stumbled.
My stomach dropped.
"Stop!" I shouted.
He didn't.
He crashed down hard.
His forehead hit the edge of the chair seat with a dull thump.
For a heartbeat, nobody breathed.
Then Lyan ripped the blindfold off like it had betrayed him.
A bruise already bloomed on his forehead.
His eyes were wet—not tears.
Fury.
He turned toward me, face twisted.
"You—!"
He lunged.
My whole body locked.
I couldn't move.
I watched his hands—fists—coming.
Then Bruen moved.
Bruen didn't shout.
He stepped between us and caught Lyan by the collar with one thick hand.
Lyan swung anyway.
Bruen's other hand grabbed his wrist.
The punch died in the air.
"Let go!" Lyan thrashed.
"No," Bruen said, flat.
"He did it on purpose!" Lyan screamed.
"I didn't," my voice cracked.
Nanda's footsteps hit the floor fast. She shoved herself into the space between us like she belonged there.
Her voice dropped low.
Dangerous.
"Lyan."
Lyan's chest heaved. His eyes flicked to her.
Nanda didn't soften. "Next swing is expulsion."
The word hit the room like a thrown stone.
Finn stopped smiling.
Milo looked like he'd been slapped.
Lina's mouth fell open.
Arlo blinked once, slow.
Mya's hands flew to her mouth.
Lyan froze. His breathing stayed harsh, but the wildness in his eyes shifted.
Fear slid in under the anger.
Not fear of Nanda.
Fear of what happened after.
"I didn't—" he started.
"You almost hit a classmate," Nanda cut in.
"He's—"
"Ten," Nanda said again, sharper. "And you are not a beast. You will not act like one in my room."
Lyan's eyes flicked to the door like he wanted to run.
Then he snapped back to me, lips curling.
"I'm going to be the best," he hissed. "And you— you ruin everything."
My throat tightened.
I wanted to say I'm sorry.
I wanted to say I didn't mean it.
But my mouth stayed stuck.
Nanda pointed at Lyan like she was carving the rule into his bones. "Sit."
Lyan's eyes widened. "I can still—"
"Sit."
This time the word didn't invite argument.
Bruen let him go like he didn't need to prove anything.
Lyan stomped to his seat and sat hard, shoulders rigid like he was holding the anger inside so it wouldn't cost him something precious.
Nanda turned to the room. "Lesson over."
Finn lifted a hand slowly. "Does that mean we don't have to write?"
Nanda's eyes slid to him.
Finn lowered his hand.
"You will write what you learned," Nanda said.
Finn groaned. "Pain."
Nanda's gaze flicked to me.
"Trey," she said.
I stared at her chalk hand.
"You will write too," Nanda said. "And you will not write 'I am stupid.'"
Heat crawled up my neck.
"I… wasn't going to," I lied.
Nanda's eyes narrowed. "Good."
The rest of class passed in a blur of scratching quills and heavy silence.
Lyan's quill stabbed the paper like he wanted to kill it.
My hand shook.
I wrote and erased.
Wrote and erased again.
In the end, I forced myself to leave one sentence on the page.
Guiding is hard.
When Nanda dismissed us, chairs scraped and bags lifted and the maze was shoved back into normal desks like it had never happened—like anger and humiliation could be folded away with furniture.
Lyan shoved past me on his way out, shoulder bumping mine.
Not hard.
Just enough.
He didn't look back.
When the room finally thinned, Mya drifted closer, slow like she didn't want to spook me.
"Are you… okay?" she asked.
"I'm fine," I lied.
"You're not." Her voice was quiet, but firm.
"It was my fault," I whispered.
Mya shook her head. "He didn't listen. He wanted to win. He was mean."
I swallowed, throat burning. "I still… messed up."
Mya hesitated, then whispered, "You were careful. Too careful. But… careful isn't bad."
My chest tightened.
She reached into her satchel and held out a small strip of cloth, clean and folded.
"For your shin," she said too fast. "You hit the table."
I stared at the cloth in her hand like it was something dangerous—like accepting it meant admitting I wasn't alone.
Then I took it.
"Th-thank you," I managed.
Mya's shoulders dropped like she'd been holding her breath the whole day.
At the corner where we split paths, she slowed.
"Do you want to walk home?" she asked, cautious, like the question itself might crack.
The offer landed heavier than all of Nanda's lectures.
Because it wasn't about words.
It was about not leaving someone to drown in silence.
"…Yeah," I said. "Okay."
Mya nodded, relief flashing across her face so quick it almost didn't exist.
We walked.
And the city didn't feel less cold.
But it felt less sharp.
That night, I ate. I washed. I went to bed early like sleep was something I could use to outrun the day.
The guild emblem pressed cold against my chest.
Heavy.
Steady.
And in the dark, Lyan's voice still tried to bite—
but it didn't stop my eyes from closing.
I fell asleep anyway.