Date: April 29, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
The trial came unexpectedly, as everything did with Master Koch. After the morning run with weights, when muscles burned and lungs tore from the effort, Koch didn't dismiss them for breakfast. Instead, he lined up the exhausted recruits and threw a few tattered leather bags on the ground.
"Today we'll see if there's anything in you besides stubbornness," he grumbled, his eyes seeming to bore through each of them. "The Labyrinth awaits. Split into pairs. Maël, Dur—you're together. The rest—as I choose."
Dur glanced at Maël. He nodded, his tired face suddenly lighting with interest. The Labyrinth. Dur had heard about it from other recruits—but only vague rumors, full of exaggeration and fear.
Koch led them to the western wall of the estate, to an unremarkable stone arch leading underground. Before it stood a grim-looking guard with a halberd. Air from the arch carried dampness and the smell of old stone.
"Rules are simple," Koch's voice echoed under the vaults. "You enter together, you leave together. Inside—traps, obstacles, and 'opponents'—senior recruits who will try to stop you. Your task is to reach the exit. You can surrender at any time by shouting 'Exit.' But then your pair will be expelled from the program. Time starts now."
With these words, he stepped back, and Dur and Maël were left alone before the black void of the entrance. Dur felt the familiar tension of a hunter before entering an unknown lair. He breathed deeper, checking the fastening of his knife at his belt. Maël touched the hilt of his training dagger with his fingers.
"I've read about the construction principles of such labyrinths," Maël whispered. "They're built on geometry and psychology. Traps will be in the most unexpected, but from an architect's viewpoint, logical places."
"And I feel the air," Dur answered just as quietly. "And listen. The stone walls speak. Rustles, echoes. They'll tell where the trap is, and where the ambush is."
This was their first joint decision: combine Maël's knowledge and Dur's instinct. They crossed the threshold.
Inside, it was almost dark. Light came only occasionally through narrow gratings somewhere high in the ceiling. The air was stale and cold. They moved forward, hugging the walls. Dur went first, his feet, accustomed to forest trails, stepping silently on the stone slabs. Maël followed, his urban agility inferior to Dur's forest stealth, but he compensated with caution.
Dur smelled the first trap—a faint odor of oil and metal. He gestured for Maël to stop and pointed at an almost invisible seam in the floor. Maël, recalling diagrams, nodded: "Pressure plate. Probably arrows from the wall." They bypassed it, jumping over the suspicious section.
After a few turns, the corridor split. Maël examined the fork.
"Left path—straight, but narrow. Easy to defend, but also easy to block. Right—wider, with columns. Riskier, but more room to maneuver."
"We go right," Dur decided. "In a narrow space, they'll overwhelm us with numbers. Among the columns, I can take cover."
Their first "opponent" was waiting precisely among the columns. It was a tall recruit with a spirit that strengthened his fists. He jumped out from behind a column with a loud shout, trying to scare them. Dur didn't engage. He quickly dodged behind a neighboring column, and Maël, using the attacker's moment of confusion, threw a handful of small pebbles he'd picked up from the floor under his feet. The opponent slipped, and Dur, not missing the chance, shoved him in the back with his shoulder, sending him tumbling. They didn't finish him off, just walked past as he grumbled and got up.
Further on, their path was blocked by a deep chasm, across which a narrow, shaky bridge was thrown. Maël looked at it skeptically.
"Classic. The bridge will either collapse under weight, or someone will push you off."
"I'll go first," said Dur. "I'm lighter. If it holds me, it'll hold you."
He stepped onto the bridge, testing each plank. The bridge swayed but held. Midway, Dur paused, listening. He heard a faint scrape to the right. "Ambush!" he shouted, and they both lunged forward just as a log with a blunt tip shot out from the wall, meant to knock them into the abyss.
They ran, their breathing quickening, but there was no panic. They acted as a single mechanism. Maël warned of possible traps based on logic, Dur sensed real threats by sound and smell. They avoided pits with spikes, dodged falling nets, outwitted the inexperienced "guards."
At the end, they faced the hardest part—a circular hall with many doors. All looked identical.
"A test of luck?" Maël breathed, looking around.
"No," Dur walked the perimeter of the hall, placing his hand on each door. He stopped at one. "Air. There's a fresh draft from this one. It leads outside."
He pushed the door, and they emerged into the sun flooding the estate's inner courtyard. They were the first. Their clothes were dusty, their faces sweaty, but they were on their feet, breathing freely.
A few minutes later, the other pairs emerged—some supporting each other, some arguing, blaming their partner for failure. Koch watched them with his usual imperturbability, but when his gaze fell on Dur and Maël, something like satisfaction flickered in his eyes.
In the evening, Sarim Agrim himself came to their quarters. He was sparing with praise, but his presence here was already a sign of the highest recognition.
"The Labyrinth is a model of the world," he said, standing by the window. "Chaotic, full of traps and enemies. Some rely on strength, others on knowledge. Today you showed that strength and knowledge together are not just a sum. They are a qualitatively different result."