The magic circles were proof.
ElderGlow's were flickering back into yellow.
All of them.
Even the teams from Thornevale and Crowgarth had slowed their decline—most likely unaware that the Maze's tempo had softened.
Just slightly.
Enough to survive.
Because Elias Verdan had returned.
And the Maze… was listening, waiting to do whatever he willed it to do.
There were no signs, no arrows, no magical indicators carved into the Maze's walls. Only endless mirrored corridors and pulse-thin echoes of a hundred different illusions — waiting.
And yet Elias walked like someone who was alive when the maze was being made. He led like, weaving through paths like he had the maze's map etched into his blood.
"Left," he murmured.
The others followed.
Another turn. Two passage splits. A corridor where the walls whispered in their own voices, urging hesitation. It forced people to take another path as though they would be lost in doubt if they passed through this path.
"Forward."
