Page 78 of The Onyx Covenant

The path ahead splits almost immediately, offering our first choice—left or right, without any indication of which might lead to success.

Theron looks down at me, waiting. Not commanding, not deciding for us both, but genuinely waiting for my input.

“Left,” I say, trusting the instinct that whispers through me. “We go left.”

He nods, and together, we step into the unknown.

The thorns seem to shift slightly as we pass.

This is no ordinary maze. This is something ancient, something powerful, something that knows exactly who we are and what we carry within us—our hopes, our fears, our secrets.

The real trial has only just begun.

ChapterFourteen

LYRA

The first thing that strikes me about the maze is how it breathes. Not metaphorically—it literally inhales and exhales, the massive thorny walls expanding and contracting in a slow, deliberate way. With each breath, tiny motes of silver-blue light drift from the black vines, hovering momentarily before dissolving into the darkness.

“Did you see that?” I whisper to Theron, pointing to where the wall just rippled.

He nods, eyes narrowed. “This place is alive.”

We’ve been walking for what feels like hours, though time seems distorted in this labyrinth. The narrow path beneath our feet has transformed from mud to something more unsettling—a mosaic of flat, dark stones inlaid with what looks disturbingly like fragments of bone. Small symbols are etched into each piece, ancient glyphs that seem to shift and change when viewed from different angles.

The rain has finally stopped, but the air remains heavy with moisture. It reminds me of the ceremonial incense used in moon priestess rituals, but darker, more primal.

“We should have found something by now,” Theron mutters, pausing at yet another junction. “A shrine, a clue—anything.”

The maze seems to mock our frustration, offering three identical paths forward. Each corridor stretches into shadow, walls glistening with moisture that catches the faint blue light from the hovering orbs. Unlike normal torchlight, these spectral globes cast no warmth, only an eerie illumination that makes shadows dance and colors fade to muted shades of blue and gray.

I close my eyes, reaching for my priestess intuition, though I’ve never fully trusted it. “This way,” I say finally, pointing to the leftmost path. “I can’t explain it, but it feels… less wrong.”

Theron doesn’t question me, just nods and marks our path with another scrap of fabric he tears from his shirt and ties to a protruding thorn.

The passage narrows as we proceed, forcing us to walk single file. Theron takes the lead, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the walls on either side. I follow close behind, trying not to think about the thorns that seem to flex and reach toward us as we pass.

“Wait,” Theron whispers suddenly, stopping so abruptly I nearly collide with his back. “Listen.”

I hold my breath, straining to hear past the subtle whispers of the maze itself. Then it comes—a distant, haunting melody floating on the damp air. Someone is singing, the voice ethereal and oddly familiar, though I can’t place it.

“What is that?” I breathe, my skin prickling with goose bumps.

“A trap,” Theron says grimly. “Has to be.”

But even as he says it, I feel drawn toward the sound. The melody reminds me of something from childhood—a lullaby my mother used to sing, something about moon blossoms and silver dreams. Without conscious decision, I slip tightly past Theron, moving toward the sound.

“Lyra, wait.” His hand catches my arm, his grip firm but gentle. “Let’s think about this.”

The music grows slightly louder, more enticing. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that’s suddenly settled over my thoughts. “You’re right,” I admit. “But we need to find the shrines, and this is the first real sign we’ve encountered.”

“Could be leading us straight to danger,” he points out.

“Everything in this maze is dangerous,” I counter. “At least this is something different.”

He can’t argue with that logic. With a resigned sigh, he releases my arm. “I’ll go first,” he insists, moving ahead of me once more.

We follow the haunting melody around several bends, the passage gradually widening until it opens into a circular chamber, unlike anything we’ve seen so far. The walls here aren’t made of thorns but of smooth, dark stone that gleams like polished obsidian. The floor is covered in a carpet of luminescent moss that pulses with soft blue-green light in rhythm with the music.

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