Cassius, slower but no less deliberate, leans in from the front, his hands finding mine, cold fingers curling around them, rubbing them between his palms to bring feeling back.
They surround me without hesitation. Without question. Four bodies closing in, blocking the wind, trapping what little warmth they can between us. I’m pressed in from every side, their hands moving constantly, rubbing my arms, my back, my hands, trying to fight the cold that’s taken hold of me.
But my teeth won’t stop chattering.
“I can’t—” I try, but the words break apart as another shiver tears through me.
“You’re alright,” Sylvian murmurs again, tightening his hold just slightly. “We’ve got you.”
Oberon’s voice is rough. “Should’ve thought about this sooner,” he mutters, frustration laced through it, but his hand doesn’t stop moving.
“You’re human,” Cassius says quietly, like he’s reminding all of them. “You lose heat faster.”
“No kidding,” Ashton mutters, pulling me closer still.
Their movements grow more deliberate after that. More careful. Like they’ve all suddenly remembered something important. How easily I can break. How easily I could slip through their fingers if they aren’t careful.
The rain keeps pouring down, relentless, but in the center of it, surrounded by them, the cold eases just a fraction. Not enough. But enough to hold on.
Then, without warning, a rope ladder drops into the pit. It dangles in front of us, swaying slightly in the wind. None of us move, too stunned to react.Would… would the cyclops throw us a rope?
“Hello down there!” a cheerful voice calls out.
I look up and see a figure standing at the edge of the pit, a silhouette against the stormy sky. The man is tall and lean, his features sharp and elegant in the faint light. His silver hair gleams, and his eyes are a vivid green, practically glowing against the darkness. He’s dressed in fine clothes, a flowing cape billowing behind him.
“Who the hell are you?” Oberon demands, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword, though it feels futile when we can’t even reach the guy.
“Lord Ferngull,” the man says with a friendly smile, bowing slightly. “At your service. You seem to be in quite the predicament. Allow me to assist.”
“Why?” Ashton asks, his tone suspicious. “What do you get out of it?”
I give him a look. Can we really afford to question the person saving us? At least while we’re stillinthe hole? Let’s question him when we’re safely free.
“Why, nothing at all,” Ferngull replies, his smile never wavering. “I was out for my nightly stroll and happened upon your… unfortunate situation. This hole often opens up in the worst places on the darndest occasions, so I keep it on my rotation. You'd be surprised how many creatures it captures.”
We exchange glances, the unspoken agreement clear. We can’t trust him, not completely. But we also don’t have a choice. Staying here isn’t an option.
“Alright,” Oberon says finally “We’re coming up.”
Lord Ferngull raises a hand, his expression calm. “Great, we’ll have you out of there lickitysplit.”
One by one, we climb the rope ladder, the storm raging around us, the rain soaking us to the skin. My hands ache from the effort, the wet rope ladder slippery beneath my fingers. When I finally reach the top, Oberon immediately extends a hand to help me up the rest of the way.
“Welcome back to solid ground,” Lord Ferngull says with a grin, and the light in his eyes seems genuine.
The others join us, their expressions wary as they face Lord Ferngull. The tension between us is palpable, each of us bracing for trouble. So far, all this labyrinth has brought is trouble, so I think our feelings are fair. Though he doesn’t seem bothered by our suspicion, his demeanor is as friendly and non-threatening as could be.
Does that make himmoresuspicious?
“Now, then,” he says, clasping his hands together, his voice smooth, almost pleasant in a way that doesn’t quite reach hiseyes. “I’m sure you’re eager to be on your way, but I would advise against it.”
He glances out through the twisting maze, where rain lashes endlessly against the towering hedges, and wind tears through the narrow paths hard enough to make the thick walls shudder and sway.
“The labyrinth is never kind,” he continues, almost thoughtfully, “but at night… it becomes something else entirely. The paths shift more. The creatures grow bolder. And storms like this…” His gaze lifts briefly as thunder rolls overhead. “They don’t pass quickly. They linger. They swallow sound, blur sight, hide what’s hunting you until it’s far too close.”
A chill runs down my spine.
“Traveling through it now would be… unwise,” he finishes, turning his attention back to us with a faint, knowing smile. “My castle is nearby. Dry. Safe. You’re welcome to wait the storm out there.”