Chapter 2 –The Labyrinth of Nine Thorns – Book One: Into the Spiral – By Lia Emochuo
CHAPTER 2 – The First Thorn: Hall of Echoes
There was no light in the descent.
Only the soft sound of breath and shifting metal as they moved deeper into the gullet of the world.
Kael lost track of time. The stairs were steep, the stone slick with condensation that smelled faintly of rust and lilies. The walls were wrong—every few seconds he caught glimpses of movement within them, reflections of himself turning to stare.
Behind him, the prisoners walked in silence.
Five remained.
Kael.
The Golden-Chain Priest—a man called Serrik.
The Scarred Alchemist, Renna Vex, missing her left eye and sanity in equal measure.
The Mute Mage, Corin, who hummed backward lullabies.
And the Branded Beast, Tholl, a brute who once ate a noble’s liver on stage during an execution.
They entered the First Thorn without ceremony.
The Hall of Echoes.
The corridor opened wide—far wider than any building should have allowed. The ceiling arched into darkness. The floor became black marble, polished so smooth it mirrored the travelers like a still lake.
But the reflections… did not move correctly.
Kael stared down at his own reflection.
It blinked before he did.
> “The Thorn remembers you,” said Serrik softly.
“It shapes its judgment from what you most refuse to see.”
They stepped forward.
Their footsteps rang out unnaturally loud—echoing in loops, repeating again and again long after they’d moved.
Kael heard his own footfall a dozen times behind him, perfectly spaced.
Then something echoed that had not been said.
> “Don’t send them in. They’ll all burn.”
It was Kael’s voice.
But he hadn’t spoken.
He froze. Turned.
A figure stood across the mirrored floor—himself, in the full armor of a Vaaskian general, blood-splattered and younger. His expression was hollow, eyes dead with guilt. A mirror image plucked from memory.
> “You ordered them to march through the pass,” it said, voice distant like through water.
“Even after you knew the enemy had tripled. They begged.”
It stepped forward.
Kael reached for the curved knife he’d taken from the monolith.
The echo lunged.
The fight was immediate and brutal.
Steel met steel. Kael ducked beneath a sword swing, slammed his shoulder into the specter’s chest—but there was no weight. The echo bled black mist, not blood. But it was fast. And it remembered his every move.
Each strike mirrored Kael’s own combat style from the siege, perfectly.
He was fighting a version of himself that hadn’t suffered, hadn’t been broken.
And it was winning.
Serrik screamed behind him.
Kael glanced back—Serrik’s reflection had split in two, one pleading, the other burning. A child’s voice cried out from one of the illusions, and the priest fell to his knees, tearing at his ears.
Renna cackled wildly, dancing around two burning silhouettes wearing her face. One melted as she poured acid onto it. Corin was weeping, whispering to his own reflection, which merely mouthed words in reverse.
But it was Tholl who broke first.
The brute roared and charged at his echo, fists raised. His reflection didn’t fight back—it simply opened its arms.
And embraced him.
Tholl froze.
The reflection whispered into his ear.
He nodded once.
Then snapped his own neck, laughing.
His body dropped with a wet crack.
The reflection remained… watching.
Then turned to look at Kael.
It smiled.
Kael’s double drove its blade into his shoulder. Pain blossomed, sharp and clean. He fell back, panting, gripping his knife.
> “You survived the siege,” the echo said.
“But not what came after.”
Kael snarled. “No. I didn’t.”
And let the blade fall from his fingers.
He dropped to his knees. Exposed. Unarmed.
The echo paused. Confused.
Kael met its gaze.
“I don’t regret it anymore.”
Then he drove the curved dagger—taken from the Labyrinth itself—upward, straight through his echo’s jaw.
The mist-figure spasmed, black smoke pouring from its wounds. The sound it made was not a scream—but the silence of memory ending.
It dissolved.
The reflection in the floor returned to normal. A single crack formed in the marble beneath Kael’s feet.
Around him, the others slowly dispatched their pasts.
Serrik emerged shaking. Renna had torn her echo’s face off and stuffed it into a bottle. Corin simply sat in a corner, whispering to the air.
Five had entered.
Four remained.
The hall changed.
A groaning sound echoed from the walls. The mirrored floor fractured into tessellating triangles. New paths opened, rotating like clockwork.
And in the center of the chamber, where Tholl’s body had been—stood a pedestal.
Upon it, a cube of glass.
Inside: a single, black thorn.
It pulsed.
Kael stepped forward. Reached out. The thorn cut him without contact.
A voice filled the chamber—not with sound, but pressure.
> “First Thorn broken. Eight remain.”
“The Hall remembers. The Hall resets. The Hall watches.”
As they passed into the next corridor, Kael looked back.
Tholl’s body was gone.
In its place, a new reflection stared up from the marble.
It was Kael.
But older.
He looked very, very tired.
And he smiled.
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