Lucan stepped into the test chamber.
A wide, yawning gap stretched before him. Suspended across it were a series of floating stone platforms, each about the size of a barrel lid. They drifted slowly from side to side, some rotating, some flickering invisible, shimmering with faint magic.
It looked impossible.
Some of the stones blinked into visibility for a second then vanished. Others moved too quickly, or unpredictably, or seemed to hover just out of reach. The air shimmered faintly with a low enchantment, just enough to unsettle balance or footing.
Only someone incredibly fast… or someone with fine control over their magic… could reasonably make it through.
Lucan stood still, his eyes narrowing. He said nothing.
Lyra leaned forward at the railing. "This one's going to be… tough for him."
She turned startled by a sudden presence at her side.
Lance had returned, arms folded, his expression unreadable as he watched the field below. His steel hand gleamed faintly in the sunlight.
"You!" Lyra flinched slightly, stepping back before composing herself.
Lance tilted his head toward her. "Oh right, you're the owlet's friend."
"…Owlet?" she blinked.
He didn't explain. "Still young. But his eyes are sharp."
Lyra followed his gaze back to Lucan. The boy hadn't moved an inch. "He's not doing anything. Those platforms are impossible. He's not fast enough. And he can't cast."
Lance's tone was flat. "He should just jump across."
Lyra nearly laughed. He can't even make the first gap. She thought it was a joke but Lance's face didn't move an inch.
Lucan remained still. The platforms danced. Flickered. Shifted. But his eyes followed them, quietly, intently.
Five minutes passed.
One of the examiners turned to another with a frown. "Does he not understand the objective?"
"There isn't infinite time," muttered another. "If he doesn't move soon, we fail him."
Lucan didn't blink, as he sat composed.
Lyra's brow furrowed. "Why hasn't he moved? He's just sitting there…"
Lance didn't look away. "Don't you see?"He nodded slightly, almost to himself.
"The one who analyzes the impossible often sees what others don't."
Lucan finally got up and stepped forward.
One foot onto nothing.
But then the nothing held, a platform flickering to life just as he planted his weight.
Gasps rang out from the stands.
He moved calmly, hopping to the right as another platform blinked in, stepping across to the left, his eyes never leaving the shifting void.
Somehow, impossibly, he danced through the chaos.
Not fast. Not flashy.
Almost casual.
When he stepped onto the final stone and landed safely on the far side, the chamber was silent.
A beat.
Then murmurs rippled through the watching crowd, shock replacing silence.
Lyra leaned over the railing, eyes wide. "How do you continue to surprise me after all this time?"
In the examiner's booth, they murmured.
"That shouldn't be possible."
"There was no pattern. They were randomized."
"Or so we thought…"
"…He memorized the sequence. The positions. Even their vanishing windows."
"He watched for ten minutes, he wasn't wasting time. He was solving it."
Lucan didn't celebrate. He merely glanced back once, at the floating stones behind him then stepped into the next chamber without a word.
Before him stood a maze of tall, gray stone walls, worn and quiet. A single path led forward, twisting out of sight.
Lucan moved with caution, his boots echoing slightly on the smooth stone floor. The walls were imposing, at least three times his height, and completely seamless. No markings, no dust, and no way to tell one corner from another.
He turned the first corner.
The sound of grinding stone rumbled faintly through the maze.
He blinked.
The corridor behind him... was gone.
A solid wall now stood where the path had once been.
Lucan spun, glancing around, then back again. The wall hadn't been there before.
"It's moving," he muttered. "Every time I turn..."
He moved forward again, turning another corner. The sound returned, quiet but firm like a puzzle slotting into place. He froze, then looked back. Sure enough, the last corridor had changed too.
Lucan narrowed his eyes.
This wasn't just a test of memory. The maze itself was alive.
He crouched and ran a hand along the floor. Smooth. He dug into the pouch at his side and drew out a green chunk of metal, the relic from the first trial. He tried to rub the relic on the wall and breathed out in relief as it left a green marking on it.
"Start here," he whispered.
He pressed forward, keeping one hand on the wall, drawing chalk lines at every fork, corner, or dead end. But the markings didn't always stay where he left them. When he looped back, they were often gone, vanished or wiped clean.
"They're resetting... or being overwritten."
He frowned. Time was running. The course wasn't infinite.
He began using scratches instead, dragging the edge of a metal buckle on his belt across the stone. That left more permanent, though subtle, marks. Still not perfect. But better.
Time passed. He counted it in his head.
Ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.
The examiners leaned forward, murmuring among themselves.
"Still in the maze?"
"He's slower than the others."
"Several have already finished."
From the stands, Lyra clenched her fists. "Come on, Lucan..."
Beside her, Lance the Steelhand had returned to the railing, arms crossed loosely. He watched with a flicker of interest.
"He's overthinking it," Lyra muttered. "He's not fast enough for this one."
Lance didn't respond immediately. Then he glanced down at her and smirked.
"He's not overthinking. He's tracking the beast."
Lyra blinked. "What?"
"The maze. It's not a puzzle. It's a creature pretending to be one. It rearranges based on movement. He's following the spine."
Lucan stopped at another fork. He stared at the walls. No green marking. But his scratches were there. Barely visible under the changing light.
He traced his own path in his mind. Left. Right. Double-back. Shift.
Then he saw it.
The last three turns had led him closer, not away. The maze's rhythm was changing. The walls weren't shifting randomly. There was a pattern, but only if you moved carefully triggering the right walls at the right time.
He didn't smile. He didn't laugh.
He just kept moving.
Deliberate. Steady. Patient.
Turn. Mark. Wait. Listen.
When the rumble came again, he used it and turned just as it started, anticipating the movement.
In between the wall's turning, there was a gap in the corner, in a quick motion, he unsheathed his blade and stabbed it straight into the gap.
A screech emitted from around him almost sounding like an ox dying.
The corridor ahead reformed in a straight shot.
The first time he'd seen that.
Lucan moved quickly, sprinting down it. He passed another fork, and another then the exit opened ahead.
He stepped through.
The crowd continued to watch as Lucan had become the center of attention for them.
"He did it."
"He actually found the exit."
"He just stabbed a wall, that shouldn't have been possible."
Lyra's mouth fell open.
Lance gave a quiet grunt of amusement.
"Owlet's got talons," he said.
Lucan stepped out into the light again, blinking slightly. The air was fresh. The door behind him sealed.
He didn't raise his arms in triumph, he just looked forward to the next gate.
Two down. Who knew how many more to go.