Extra To Protagonist

One step.

Then another.

Then—

Silence.

The floor dimmed.

The humming stopped.

System pinged.

[Trial of Pattern: Complete]

[All participants maintained sync above threshold.]

[No resets triggered.]

[The Messenger inclines his head.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask clicks his teeth.]

Merlin stopped breathing for the first time in three minutes.

Mae nearly collapsed.

He caught her elbow without thinking.

She stayed standing.

Flint didn't even look winded.

Just turned his head toward the next door.

Didn't speak.

Didn't smile.

But something flickered in his eyes.

Disappointment.

Merlin noticed.

Didn't ask.

Just stared down the new corridor.

Because Dion still hadn't come through.

And now?

They had to keep moving.

—

The path ahead wasn't moving.

Which, by now, meant something was wrong.

Or worse, meant the labyrinth was letting them talk.

Merlin hated that more than any trap.

Mae sat down slowly. Back against the wall. Arms loose at her sides. Not resting. Just letting gravity do the work.

She didn't speak first.

No one did.

Merlin finally broke it.

"We can't wait long."

Mae's head didn't lift. "I know."

Flint leaned near the next door. Hands tucked into his coat. Still. Always still.

Mae added, "He should've made it through by now."

Silence.

Merlin didn't nod.

Didn't agree.

Because saying it out loud made it real.

Mae looked at him.

Tired eyes. Tired voice.

"What's the rule here? Abandon if missing? Is that the kind of leader you are?"

It wasn't an attack.

Not really.

More like inventory.

'Are you who I think you are, or are you who I'm afraid you are?'

Merlin didn't answer right away.

He stared at the ground. The way the stone curved subtly inward. Designed to make you feel like you were always slightly off-center.

"Dion's smart," he said. "And fast. But this place doesn't reward either."

Mae frowned. "That's not an answer."

He looked at her.

Finally.

And said, "No. It's a risk assessment."

Flint's mouth twitched. Just slightly.

Not a smile. Not humor.

Recognition.

Mae stood.

Too fast.

"Then give me the odds, Merlin. Give me the number where it's statistically better to leave someone behind."

He didn't flinch.

Just met her stare.

"Zero," he said. "Because if I thought you were dead weight, you wouldn't be here."

Mae blinked.

Once.

Then looked away.

"…Screw you for making that sound noble."

Flint muttered something under his breath.

Probably a laugh.

Or a scoff.

Mae looked at him next.

"You have something to say, shadow boy?"

Flint didn't blink.

"No. Just waiting for the door to decide we're finished talking."

Merlin turned slightly. Enough to put Flint back in peripheral range.

"You think we should leave him."

Flint didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

Merlin already knew.

So did Mae.

She exhaled sharply.

"Dion wouldn't leave us."

Flint said nothing.

Because maybe he would.

Maybe he wouldn't.

But that wasn't the point.

The system pinged.

[Participant Status: Dion — Unknown]

[Last sync: 9:34 ago]

[Threshold breach: Approaching]

Merlin clicked his tongue once.

"Five more minutes," he said.

Flint raised a brow.

"Or?"

"Then we go again."

Mae didn't like it.

Didn't argue.

Because she'd seen what happened when someone missed a window in here.

Sometimes the room closed.

Sometimes the system did.

But either way—

They didn't open again.

And Dion?

He was running out of time.

—

Dion sat on a chair that didn't exist five minutes ago.

The room was empty.

No, not empty.

It was full of nothing.

Same thing. Only louder.

No walls. No doors. Just a wide white space with the kind of silence that made you want to apologize just for breathing.

He stared at the knife in his hand.

It wasn't his.

That was the first problem.

The second was that it had his name on it.

Literal.

Etched in the side, messy, like a child had scrawled it in with too much pressure and not enough talent.

He held it anyway.

Because that's what you did when the gods handed you a metaphor sharp enough to bleed with.

Time didn't exist here.

Not properly.

Not when the clock in the corner said "Regret: 2:43 Remaining."

That wasn't a timer.

That was a punchline.

He spun the knife in his fingers.

Flick.

Catch.

Flick.

Catch.

Behind him, a voice spoke.

"Nice trick. You gonna stab someone with that, or just yourself?"

He didn't turn.

He knew what the trial was doing.

Voice was familiar.

His voice.

Just smugger.

Like a version of himself that hadn't had to watch people die to understand what it cost.

"I don't stab people," Dion said casually. "I politely convince them to fall over."

His double laughed.

It sounded like knives scraping glass.

"Keep lying. That's what you're good at. That's why they keep you around, right? Every group needs a distraction."

Dion stood.

Turned slowly.

Saw himself standing ten paces away.

Same smirk.

Same scars.

But the eyes?

Wrong.

Too clear.

Too bright.

The version of him that didn't carry doubt like a second heartbeat.

"Gonna say something dramatic now?" he asked the mirror-him. "Or are we just gonna hold hands and trauma-bond like emotionally unavailable gladiators?"

"You joke," the copy said. "Because if you stop, you'll hear it."

"Hear what?"

"That you're alone."

Dion shrugged. "Alone's quieter."

The fake smiled wider.

"You think they'd die for you?"

"No. I think they'd hesitate. Like I would. But that's still love."

Silence.

Then—

The room changed.

The white folded back.

Revealed a hallway.

The same one the others must've walked.

And from the end of it, a light.

A door.

A way out.

But only one.

Dion exhaled once.

Long.

Then turned to his fake self.

And said, "Good talk."

Then stabbed it in the chest.

The knife dissolved.

The copy didn't bleed.

It just smiled.

And vanished.

Dion walked toward the door.

"Hey, Merlin," he muttered under his breath, "Hope you didn't think I died. That would've been your second mistake."

—

Merlin took one step toward the corridor.

One.

That was all it took.

Mae's shoulders stiffened behind him.

Flint didn't move.

Not out of disinterest.

Out of calculation.

Merlin wasn't counting it as abandonment.

Not yet.

But he'd already cataloged the possibility.

'Dion didn't make it.'

That was what it meant if they crossed the next threshold.

That was how it always worked down here.

Leave no one behind?

Sure.

But only if they could follow.

He took another step.

The system hadn't said anything, but the gods were listening.

He could feel it in his teeth.

And then—

"Would've been nice if someone left a snack out."

The voice came from behind them.

Too loud.

Too casual.

Mae turned first.

Merlin didn't.

Not right away.

Because for half a second, he thought he'd imagined it.

But no.

There he was.

Dion.

Hair wind-blown.

Jacket torn at the shoulder.

A faint smear of something that might've been blood, or his ego, on his cheek.

And a smile like he'd walked in on a bad joke and was choosing to make it worse.

"Miss me?" he asked.

Mae didn't answer.

She just punched him in the arm.

Hard.

Dion winced. "Okay. Not that much, then."

Merlin turned fully.

Didn't say anything.

Just stared.

Dion's grin faltered.

"Right. You were probably halfway into eulogizing me. Something dramatic. Lots of long pauses."

Still nothing.

Merlin just stepped closer.

Looked him over once. Shoes to eyes.

"You're late."

Dion shrugged. "Yeah. Had to stab myself. Long story."

Mae blinked. "Wait. What?"

"Trial stuff," Dion said. "Emotional metaphors. Fake versions of myself. The usual. Might write a book later. Title's gonna be: 'It Looked Like Me but Talked Like Therapy.'"

Flint finally spoke.

"You passed."

It wasn't a question.

Dion's smile flicked back into place.

"Wouldn't be here otherwise."

Merlin exhaled.

Not a sigh.

Not relief.

Just… air leaving after being held too long.

"You good?" he asked.

Dion nodded. "Still sexy. Still dangerous. Still about thirty percent made of spite. So, yeah. I'm good."

The corridor ahead pulsed.

A low thrum.

System pinged.

[All Participants Present]

[Trial Progression Resumed]

[Next Chamber Unlocked]

[The Messenger raises an eyebrow.]

[The Huntress sharpens her blade.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask giggles into his sleeve.]

Merlin didn't flinch.

Just turned.

Looked at the now-open path.

"Let's move," he said.

Dion fell into step beside him.

"Not even a 'welcome back'? Cold."

Merlin didn't look at him.

"Don't make me change my mind."

Behind them, Mae followed. Quiet again. But steadier.

Flint walked last.

Still silent.

Still watching.

And somewhere behind the walls—

The gods leaned in closer.

Because now it was all four again.

Whole. Tense.

And ready to break.

—

Nathan kicked a pebble down the hall.

It clattered once. Twice.

Then vanished.

No echo.

Which wasn't great.

Elara didn't flinch. Still ten steps ahead. Still the same pace. Still holding her spear like it might solve the map problem if she stabbed the floor hard enough.

Seraphina trailed just behind her, eyes locked on the walls like they were whispering secrets.

And Nathan?

He was starting to get annoyed.

"I'm just saying," he muttered, "if this place wanted us dead, it could've just dropped a ceiling or something. Why the psychological torture maze?"

No one answered.

Standard.

He jogged a little to catch up.

"Okay, new theory," he said. "We're not lost. We're… intentionally misplaced."

Elara stopped walking.

Nathan almost ran into her back.

Her shoulders didn't move. Her voice didn't rise.

"If you have a better idea," she said quietly, "say it."