Extra To Protagonist

Nathan blinked.

Then looked around.

Same gray stone. Same smell of dust and regret. Same feeling of the walls breathing just a little too slow.

He exhaled.

"Nope," he said. "Still nothing."

Seraphina sighed.

Soft. Barely audible.

But it carried.

Nathan turned to her. "You got something?"

She didn't look at him.

"Three right turns. One left. Then a split we didn't take. This entire section curves inward."

"Inward to what?"

She shrugged.

"Guess we'll find out."

That wasn't the comforting part.

Nathan rubbed the back of his neck.

'No one's panicking. That's the problem. We're all too used to being trapped.'

He looked at Elara.

Still unreadable.

Still too calm.

"You sure Merlin went this way?" he asked.

She hesitated.

A beat too long.

"I'm not sure of anything," she said.

Nathan's chest tightened.

Just a little.

Not fear.

Just… something close.

'He ran off. Like always. Took the risk so we wouldn't have to.'

And now they were down a piece of the board.

He kicked another pebble.

This one bounced back.

Hard.

He froze.

So did Elara.

Seraphina stepped forward slowly.

Looked down.

A glyph shimmered beneath the stone.

Dim.

But real.

Nathan muttered, "So… traps now?"

Seraphina knelt. Didn't touch. Just hovered her hand above it.

"Not a trap," she said.

"Portal?"

"Closer to a trigger."

"For what?"

She didn't answer.

Which was becoming a theme.

The air shifted.

The stone underfoot pulsed.

Once.

Elara's grip on her spear tightened.

Nathan's fingers hovered near the hilts at his hips.

The wall ahead split.

Not like a door.

Like a scar reopening.

Light spilled through.

Not white.

Not gold.

Just… wrong.

A hallway beyond. But deeper. Colder.

Different texture. Different smell.

And at the very end—

Something moved.

Not toward them.

Away.

A flicker of a coat. A silhouette.

Nathan stepped forward.

Too fast.

"Elara," he said. "Was that—"

"I saw it," she cut in.

Seraphina was already moving.

Toward the door.

Nathan followed.

Fast.

He didn't say what he was thinking.

Didn't need to.

Because if that really was Merlin?

They were going after him.

Even if it wasn't?

They were going anyway.

Because doing nothing wasn't an option.

Not anymore.

—

The corridor narrowed.

Too fast.

Stone warped inward like someone had pulled the ends of the hallway together by hand. The moment Nathan's foot hit the halfway mark, he felt the shift. The temperature dropped. The air thickened.

The door behind them slammed shut.

No click.

No hiss.

Just pressure and finality.

"Okay," Nathan said. "That feels… trap-adjacent."

No answer.

Seraphina stood perfectly still. Eyes narrowed. Listening.

Elara stepped back toward the door and tried the edge with her palm.

No give.

No mechanism.

No obvious seam.

Nathan turned.

The room was rectangular. Narrow. Ten steps wide, maybe fifteen long. One way in. No visible out. The stone underfoot had shifted, pale, smoother, polished like a gallery floor.

Too clean.

Too deliberate.

And at the far end of the room—

A window.

Black glass. Floor to ceiling. Seamless.

Except it wasn't reflecting anything.

No light bounce. No distorted silhouettes. No vague shimmer of their own movements.

Just void.

Nathan walked toward it anyway.

He stopped a step away.

Raised his hand.

Didn't touch.

But the air near the glass felt wrong. Too warm. Too still.

He tilted his head.

"Cool. Mirror that doesn't mirror. Ten out of ten decoration choices. Real welcoming."

Still no reply.

No system ping either.

Not for him.

Not like Merlin.

That was always the problem.

Nathan took a step to the side, testing the angle. Still nothing.

Seraphina walked up beside him.

"It's a one-way pane," she said quietly.

He blinked. "So someone's watching?"

"Feels like it."

He turned to Elara.

She hadn't moved.

Still by the door.

Still trying to listen through stone.

Nathan said, "We're locked in, huh?"

She nodded once. Barely.

The light in the room shifted.

Slight. Subtle.

But enough for every hair on Nathan's arms to stand.

The glass flickered.

Not visibly.

Just behind his eyes.

Elara spoke for the first time in minutes.

"What is this place?"

Seraphina didn't answer.

Nathan swallowed once, throat dry.

'If this is a trial, it's not one we can pass by punching.'

He stepped forward again. Close enough for his breath to fog a trace against the glass. Just enough to make a mark.

It didn't.

He glanced back.

"Okay," he muttered. "I'm gonna say it. This is a weird kind of bad. Not monsters-bad. Just… therapy room for murderers bad."

The glass shimmered again.

Words flickered.

For a second.

Then vanished.

Seraphina had seen it too.

"What did it say?" she asked.

Nathan frowned.

"Not sure. Just shapes. Glyphs, maybe."

Another flicker.

A little longer this time.

He squinted.

One word caught.

[Observation]

Then gone.

Elara stepped forward now.

Her voice sharp.

"If this is for watching, who's doing the watching?"

Nathan didn't answer.

But deep in his chest, something coiled.

'Merlin would know.'

'Merlin's probably on the other side of this thing.'

The thought sat ugly in his gut.

Because if Merlin was on the other side, and this was his trial, then maybe they were part of it.

In the worst way.

The light dimmed again.

The door stayed closed.

And for the first time in the last hour…

No one had anything left to say.

—

The door opened like it had been waiting for them to stop asking questions.

No hiss. No fanfare. Just stone pulling back like a throat unclenching.

Merlin stepped in first.

Dion followed with the kind of strut reserved for people who had just survived soul therapy and were still deciding if that counted as growth or trauma.

Mae walked like her spine was made of glass and maybe she'd bite you if you looked at her wrong.

Flint didn't walk. He bled into the room like a shadow you forgot was yours.

The chamber inside was… wrong.

Perfect squares. Clean stone. No dust. No scent. No echoes. The kind of sterile that made hospitals feel cluttered. The ceiling pulsed faintly. Not with heat. With rhythm. Like it was counting down to something no one had agreed to.

Merlin stopped just before the far wall.

Black glass.

From here, it was clear.

Not a mirror.

Not a wall.

A window.

On the other side?

Three people.

Merlin's heart didn't skip. Didn't falter. Just… narrowed.

'Nathan.'

The hair. The stupidly casual slouch. The way he talked with his hands even when his mouth was shut.

Of course it was him.

Of course.

Next to him, Elara. Rigid as stone, scanning every edge of the room like it owed her a debt and she meant to collect.

And Seraphina.

Silent. Balanced. Like she was listening to the silence too closely.

Mae stepped up next to him.

"You know them?" she asked.

He didn't answer.

Didn't need to.

She looked again. "The look on your face—"

"Yes."

Flint stopped behind them.

Said nothing.

Of course he didn't.

Dion leaned sideways, peering through the glass.

"Huh. That guy's either incredibly bored or about to die of dehydration. I can't tell."

Merlin didn't laugh.

Didn't even blink.

He just watched Nathan through the glass.

And Nathan?

Didn't see him.

None of them did.

One-way.

Mae's voice was quiet now.

"You think this is our trial or theirs?"

Merlin didn't answer.

Because that was the wrong question.

It wasn't a trial.

It was a stage.

And someone out there, god, system, something worse, had just pulled back the curtain.

Nathan stood now. Walked toward the far wall. Tapped it once with his knuckle. Spoke something.

No sound carried.

But the look on his face?

Annoyance.

Mild existential dread.

Also maybe hunger.

Typical.

Merlin tilted his head just enough to catch the movement in the ceiling glyphs. They'd shifted. Not cycling anymore. Watching.

[The Messenger observes.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask turns the mirror slightly.]

Great.

Dion raised an eyebrow. "So, what? We do the whole dramatic reveal? Tap on the glass? Mime 'get out while you still can'?"

Merlin didn't move.

Didn't speak.

Because this wasn't a rescue.

Not yet.

This was leverage.

The kind the gods loved.

Mae asked, "What do we do?"

Merlin finally blinked.

Then said, "We wait."

Because if the labyrinth wanted to test them?

It just gave him a reason to cheat.

—

The hum changed.

Not in pitch.

In weight.

It rolled down Merlin's spine like silk dragged across wire.

The window stayed still.

Nathan's group remained behind it, unaware.

Talking.

Moving.

Alive.

The room Merlin stood in didn't move.

But it did… listen.

Then the system pulsed.

[You are being contacted.]

[By: The Messenger.]

[Hermes of the Hidden Paths has presented you with an alternative route.]

Mae shifted beside him. Just slightly.

She didn't feel it.

Flint was still.

Dion was mid-step.

Merlin's screen changed again.

[QUEST: The Quickest Path]

[Objective: Eliminate all allies currently in your chamber.]

[Reward: Instant extraction for the observers behind the glass.]

L[Additional Bonus: Divine Favor — Messenger's Eye.]

Merlin's hands didn't move.

His breath didn't change.

But in his chest?

Something froze.

[Note: Acceptance of this quest is optional.]

[Decline carries no penalty.]

[Acceptance triggers irreversible action.]

He stared at the message.

Then at the people around him.

Mae.

Bruised, still recovering from whatever that last trial broke in her.

Flint.

Half-shadow. Probably still thinking about stabbing him.

Dion.

Who had risked everything to catch up, just in time to joke about dying again.

He exhaled.

Slow.

Quiet.

'So this is the test.'

Not skill.

Not timing.

Judgment.

The gods weren't asking if he could do it.

They were asking if he would.

Because they already knew the answer from everyone else.

They wanted to know his.

[The Messenger waits with interest.]

[The Grin Beneath the Mask watches you both.]

Merlin lowered his head slightly.

The others didn't notice.

Just a half-second shift in posture.

But inside?

He wasn't boiling.

He was sorting.

Scenarios.

Counters.

Conditions.

'I kill them. I save the others. I get Hermes' favor. But I lose… everything else.'

Friendship.

Trust.

The chance to lead.

Maybe his soul.

He watched Dion pace.

Mae scratch the back of her hand.

Flint tilt his head ever so slightly toward the wall.

He stared at the quest window again.

Didn't blink.

And thought,

'You want to know if I'll trade blood for strategy.'

He let the silence stretch.

Let the system wait.

Then he smiled.

Just a little.

And thought clearly:

"I'll find a third option. Watch me."

The screen pulsed once.

The quest faded.

Not denied.

Not accepted.

Just… dismissed.

The gods said nothing.

But the air changed.

And that?

Felt like respect.