As we exited the doorway, the archive deconstructed itself. Perfect geometric cubes peeled away from the walls and floor, each one dissipating like pixels in an unrendered game zone. No dramatic explosion or magical burst, just the methodical unmaking of a space that had served its purpose. In its wake remained an empty arena cloaked in absolute darkness.

  Ahead of us was a corridor that stretched twenty paces. Gone were the scholarly touches we'd left behind, the endless shelves, and the floating tomes. Instead, raw bedrock dominated the walls, cut through with thick veins of some black mineral I'd never seen before. The veins pulsed with a subtle rhythm, like blood vessels carrying darkness instead of blood.

  “These veins, they’re nightstone.” Tirion said.

  “Nightstone?” I asked, watching how our torchlight seemed to bend away from the veins creating strange shadows that did not seemed natural.

  Lysa moved closer to examine the walls, her purple robes almost blending with the darkness. "It's a rare mineral that absorbs light. The Shadow Lord's temple was built with this material, but..." She traced one of the veins with a careful finger, pulling back quickly. "I've never seen it so... active. It's almost alive."

  "You have good eyes, shadow priestess." A voice boomed from the darkness, resonating not just in our ears but in our bones. "This nightstone was quarried from the deepest reaches," it continued. "It remembers darkness in ways your modern variants cannot comprehend."

  I spun around, trying to locate the source, but the source of the voice was nowhere to be found. The darkness itself appeared to be speaking. "Who's there?" My hand found the hilt of my sword - not that it would do much good against a voice.

  The answer came in the form of a materialization. Unlike the archivist's scholarly appearance from before, this spirit manifested with a sense of mystery. Its translucent form wore robes adorned with intricate maze-like patterns.

  "Welcome, seekers." The ghost's voice had an odd resonance now, as if bouncing off walls that existed in dimensions we couldn't perceive. "I am the keeper of the Trial of Vision."

  "Another trial?" I asked.

  The ghost's face remained impassive. "Aye, the First King created three grand trials to test those worthy of his knowledge. The Archive tested your wisdom. Here, you face something far more fundamental, your ability to see what others cannot. The First King believed that truth lies beyond what our eyes can perceive. Those who rely solely on their vision will forever remain blind to reality's deeper nature."

  Tirion stepped forward. "And how exactly do you test that?"

  The floor beneath us trembled. Not the violent shaking of an earthquake, but a gentle vibration that seemed to resonate with something deep in our bones. The whispers grew louder, and the nightstone veins began to bleed pure darkness. It oozed from the walls like thick ink, defying gravity as it flowed upward and outward.

  The darkness gathered in floating globules, each one perfectly spherical and somehow more black than black. They hung in the air around us, rotating slowly, reflecting nothing. I reached out to touch one, but Tirion caught my arm.

  "Don't," he warned. "That's pure darkness element. Even a drop could..."

  Before he could finish, the spheres burst. The darkness exploded outward in perfect lines and angles that cut through space itself. Where the lines intersected, reality seemed to fold in on itself, creating new walls, corridors, and passages in spaces that hadn't been there before.

  The transformation accelerated. Walls rose and fell like waves in a dark ocean. The nightstone veins spread like growing crystals until it covered the walls like a spider web. Corridors stretched into impossible distances, while others curved off into corners we couldn’t see.

  Estella grabbed my shoulder, pointing upward. "Look!"

  The ceiling had become a maze of its own, with upside-down passages and inverted archways that defied every law of physics I knew. For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of the maze's full structure, a hypercube folded through dimensions I couldn't quite grasp.

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  Finally, with a sound like a sigh, the transformation settled. The whispers faded and the violent motion of reality stilled. What remained was a maze that felt ancient despite having formed before our eyes.

  "By the Shadow Lord..." Lysa breathed. I glanced at her - our usually composed shadow priestess stood wide-eyed, her hands gripping her staff so tightly her knuckles had gone white. Whatever she was seeing, it was enough to shake her confidence.

  I reached out toward the nearest wall, ignoring Tirion's warning gesture. The surface felt solid beneath my fingers, but something wasn't quite right. A subtle vibration hummed through the stone. The nightstone veins pulsed in rhythm with my heartbeat, as if the maze itself was studying me just as I studied it.

  "Before you lies a maze that cannot be mapped," the ghost explained. Its form began to dissolve, the maze-like patterns on its robes seeming to detach and flow into the surrounding darkness. "What your eyes see and what truly exists may not align. Trust in your perceptions at your peril."

  The ghost's edges blurred, its presence fading like mist in morning light. Estella lunged forward. "Wait!" Her voice echoed off the walls, carrying a hint of desperation. "You can't just leave us here. What are the rules? How do we-"

  But the ghost was already mostly gone, its voice now distant and ethereal. Only its final words remained clear: "The rules are simple - find your way to the end through any means necessary."

  The quest notification hung in my vision as the last traces of the ghost disappeared, leaving us alone in the oppressive darkness. The nightstone veins pulsed once, as if acknowledging our predicament.

  "Well," I said into the silence, "that was typically cryptic for an ancient spirit. At least it didn't speak in riddles."

  Tirion adjusted his shield with a quiet clink of metal. "I'd almost prefer riddles. At least those give you something to work with."

  We followed the path down before hitting a T-junction.

  “What now?” Tirion asked. His bunny ears twitched, trying to catch any sound in the oppressive silence.

  “Left or right?” Estella asked. The group looked at me expectantly for direction.

  I focused, staring at our surroundings, trying to get any hints of the correct path The floor should have told a story - scuff marks from previous adventurers, dust patterns showing the most traveled paths, even the subtle wearing down of stone that comes from repeated passage. But the floor was unnaturally clean, as if the darkness itself consumed any traces that might have helped us.

  [Inspect] used on floor: "Perfectly preserved stonework. No signs of wear or passage detected."

  "Let's go left," I decided, falling back on basic maze-solving principles. Gaming had taught me that when in doubt, left was as good a choice as any. We walked forward for about fifty paces before hitting another T-junction, identical to the first in every detail. We took another left and walked another thirty paces. Another turn. After the third identical intersection, I stopped, my mind racing through the implications. Something felt off about it. The turns were too perfect, the distances too exact. Real caves and tunnels had natural variation, but this...

  I pulled out my sword and dragged it along the wall, attempting to mark our path. The scratch mark lasted exactly three seconds before the darkness seemed to crawl over it, erasing all trace of our passage.

  “Looks like the maze refuses to be mapped.” Tirion said. In the torchlight, I could see Lysa moving closer to him, her eyes fixed on the wall where my mark had vanished.

  "Well," I said, "In any standard maze, there's a foolproof method called wall-following. Keep one hand on the wall, left or right, doesn't matter, and follow it no matter what. Even if you hit dead ends, even if it feels like you're going in circles, you'll eventually explore every possible path. Including the exit.

  "And if it's not a standard maze?" Lysa asked quietly.

  "Then we're about to find out exactly what kind of maze the First King thought would be worthy of guarding his secrets," I replied, watching as the darkness seemed to deepen ahead of us. “Lets move on.”

  We continued our way in the darkness, keeping our hands on the left wall. Sometimes we’d hit a dead-end and have to reversed. Other times we would encounter a four-way intersection that we would have to revisit repeatedly. The silence was oppressive, broken only by our footsteps and Tirion's armor quietly clinking with each step.

  After what felt like hours but was probably only minutes, a thunderous roar shattered the maze's eerie silence. The sound vibrated through the nightstone veins, making them pulse as they absorbed and dampened the noise.

  "HALT! Minions of the Veiled Crown!" A voice boomed, echoing with authority. I recognized it instantly - Renna Grimcleaver, the commander of the Silver Wolves.

  The sound came from our right, through what seemed to be solid wall. But as we approached, the nightstone veins shifted and parted like curtains of liquid darkness, revealing a small opening - just large enough to peek through without being noticed.

  "Don't move," Tirion whispered, his bunny ears rigid with tension. "We don’t want to draw their attention."