The road to "Daimas" passed through small towns and vast fields that breathed tranquility. I was in no hurry. I walked, observed, and tried to understand how a world could be built upon the ashes of war… and still survive, even if only temporarily.
I arrived at a town called Mirala, the last stop before the borders of the maze.
It was simple: white stone houses, open wooden windows, and children chasing a cloth ball. The only café was filled with silent patrons—no one raised their voice, and no one whispered in fear. But silence does not mean ignorance. They knew why I was here.
I sat at a wooden table near the window. I asked for a glass of water, and a voice behind me calmly said:
"Strangers don't drink here… unless they're about to enter Daimas."
I turned around. It was a woman in her mid-thirties. Her black hair was carelessly tied, and her gray eyes looked like smoke refusing to fade.
I said, "And does anyone ever come out, to hear what I drank?"
She smiled and sat without invitation. "I did."
I fell silent for a moment. Studied her face. There was no lie there. No pretense of heroism. Just the gaze of someone who had seen things that couldn't be told.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"My name is Lyria. I was part of the last group that entered Daimas. Five years ago."
I took a slow sip of water, then said: "But it was never mentioned that anyone made it out."
She shook her head. "Because I didn't come out the same. And I didn't return as I was."
"What does that mean?"
She answered with a tone that didn't flee from wounds: "Daimas is not a maze. It's a question."
I raised an eyebrow. "A question?"
"Yes. Everyone who enters is forced to face something they don't know how to fight: themselves."
She paused for a moment, then continued: "It doesn't kill you. But it won't let you out until you confess what you hide—your weakness, your regrets, your greed. That's why I didn't return as I was. And that's why no one believes me."
I whispered, "I'm looking for the necklace."
She answered immediately: "And I came to warn you about it."
I looked at her for a long moment. I didn't see hatred in her eyes, only a faint sadness, as if she were warning me not to deprive me—but because she knew the cost.
"Did you wear it?" I asked.
She shook her head. "I only saw it. Never touched it. Because I realized too late… it doesn't grant power. It strips you of everything until all that remains is what's real in you."
I stood up.
"Thank you, Lyria."
She said before I left: "If you enter… don't try to win. Just be honest. With yourself, not with us."
I left her behind and walked out of the town.
After a short distance, the first walls of Daimas appeared.
They weren't like traditional mazes. They weren't even solid structures. They moved.
The paths twisted like a breathing creature. The doors changed places, and the walls pulsed like living skin.
There was no guard.
No sound.
I stood at the entrance, unmoving.
For the first time, I felt something close to awe.
Then, in a quiet voice inside me, came a single question:
"What will you do if you discover the necklace isn't seeking your strength… but your truth?"
I stepped back.
Then another step.
It wasn't fear. It was awareness. Daimas was unlike anything I had faced before—or would face after. It wasn't a challenge to defeat. It was a mirror that reflected only what you avoid.
I stood there for a minute, two… then turned around.
I wouldn't enter now.
I realized entering unprepared, without clarity, wasn't courage. It was recklessness. And Daimas does not forgive those who rush in without knowing what they seek.
I decided to return to the nearest neighboring city, called Valory. I didn't know much about it, except that it was a hub for adventurers—filled with markets, storytellers, and people used to dealing with those about to step into something bigger than themselves.
I arrived as the first threads of sunset painted the sky.
The city was alive, but it didn't announce itself. Narrow alleys, small shops, and muffled but vibrant sounds. Everything there seemed like it was waiting.
I walked slowly through the streets. I wasn't looking for anything specific. Just observing. Noting whatever might be useful later.
Then suddenly, at the edge of the market, a girl bumped into me.
The collision wasn't hard, but it awakened something.
I looked up.
A girl in her twenties, silver hair, and strange violet eyes. Her look was familiar in a way that unsettled me. She quickly reached out to apologize, then disappeared into the crowd before I could say a word.
Lenore?
The name slipped from my mind instinctively.
She looked a lot like her. Lenore, who had helped me not long ago in recovering the third piece of my power. But that one was older, calmer. Was it really her? Had she changed? Or was I just imagining the resemblance?
I didn't chase her. I didn't call out. For some reason, I felt what happened… was intentional.
I continued walking. Every time I saw something useful, I copied it.
A map pinned to a crumbling wall? I copied it from its shadow into my hand.
A small dagger displayed behind glass? I reshaped it from its shadow and tucked it into my coat.
An old compass, a tool for sharpening the senses, a piece of heat-resistant cloth… I stole nothing. I only created copies from shadows. Shadows that wouldn't last—but would be enough.
My power doesn't shout. It watches, waits, and reforms when I ask it—quietly.
At night, I sat near the corner of a small café, reviewing what I had gathered, sketching a simple plan for the next day.
No sound but the wind.
Then I heard it.
A royal herald, his voice echoing through the town square:
"Adventurers! Dreamers! Tomorrow marks the beginning of the Daimas season!
Those who seek glory, prepare yourselves…
Those who wish to flee—do so tonight.
Entry begins at sunrise… No return until the cycle ends."
No one in the street moved.
But I saw, from balconies, eyes watching. Hearts weighing choices. Daimas was not a place—it was a public trial for everything we try to bury within.
I smiled.
For the first time in a while, I felt things aligning.
I was no longer scattered.
No longer lost in the fog of waiting.
Tomorrow, it all begins.
I returned to the small inn I had taken shelter in. I opened the window. The night breeze was dry and cold.
I pulled one of the shadows from my pocket, shaped it into a small hourglass. I watched the grains fall slowly.
Then whispered:
"Tomorrow… I won't enter just to find the necklace.
I'll enter to see who I am when I hide nothing."