(One)

The first contestant adjusts the sweatband on his wrist, the rough fabric scratching against his skin, and squints up at the towering wall of playing cards looming before him.

Each card, easily twice his height and thick as a door, displays the stark black clubs suit against its pristine white back. "Alright, fresh meat," booms a voice crackling through the overhead speakers, dripping with forced enthusiasm,

"Welcome to the aMAZEing Games! First challenge: The Club Circuit! Remember, speed's the name of the game, but don't get lost in the shuffle!" A nervous chuckle escapes the competitor next to him, fiddling with their own sweatband.

"Hearts suit next, right?" they mutter, more to themselves than anyone. He just nods, eyes fixed on the narrow gap between two giant cards marking the entrance to the circular labyrinth. The scent of fresh cardboard hangs heavy in the air.

Taking a deep breath, he pushes through the gap. Instantly, the world narrows; the sky is reduced to a thin strip of blue far above, and the path ahead forks left and right, both corridors formed by towering, identical club-backed cards.

The ground is packed earth, slightly damp underfoot. From somewhere deep within the maze, he hears a frustrated shout, quickly muffled, followed by the frantic scraping of footsteps against dirt.

"Left! No, right! Blast it!" another voice echoes, distorted by the winding paths. The sheer scale makes orientation tricky; the cards seem to lean inward slightly, creating a disorienting, oppressive feeling.

He chooses the left path, moving quickly but carefully. After a few turns, the corridor opens into a small clearing where three paths converge.

Leaning against a card wall, breathing heavily, is the competitor who chuckled earlier. They look up, wiping sweat from their brow with a trembling hand.

"Got turned around already," they admit, voice tight with panic. "Thought I saw a shortcut through a gap, but it was just two cards leaning together. This place... it feels alive."

A faint rustling sound, like cards shifting, whispers from a nearby unseen junction, making them jump.

Ignoring the distraction, he scans the ground near the rightmost path. Faint scuff marks in the dirt suggest recent passage. "That way," he suggests, pointing.

The competitor hesitates, then nods shakily. "Thanks. Name's Elara. If we both make it out, drinks are on me." She pushes off the wall and hurries down the indicated path, her footsteps fading quickly.

He takes the center path instead, the damp earth muffling his steps. The air grows cooler, the scent of cardboard mingling with something earthier, like damp soil.

A sharp 'crack' echoes from somewhere ahead, followed by the groan of stressed cardboard. He rounds a corner to find a section of card wall partially collapsed – two giant club cards have buckled inward, creating a jagged opening barely wide enough to squeeze through.

Beyond it, he glimpses a straight corridor leading toward what looks like daylight. A risky shortcut. Peering through the gap, he sees another competitor trapped beneath a leaning card, pinned at the waist.

"Help!" they gasp, struggling weakly. "It shifted... when I tried to climb..."

He weighs his options: assist and lose precious time, or push through the gap toward the exit. Before he decides, a figure darts past him – none other than Elara.

She wedges her shoulder against the leaning card, veins standing out on her neck. "Don't just stand there!" she grunts, her voice strained. "Get him clear! I can't hold this forever!"

The trapped competitor whimpers, clawing at the dirt. The card above creaks ominously, showering them with dust.

He scrambles through the gap, ignoring the scrape of cardboard against his arms. Grabbing the trapped competitor under the shoulders, he hauls backward.

He screams as his legs come free, but it's a clean pull – no blood, just deep bruises already purpling on his thighs. "Go!" Elara gasps, her legs trembling.

As he drags the injured man clear, she lets go and dives through the gap just as the card groans and slams down, sealing the shortcut completely. Dust billows in the sudden stillness.

Th-h-thanks," the rescued man wheezes, leaning heavily against him. "Name's Jax. Thought I was paste." He tries to put weight on his legs and winces.

Elara brushes dust from her tunic, her earlier panic replaced by grim focus. "Exit's that way," she points down the straight corridor he glimpsed earlier. "Can you walk, Jax?"

He nods, jaw clenched. "Slowly. Won't win any prizes, but I'll crawl if I have to."

The three of you move as one, Jax limping between him and Elara. The corridor is mercifully short, opening into a wide, sunlit arena.

Cheers erupt from unseen stands as you stumble out. A digital timer above the exit flashes his time: **7:42**. Not the fastest, but not last. Elara helps Jax toward a waiting medic station.

"Drinks still stand," she calls back, a tired smile touching her lips before she's swallowed by the crowd.

(Two)

You catch your breath, the sudden noise and light jarring after the maze's oppressive silence. The next maze looms to your left — a stark triangle of towering diamond-backed cards, their sharp angles glinting under the sun.

Competitors already stream toward its entrance. Near the refreshment table, a man in a rumpled suit mutters into a headset, "...structural integrity compromised in Sector 3. Reinforce the spades section 'before' the next wave." He spots you listening and snaps his clipboard shut, vanishing behind a curtain.

Elara reappears, thrusting a water pouch into your hands. Her knuckles are raw from holding up that card. "Jax is stable," she says, gulping her own water. "Medics say he’ll walk again, but his Games are over."

She nods toward the diamond maze. "Heard the walls here shift. Pressure plates or some nonsense. Trip one, and the whole path rearranges." A shrill buzzer cuts through the chatter — two minutes until start.

You approach the triangular entrance, diamond patterns shimmering like fractured glass under the harsh arena lights. The air smells of ozone and hot plastic.

A burly competitor shoulders past, muttering, "Watch for the glint. Dead giveaway." Inside, the corridors angle sharply, the diamond-backed cards reflecting distorted versions of yourself in every direction. Your footsteps echo too loudly.

"Pressure plates," Elara whispers, pointing at a faint seam in the packed earth floor. She sidesteps it gracefully. "Jax said they're weight-sensitive. Trigger one..."

Her warning hangs in the air as a competitor behind you stumbles onto a plate with a soft 'click'. A deep rumble shakes the ground. Ahead, an entire wall pivots with a groan, sealing your path and opening a new, unfamiliar corridor to the right. Curses erupt from the newly blocked group.

You spot a glint near the base of a diamond-backed card—a tiny, reflective sensor. "There," you murmur, guiding Elara around it.

The maze disorients; reflections fracture your movements into a dozen splintered selves. "Left or straight?" Elara asks, her voice tight.

Before you answer, a distorted reflection catches movement — a competitor rounding a corner too fast, boot landing squarely on another plate. The wall beside you slides shut like a guillotine, separating you from Elara with a thunderous 'clang'.

"Elara!" you shout, pounding the seamless diamond surface. Her muffled voice comes through, strained: "Go! I’ll find another way!"

Panic claws at your throat, but you force it down. Ahead, the corridor branches. You choose the path with fewer scuff marks, stepping lightly.

A low hum vibrates through the floor — a hidden mechanism. You freeze as a section of wall pivots slowly, revealing a dead end littered with discarded water pouches. Trapped.

Backtracking, you spot it — a hairline fracture between two cards. Not a door, but a weakness. You slam your shoulder into it. Once. Twice. On the third impact, the cards groan inward, buckling just enough to squeeze through into a narrow service crawlspace.

Dust coats your face. Dim utility lights reveal pipes and wires snaking along the floor. Distant shouts and grinding walls echo through the thin walls.

You crawl forward, the space tight and claustrophobic. A junction appears: left, following the hum of machinery, or right, toward the sound of frantic footsteps.

Choosing left, you emerge through another loose card panel into a wider corridor. Elara is there, backed against a wall by a competitor wielding a jagged piece of broken card like a shiv.

"Took your sweet time," she rasps, eyes flicking to you. The attacker spins, wild-eyed. "The exit's mine! You ain't taking it!"

Before he lunges, a pressure plate clicks under his shifting weight. The wall behind him pivots open — revealing not an exit, but a sheer drop into darkness. He stumbles backward with a choked scream, vanishing into the void. The wall snaps shut. Silence hangs thick.

Elara sags. "Pressure plates giveth," she mutters, rubbing her neck, "and pressure plates taketh away." Daylight glints ahead. You sprint the last stretch, bursting into the arena as the timer flashes **9:18**.

(Three)

The crowd roars, but the sound feels distant. Elara leans on her knees, gasping. "Next maze... spades. Square one." She nods toward the looming black walls. "Heard it's worse. Traps. Not just walls."

A medic approaches, but she waves them off. "Bruises. Nothing fatal." Near the spade maze entrance, the rumpled suit man argues with a technician. "...overloaded the dampening field in the diamond sector! Acorn reinforcement is delayed!" He glares at the maze as if it offended him.

You grab a water pouch. The spade-backed walls look heavier, denser. No reflections here—just matte black swallowing the light. The entrance yawns like a tomb.

"Pressure plates were child's play," a scarred veteran mutters, tightening his gloves. "Spades bite back. Saw a guy lose a foot to a spring-loaded card edge last season."

Elara flexes her raw knuckles. "Stay sharp. Watch the seams between cards. Triggers hide there."

The buzzer blares. You step into the square maze. Instantly, the air chills. Shadows pool deep between the towering black walls. Your first step lands on packed earth — no click. But ten paces in, a faint 'snick' echoes from above.

You dive sideways as a giant spade card drops like a blade, embedding itself where you stood, quivering. Dust billows. "Move!" Elara yanks you up.

Behind you, another competitor isn’t fast enough. A sickening 'crunch' cuts off their scream. You don’t look back.

"Triggers on the walls," Elara hisses, pointing to a hair-thin wire stretched taut between two card seams. She sidesteps it, pressing close to the opposite wall. "Floor’s a death sentence." You follow, eyes scanning every joint.

The path narrows, forcing you single-file. Ahead, a corridor branches left and right. Left glows with faint exit light, but the floor tiles look suspiciously uniform. Right is dim, winding. "Too obvious," you mutter. Elara nods. "Always is." You choose right.

Rounding the corner, you freeze. A competitor lies sprawled, unconscious, a swollen purple bruise blooming on their temple. Above them, a spade card juts out like a crooked shelf, its edge sharp as obsidian.

"Tripwire," Elara whispers, spotting the snapped filament near the victim’s boot. She crouches, checking their pulse. "Alive. But they’re bait." Her eyes dart to the walls flanking the body.

Two seams glisten with something wet and sticky. "Pressure plates under them. Step close to help, and..." She mimes an explosion with her hands.

A choked sob echoes from the dim corridor ahead. "Help me! Please!" a woman’s voice pleads, raw with terror. Elara’s jaw tightens. "Classic spade trap. Lure you in."

She points to a narrow gap where two cards overlap imperfectly, creating a shadowed crawlspace. "Service duct. Safer than the main path."

You squeeze through, the rough cardstock scraping your back. Inside, the air reeks of ozone and machine oil. Distant grinding vibrates the floor.

You emerge near the source of the cries. A competitor is pinned not by a card, but by a snare of thick, thorned vines coiled around her ankle, blood welling where the barbs bite deep.

The vines snake back into a dark crevice in the wall. "It... it grabbed me when I touched that wire!" she gasps, pointing a trembling finger at a severed filament near her hand. Above her, the sharp edge of a spade card gleams menacingly.

"Don’t touch the vines!" Elara warns. "They retract fast. Could take her leg."

The trapped woman — Lira — sobs. "Cut them! Please!" Elara eyes the vines, then the lethal card above. "One wrong tug and that blade drops. Or the vines pull her into the wall."

She scans the seams of nearby cards, fingers brushing a hairline crack. "Here. Weak point." She slams her boot heel against it. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the card buckles inward, revealing pulsing hydraulic lines.

"The vines are mechanical," she breathes. "Find the control conduit. Red valve, probably."

You squeeze into the gap, grease smearing your tunic. The whir of machinery is deafening. Ahead, tangled wires feed into a junction box. Three valves: blue, yellow, red.

"Red one!" Elara shouts. "Turn it counterclockwise!" You grip the cold metal. It resists, then groans open.

Outside, the vines go slack. Lira scrambles free, ankle bleeding. "Go!" Elara barks, shoving her toward the exit glow. "Run straight! Don’t stop!"

But Lira stumbles, her injured leg buckling. A grinding rumble shakes the walls. Above her, the lethal spade card trembles.

"The valve!" Elara snarls. "It triggered something!" You wrench the red valve closed. Too late. The card drops.

Lira screams, diving sideways. The blade shears through her boot heel, embedding in the dirt. She scrambles up, limping but alive. "Move!" you roar.

The three of you sprint down the final corridor, the exit light blinding. Behind you, the maze groans as walls shift violently, sealing the path you just fled.

You burst into the arena, gasping. The timer flashes 12:07. Lira collapses, medics rushing to her bleeding ankle.

Elara leans against a support beam, chest heaving. "Next is hearts. Star-shaped. Heard it’s... psychological." She wipes grease from her cheek. "Walls whisper. Show you things."

(Four)

Before you can respond, the rumpled suit man storms past, jabbing a finger at the star-shaped heart maze. "The dampening field failed in spades! The hearts maze is live and unstable! Delay the start!"

A technician shakes his head, tapping a flickering console. "Containment’s at 12%. If we don’t run it now, the acorn reinforcement collapses entirely." The suit man curses, vanishing behind the curtain.

Elara pushes off the beam, her knuckles bleeding again. "Whispering walls. Great." Lira is carried off on a stretcher, her shredded boot dangling.

The hearts maze looms — a chaotic five-pointed star formed from towering, crimson-backed cards. The surfaces shimmer like liquid, reflecting distorted, warped versions of the bustling arena.

A low, discordant hum vibrates the air, setting your teeth on edge. "Stay close," Elara mutters. "If it shows you... things, shout. Loud."

You step through the entrance. Instantly, the arena's roar vanishes, replaced by oppressive silence. The crimson walls seem to pulse, and the path ahead splits into three twisting arms.

A faint whisper brushes your ear—"Left leads home..." — but it’s Elara’s voice, strained. "You hear that?" she asks, eyes wide. Before you answer, the wall beside her ripples, showing a reflection not of the maze, but of Jax, his legs mangled, screaming soundlessly.

Elara staggers back. "It’s not real," she hisses, turning away. "Keep moving. Center path."

The air thickens with the scent of ozone and rust. Ten paces in, the whispers coalesce into voices you know — a lost friend’s laughter, a mentor’s final warning.

"You failed them," the heart-backed walls murmur as you pass. Your boot scuffs a pressure plate disguised as cracked earth. With a wet 'shunk', the corridor floods ankle-deep with viscous, blood-warm fluid that isn’t water.

"Ignore it!" Elara snaps, wading forward. "It’s sensory overload — tricks the mind!" Ahead, a competitor stands frozen, sobbing as the liquid swirls into the shape of a child’s reaching hands.

"Don’t look!" Elara yanks him sideways just as a spiked card slams down where he stood.

You round a bend where the path splits. The left fork shimmers with golden light and the smell of fresh bread — home. The right is choked with thorned vines dripping the same warm fluid.

"Straight through the vines," Elara growls, tearing a strip from her tunic to wrap her bleeding knuckles. "Illusions prey on desire or fear. Choose neither."

You push into the thorns. Barbs scrape your arms, but the pain is distant, muted by the maze’s hum. The wall ripples, showing Lira’s stretcher vanishing into darkness.

"You could have saved her," Jax’s voice whispers. You slam your fist against the card. "Shut up!" The image fractures like glass.

Ahead, the corridor dead-ends at a sheer crimson wall. "Pressure plate," you warn, spotting a faint depression near the base. Elara crouches, probing the seam.

"Not mechanical. It’s... wet." She recoils as the fluid wells up, forming a handprint. The wall dissolves into a curtain of liquid crimson, revealing a narrow passage.

Beyond it, daylight glows — the exit. But between you and freedom stands a reflection: yourself, bruised and hollow-eyed, holding a broken spade card like a weapon.

"They all slow you down," it rasps with your voice. "Leave her. Win." Elara’s breath hitches. "Don’t listen. That’s not you."

You step forward, boot splashing into the warm fluid. "It’s right about one thing," you say, locking eyes with the twisted reflection. "I will win."

You charge, shoulder lowered, and crash through the liquid illusion. It shatters like glass, drenching you in cold, scentless water. The real exit arch looms, sunlight blinding. Elara stumbles after you, gasping.

"Timer!" she chokes out. You burst into the arena as the display flashes 15:33. The crowd’s roar is muffled, distant. Elara collapses to her knees, retching phantom fluid. "The whispers... they showed me Jax blaming me," she whispers, trembling. "Like it was my fault."

(Five)

A medic rushes over, but Elara waves them off, wiping her mouth. "Just... maze sickness." She staggers upright, knuckles raw and bleeding again.

The final maze — the octagonal Acorn Circuit — dominates the far end of the arena. Its walls are towering, rough-barked panels instead of cards, each inset with a massive, polished wooden acorn emblem.

The air crackles with unstable energy; visible green sparks arc between seams. The rumpled suit man is screaming at technicians. "The dampening field is GONE! Acorn reinforcement is buckling! Cancel the..."

A deafening 'CRACK' cuts him off as a section of acorn wall splinters, showering sparks. Competitors near the entrance scatter.

"Bonus maze," Elara mutters, her voice hoarse. "Looks like it's falling apart before we start." She nods toward the splintered gap. "That's our way in. Forget the entrance arch."

You both push through the panicked crowd, the scent of ozone and burning wood sharp in your nostrils. The damaged wall reveals a jagged opening into a dim, root-choked corridor.

Inside, the air hums with raw power, making your teeth ache. Distant groans echo as the structure shifts.

"This isn't a maze," Elara breathes, ducking under a low-hanging root thick as an arm. "It's a death trap waiting to collapse."

A competitor scrambles past, eyes wild. "The walls are alive! They... " A gnarled root whips out from the seam between two acorn panels, snaring his ankle with a sickening 'crack'. He screams as it yanks him off his feet, dragging him toward a pulsing, moss-covered node embedded in the wall.

"Cut it!" Elara barks, already slamming her boot against a smaller root near the node. "The weak point glows!" You spot it — a faint amber pulse beneath the moss. Drawing a shard of broken spade card from your belt, you drive it deep into the glowing spot.

The root convulses, releasing the man with a wet 'snap'. He limps away without a word, vanishing into the shifting gloom.

"Watch the patterns," Elara pants, pointing to the acorn emblems. "They pulse before they strike." Ahead, the corridor splits around a massive, sparking transformer humming like an angry beehive.

Left curves deeper into shadows thick with creeping roots. Right glimmers with unstable green light — and the distant sound of cheering crowds.

"Right’s a trap," you mutter, eyeing the rhythmic pulse of the acorns flanking the brighter path. "Too direct." Elara nods grimly. "Agreed. Left it is."

The left path narrows, forcing you to sidestep dangling roots slick with sap. A low groan reverberates through the floor as the walls shudder, grinding closer.

"Structural collapse imminent," a distorted automated voice drones from hidden speakers. "Seek designated exits." But there are no exits — only the suffocating press of wood and the ozone stench of failing machinery.

Another competitor’s choked cry echoes nearby, abruptly cut off by a wet 'crunch'. Elara freezes, her knuckles white on a protruding root. "We need to move. Now."

Ahead, a junction glows with eerie green light from sparking conduits. Three paths branch: one choked with thick, writhing roots, another shimmering with a heat-haze mirage of the exit arch, and a third, narrow and dark, reeking of damp earth.

"The mirage is obvious bait," Elara rasps, wiping sap from her eyes. "The root path... suicide. That leaves the dark one." You nod, ducking into the cramped tunnel. The air cools instantly, thick with the smell of soil and decay. Distant, rhythmic thumping vibrates the walls — like a massive heartbeat.

"Pressure?" you whisper, pressing a palm to the shuddering wood. Elara shakes her head, her face pale in the gloom. "Structural. This whole sector's about to..."

A deafening 'crack' splits the air overhead. A rain of splinters and acorn shrapnel pelts down as a section of ceiling groans, buckling inward.

"Run!" Elara shoves you forward just as a colossal root spears through the space where you just stood, spraying fetid sap.

You sprint, boots slipping on the slick floor, the corridor collapsing behind you in a roar of shearing wood.

The tunnel opens abruptly into a wider chamber dominated by a massive, pulsating core — a knot of intertwined roots glowing with unstable green energy.

Sparks dance across its surface, and the thumping is deafening here, shaking your bones. "The heart," Elara breathes, eyes wide. "It's failing."

Across the chamber, the exit arch glows — real, this time — but a lattice of thrashing roots blocks the way. The rumpled suit man stumbles into view from a side passage, clutching a bleeding arm. "The dampening field generator!" he gasps, pointing a shaking finger at the core. "Overload it! It’s the only way to stop the collapse!"

Elara snatches a fallen metal conduit pipe. "Distract the roots!" she shouts, darting toward the core as the suit man scrambles for cover.

The roots lash out like whips, forcing you to dodge and weave. One grazes your shoulder, tearing cloth and skin.

"Eyes on the emblems!" you yell, spotting an acorn panel pulse amber. You kick it hard, and the root recoils with a hiss. Elara jams the pipe into a crack in the core.

"Now! Hit it!" she screams. You slam your boot against the pipe, driving it deeper. The core flares blindingly bright, then erupts in a shower of sparks and splinters.

The roots blocking the exit wither instantly, crumbling to dust. The exit arch beckons, sunlight streaming through.

"Go!" the suit man gasps, limping past you. Elara stumbles, her leg buckling. "Go on!" she rasps, pushing you forward. "I'm right behind!"

You sprint through the arch, the timer flashing 18:02 as you burst into chaos. Medics swarm, the crowd's roar deafening. You turn back — just as the entire acorn maze collapses inward with a thunderous groan, burying the heart chamber in a cloud of dust and splinters. Elara doesn't emerge.

(Six)

"Clear the debris!" the suit man screams, clawing at fallen timbers. "She was right behind you and I!" You join him, heaving aside acorn-panel shards still crackling with residual energy.

A muffled cough echoes from the rubble. "Here!" you shout, spotting a bloodied hand beneath a root beam. Together, you lift it — Elara lies pinned but conscious, her leg twisted at a sickening angle.

"Told you... I'd be right behind," she chokes out, grinning through gritted teeth. Medics rush in with a stretcher as she grips your arm. "Drinks... still on me. But you're... paying for the splint."

The arena announcer’s voice booms, strained. "Final times recorded! The Acorn Circuit... remains unconquered!"

Murmurs ripple through the crowd as technicians swarm the collapsed maze, extinguishing lingering sparks. The rumpled suit man slumps against a scorched acorn emblem, wiping grime from his face.

"Dampening field’s fried. Whole system’s offline until next season." He eyes Elara’s stretcher. "You two caused a lot of headaches. And paperwork." But there’s a grudging respect in his tone. "Report to medical. Then... prizes."

Elara winces as medics stabilize her leg. "Prizes better include painkillers." She glances at the shattered maze, then at you.

"You owe me that drink. And an explanation." Her voice drops. "That core... it wasn’t just failing. It was 'feeding'. On panic. On fear. Felt it when I jammed the pipe in."

She shivers, despite the sun. "This whole event... it’s got teeth deeper than the traps."

The rumpled suit man approaches, holding a scorched ledger. "Name’s Borin. Event coordinator. Supposedly." He flips a page, scowling

"Your times stand. Diamond, 9:18. Spades, 12:07. Hearts, 15:33. Acorn... well, you’re alive." He snaps the ledger shut. "Podium’s that way. Try not to break it."

As he stalks off, a junior technician scurries over, thrusting two heavy velvet pouches into your hands. "Champion’s share! 500 gold marks each!" He beams before darting away.

Elara fingers the pouch, her gaze distant. "Jax’s surgery won’t cover itself." She nods toward medical tents where Lira’s stretcher vanishes behind flaps. "Neither will hers."

The weight of the gold feels suddenly hollow. "That core, Borin’s dampening field... none of it added up," she murmurs, her knuckles whitening around the pouch. "Like the mazes were 'hungry'."

Borin reappears, flanked by stone-faced technicians. "Podium. Now." His voice brooks no argument. The crowd’s murmur dies as you approach the splintered stage. A third podium stands empty — Lira’s, you realize.

Borin shoves a bronze acorn trophy into your hands. "For surviving," he mutters, avoiding Elara’s stretcher. The crowd’s applause feels thin, scattered.

Elara grips your arm as medics lift her stretcher. "Jax’s tent. First," she insists, her voice tight with pain. "Need to see him."

Borin blocks your path. "Medical debrief first. It's Protocol." Elara’s eyes flash. "Your protocol nearly buried me... alive. Move."

Borin hesitates, then steps aside with a curt nod. "One hour. Then my office."

Inside the medical tent, the air reeks of antiseptic and blood. Jax lies pale but awake, his legs encased in shimmering bio-gel casts.

"Heard the acorn maze ate itself," he rasps, forcing a smile. Elara’s stretcher bumps beside his cot. "Took a bite out of me too." She drops her velvet pouch onto his blanket.

"For the real healers. Not this field circus." Jax stares at the gold, then at her twisted leg. "Elara, I can’t..."

"Shut up," she snaps, but her hand finds his. "Just walk again. Drink’s on you when you do."

Borin shoves through the tent flap, scowling. "Debrief. Now." He slaps a damp sensor-pad against your arm before you can protest. It stings, drawing a bead of blood.

"Neural scan. Standard post-maze psych eval." Elara eyes the device suspiciously. "Since when?" Borin avoids her gaze, snatching the pad back as it flashes red.

"Contamination. Core residue. Both of you." He pockets it hastily. "Report to my office after treatment. Don’t wander."

(Seven)

As Borin leaves, a medic approaches Elara with a bone-knitter. "This’ll hurt," he warns. Elara grits her teeth, nodding.

The high-pitched whine of the device mingles with her stifled gasp. "Jax," she manages between clenched jaws, "did they scan you too?" Jax taps his bio-gel cast.

"Twice. Said it was 'energy saturation.' Like the maze left a stain." He lowers his voice. "Borin’s techs were whispering about 'containment breaches' and 'live specimens.'"

You peel back your sleeve where the sensor-pad stung. The puncture glows faintly green, pulsing in time with your heartbeat.

"It’s spreading," you mutter, showing Elara. Thin emerald tendrils now spiderweb from the wound. She examines her own arm — identical marks creeping beneath her skin. "Not residue... Infection."

Outside, a sudden commotion erupts: shouts, then the unmistakable 'crack' of splitting wood. A technician bursts in, face ashen. "The debris pile! It’s... moving!"

Elara struggles upright on her stretcher, ignoring the medic’s protests. "Jax, stay down." She grabs a discarded scalpel. "We need to see."

You push through the tent flap. Near the collapsed acorn maze, splintered timbers are shuddering, rising like a broken spine as thick, glowing roots burst through. They thrash blindly, dripping the same warm fluid from the hearts maze.

Borin backs away, yelling into a comm unit. "Containment team! It’s reactivating!" A root lashes out, snagging a fleeing technician’s leg. He screams as it drags him toward the pulsating mass.

"Cut him loose!" Elara shouts, limping forward with the scalpel. You snatch a fallen metal pole and slam it into the root’s amber weak point. It recoils, dropping the technician.

"The infection," Elara pants, clutching her bandaged leg. "It’s controlling them. Like the core never died." She points at the writhing roots — thin green tendrils pulse beneath their bark, mirroring the marks on your arms.

Borin stumbles toward you, his suit torn. "The dampening field wasn’t for the maze," he gasps. "It was for 'us.' To suppress this... symbiosis when the games ended."

A root whips toward Borin’s throat. You shove him aside, taking the blow across your chest. Pain flares, but the green tendrils under your skin writhe, dulling the ache.

"It’s adapting," Elara mutters, slicing at another root. "Using our fear." The rubble heap groans, rising into a twisted mockery of the acorn maze’s heart chamber.

Distorted faces press against the wood — Jax, Lira, competitors lost in the traps. "Join us," they whisper in unison, the sound vibrating your bones.

Borin yanks a flare gun from his belt. "Cover your eyes!" The flare explodes against the core, bathing everything in blinding white light. The roots shriek, retreating into the shadows.

"Temporary fix," Borin pants, smoke curling from the flare gun. "The symbiosis amplifies with panic. Calm is containment."

He eyes the pulsing tendrils on your arm. "The games... they weren’t just entertainment. We were harvesting resilience. The mazes test limits, and survivors like you... stabilize the system."

Elara limps closer, scalpel raised. "You infected us. On purpose."

Borin doesn’t flinch. "The core was dying. We needed new anchors. You volunteered when you entered the acorn maze." He gestures at the scorched podium. "Your ‘prize’ was the vector."

The rubble heap stirs again, roots coiling like serpents. "It’s feeding on Jax’s fear," Elara realizes, glancing back at the medical tent.

"His pain — it’s resonating." You feel it too — a low thrum in your veins, syncing with the roots’ pulse. "How do we stop it?" you demand.

Borin’s composure cracks. "Overload the symbiosis. Extreme emotion can shatter the link... or fuse you permanently." He nods at Elara’s leg. "Her rage. Your resolve. Weaponize it."

Elara grips your arm, her knuckles white. "Then we give it something to choke on." She limps toward the thrashing mass, scalpel gleaming.

"Hey, lumberjack!" she screams. "You want fear? Try mine!" The roots lunge, but you intercept, driving the metal pole into an amber pulse-point. Sap sprays, sizzling where it lands.

"Now!" Elara plunges the scalpel into her own infected forearm. Green light erupts from the wound, searing the air. The roots recoil, shrieking.

"Are you insane?" Borin shouts, but Elara’s grin is feral. "It feeds on panic? Fine. Let it taste fury." She twists the blade.

The tendrils under her skin flare like live wires, arcing toward the core. You slam your palm against the pulsing infection on your chest, focusing every shred of will into one thought: 'End this'.

(Eight)

The roots convulse, faces in the wood contorting in agony. "It’s working!" you grit out. But the core adapts. A root thick as a tree trunk smashes down, shattering the ground between you.

"Weak," the chorus of trapped voices hisses. "Your fear is deeper." Jax’s face presses against the bark, eyes wide with terror from the medical tent. The distraction costs you — a whip-thin root wraps your ankle, yanking you off your feet.

Elara lunges, scalpel flashing, but another root pins her injured leg. She screams, raw and guttural.

"Let him GO!" Borin roars, firing his last flare. It arcs into the core’s pulsing knot. The light isn’t blinding this time—it’s consumed.

The roots swell, glowing brighter, hungrier. You feel the symbiosis deepen; the green tendrils spread up your neck like ivy. Panic claws at your throat, but you force it down, locking eyes with Elara.

"The pole!" you choke out, spotting it just out of reach. "Weak point... under it!"

Elara understands. She stops struggling against the root pinning her leg. Instead, she slams her fist 'hard' into her own infected wound.

Agony whites out her vision, but the raw, unfiltered surge of her pain floods the symbiosis link. The roots shudder, momentarily stunned by the overload.

"DO IT!" she gasps, blood welling between her fingers.

You twist violently, fingers scraping the cold metal of the pole. The root tightens around your ankle — bones grinding — but you ignore it, driving the pole like a spear into the damp earth beneath the pulsing core.

It strikes something solid — glass? — with a sharp 'crack'. Green light pulses erratically, then begins to drain downward.

"The dampener's remains!" Borin shouts, scrambling back. "You're draining it!"

The root holding you slackens as the core dims. You wrench free, rolling toward Elara just as the root pinning her leg withers and crumbles to dust.

She gasps, clutching her bleeding arm. "Not... done," she rasps, pointing. The distorted faces in the wood are fading, but the core's light is coalescing into a single, searing point above the puncture you made.

"It's collapsing in on itself!" Borin yells. "Back to the tents!"

A low hum builds, vibrating the earth. The remaining roots recoil like scorched snakes, retreating into the shattered dampener cavity.

The green tendrils under your skin flare hot, then ice-cold — a final pulse before going dormant.

"The link..." Elara whispers, watching her own markings fade to faint scars. "It's severed."

(Nine)

Borin staggers to the puncture site, peering into the gloom. "Not collapsed. Contained."

Below, a lattice of fractured glass glimmers, cradling swirling green energy. "The original dampener chamber. It sealed the breach."

He turns, eyes haunted. "This was never about games. It was containment. The mazes... they're ancient. We just... repurposed them."

Elara spits blood, her scalpel trembling. "You used us as bait."

"Anchors," Borin corrects weakly. "The symbiosis needs strong wills to stabilize the core. When it destabilized..." He gestures at the scarred earth.

"We panicked. Sent you in." The green light below pulses softly, casting long shadows. "It's dormant. For now."

You touch your arm where the tendrils have faded to thin, pale lines. "And this?"

"Residual energy," Borin mutters. "Harmless, if contained. But if you feel rage, terror... it might wake."

He avoids Elara’s burning glare. "Leave. Take the gold. Never speak of this."

Elara laughs, a harsh, broken sound. "You think we’ll just vanish? Jax is still in that tent, his legs shattered by your anchors."

She stabs a finger toward the dampener pit. "And what about the next fools who enter your 'games'? Will you infect them too when this thing stirs again?"

Borin’s composure finally shatters. "There won’t be another season! The acorn maze is rubble, the dampener’s compromised!"

He scrubs a hand over his face, smearing grime amid his exhaustion. "The board will shut it down. Bury it. Literally." He gestures at the technicians already hauling earth-movers toward the pit. "Concrete. Ten meters thick. By dawn."

Elara’s grip tightens on your arm, her knuckles white against the fading green scars. "And us? What happens when this... 'thing' inside us wakes up hungry?" She glares at the pulsating light below.

"You turned us into living dampeners. We deserve answers."

Borin flinches, pulling a small data-slate from his torn jacket. "Here. Encrypted access codes. Research logs from the first containment breach twenty years ago." He shoves it into your hands. "It’s all there. The symbiosis origins. Suppression protocols. How to live with it."

His voice drops to a ragged whisper. "Now go. Before security realizes I’ve just handed you the keys to the apocalypse."

You pocket the slate, its weight cold against your thigh. "Jax and Lira," you press. "Their infections?"

Borin shakes his head, watching as earth-movers begin dumping concrete into the pit with a grinding roar. "Dormant. Like yours. Unless..." He hesitates, eyes darting to Elara’s bandaged leg. "Extreme trauma could reignite it. Tell them to avoid... strong emotions."

Elara scoffs bitterly. "Right. Tell a man who can’t walk to ‘stay calm.’"

A medic approaches, eyeing Elara’s bleeding arm. "We need to seal that." She pulls away sharply. "No sedatives. No painkillers." Her gaze locks onto Borin. "Wouldn’t want to dull anything."

Borin flinches, turning back to the containment pit as the green light flickers beneath the pouring concrete. "Go. Security patrols sweep this sector in five minutes."

You help Elara limp toward the medical tent, the data-slate heavy in your pocket.

A transport vehicle is there ready to take them wherever they wish to go. Once the others are loaded, you whisper to Elara, "Let's go get that drink.

She replies, "As long as it's not green!"

THE END