Leo was lying there, still conscious — barely. One hand gripped the axe handle protruding from his abdomen, as if holding it in place was the only thing keeping him from fainting.

  Blood soaked his tunic, slow and dark.

  Bert stared at the weapon. “I didn’t —”

  “I know,” Leo breathed.

  Satyr Leo dropped to his knees beside him, examining without touching. His fingers hovered just above the wound, feeling the magic in it.

  “This is… complicated,” he said quietly.

  “That’s one word for it,” Harlada muttered.

  “The axe is recalling,” Satyr Leo continued. “Half here. Half bound to him.” He glanced at Bert.

  Bert instinctively tightened his grip. The metal shimmered faintly.

  “If it completes the recall,” Satyr Leo said, steady but grave, “it will fully materialize.”

  “In him,” Singing Harlada whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Silence tightened.

  Casting Harlada swallowed hard. “So we pull it out.”

  Satyr Leo shook his head. “If we remove it now, the wound will open fully. He will bleed out before I can stabilize him.”

  Healing potions were already in Bert’s shaking hands.

  “They won’t help,” Satyr Leo said. “They’ll close tissue around the blade. That makes it worse.”

  Leo managed a thin smile. “Strategically… unpleasant.”

  Bloodied Bert stepped closer, horrified. “So what do we do?”

  “We move,” Satyr Leo answered. “Communal room. More space. Less chaos.”

  Bert looked up sharply. “I will scout for traps.”

  “You can’t leave his side,” Satyr Leo corrected. “If you move too far, the axe will complete the recall.”

  As if proving the point, the metal flickered when Bert shifted back an inch.

  He took a step toward Leo immediately.

  “Okay,” he said hoarsely. “I’m here. I’m not moving.”

  Leo’s face distorted from the pain when they picked him.

  All of them moved at once to steady him.

  Slowly, carefully, they began walking toward the communal room — To save a helpless Leo in a maze built for dying.

  Satyr Leo looked at Harlada And Bert. opened his mouth to say something but halfway gave up the entire motion. Worry carried his brow.

  ***

  They moved slowly through the corridor, everyone carried a Leo, sharing the burden. Every step was measured. Every flicker of the axe made Bert flinch.

  Bloodied Bert walked close, eyes fixed on the floor.

  “It was her,” he said finally.

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  No one asked who.

  “The devil variant. The horned Harlada. She put us under something. We didn’t even see her move.”

  Casting Harlada swallowed. “I remember laughing.”

  Singing Harlada nodded weakly. “And then just… the words.”

  “The Maze kills,” Bloodied Bert whispered. “Over and over.”

  “I’m sorry,” he added. “I should have...”

  “Stop apologising,” Harlada snapped.

  He blinked.

  “You were enchanted,” she continued, sharper than intended. “This isn’t fixed by you bleeding guilt all over the floor.”

  Bloodied Bert nodded once, chastened.

  “She’s not here to win,” he said quietly. “Not like us.”

  They turned a corner carefully.

  “She hunts,” he finished. “Not the Maze. Not progression.”

  He looked up at Leo, pale but steady.

  ***

  They reached the communal room.

  The doors slid shut behind them with a heavy finality.

  The Unibrows were already there.

  All three turned at once.

  They saw the blood.

  They saw the axe.

  They rushed forward without hesitation.

  Unibrow Leo reached Leo first. His single brow tightened as he took in the wound. His gaze shifted to Satyr Leo.

  No words.

  Just the question.

  Satyr Leo held his stare.

  Then nodded.

  Small.

  Sad.

  Unibrow Leo understood.

  Unsavable.

  Bert did not.

  “No,” he said immediately. “No, that’s not— you can fix this. You fix things.”

  Satyr Leo didn’t answer.

  Bert grabbed him by the front of his tunic. “Heal him!”

  “Bert...” Harlada tried.

  “You healed them!” Bert shouted. “Do it again!”

  “I cannot,” Satyr Leo said quietly. “Not this.”

  Bert’s breath turned ragged. Rage rose fast and blind. “Then try harder!”

  Harlada stepped forward, voice breaking. “Anything. Please. Even if the odds are nothing. Even if it costs— anything.”

  Satyr Leo closed his eyes for a moment.

  When he opened them, they were wet.

  “There is nothing to close,” he said softly. “The blade occupies the wound. Remove it and he bleeds out. Leave it and the recall will finish.”

  The Unibrows stood still.

  Then, slowly, they looked down at their feet.

  One stepped toward Harlada.

  She shoved him back.

  “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t you dare.”

  Another tried.

  She struck his chest with both hands. “Fix it! You’re the careful ones! Fix it!”

  They did not argue.

  They stepped forward a third time.

  This time they wrapped their arms around her.

  She fought for a second.

  Then broke.

  A sound tore out of her — not a scream, not a word.

  A wail.

  She collapsed into their hold, fingers clutching fabric, then slid down and curled into the corner of the room, shaking.

  Bert still stood over Leo, trembling.

  “I won’t let you,” he whispered.

  Satyr Leo raised the flute.

  The melody was soft this time. Not sharp. Not cutting.

  Gentle.

  Bert’s breathing slowed.

  His knees buckled.

  He sank to the floor beside Leo and fell into an exhausted, enchanted sleep.

  Silence filled the chamber.

  Bloodied Bert.

  Singing Harlada.

  Casting Harlada.

  The three Unibrows.

  Satyr Leo.

  They stood in a loose circle around Leo.

  Leo’s hand still gripped the axe handle to keep it steady.

  His breathing was shallow now.

  Satyr Leo looked at Unibrow Leo.

  Unibrow Leo nodded once.

  They all understood.

  Two outcomes.

  A slow, tearing recall.

  Or a deliberate removal.

  One long and agonizing.

  One quick.