Chapter 31: The Labyrinth's Heart

The room Caelum stepped into felt alive, a pulsating entity that both invited and repelled him. Its shape defied geometry, a shifting amalgam of sharp angles and fluid curves. The air was heavy with the scent of something metallic and ancient, as though the walls themselves were bleeding memories.

Dante stood at the room's center, his figure half-shrouded in the flickering light of a massive, fragmented chandelier. Each shard of glass reflected a distorted version of him—some smiling, others snarling, one weeping.

“Welcome,” Dante said, his voice carrying an edge of mockery but undercut with something softer. “This is where everything begins and ends.”

Caelum hesitated, his gaze darting to the walls. They were covered in intricate carvings—images of faces, scenes of anguish and ecstasy, symbols he couldn’t decipher but felt he should know. The carvings shifted when he looked too long, morphing into something unrecognizable.

“What is this place?” Caelum asked, his voice hoarse.

“The labyrinth’s heart,” Dante replied. “Your heart. Every corner, every shadow of this mansion leads here. It’s the truth you’ve been running from.”

Caelum’s breath quickened. He turned toward one of the carvings, a figure that looked achingly familiar—a child cradling a shattered mirror. “I don’t understand. Is this… me?”

Dante moved closer, his steps echoing unnaturally. “You’ve spent so long trying to separate yourself from what you were, what you’ve done. But it’s all here, Caelum. Every failure, every betrayal, every fragment of yourself you tried to discard.”

The carvings began to glow faintly, and Caelum flinched as they came to life. The child in the carving began to weep, the sound piercing and raw. A nearby image—a figure standing over a broken body—shimmered, and Caelum recoiled as he recognized himself in the figure’s face.

“No,” he whispered. “This isn’t real. It’s the mansion. It’s playing tricks.”

Dante laughed softly, though there was no malice in it. “The mansion is you, Caelum. It doesn’t lie—it only reflects.”

The room shifted, the floor beneath Caelum’s feet tilting as though rejecting his presence. He stumbled, and suddenly, the walls opened into a sprawling gallery. Hundreds of mirrors lined the space, each one showing a different version of himself. Some were young and carefree, others bloodied and broken. One was impossibly old, its eyes brimming with unspeakable regret.

“You’re afraid of looking,” Dante said, his voice sharp now. “You’re afraid that if you see too much, you’ll shatter. But you’re already broken, aren’t you?”

Caelum turned on him, rage flashing in his eyes. “And what about you? You act like you know everything, but you’re just as much a part of this as I am. Who even are you, Dante?”

Dante’s expression flickered, his mask of confidence faltering for the briefest moment. “I am the voice you silenced. The shadow you cast away. I am you, and I am not. I am what’s left when you strip everything else away.”

The words sent a chill down Caelum’s spine. He wanted to argue, to deny, but the mansion’s oppressive weight made it impossible. The mirrors around him began to crack, thin lines spiderwebbing across their surfaces.

“Stop it!” Caelum shouted, his voice echoing. “I can’t—I can’t do this!”

Dante stepped forward, his eyes blazing. “You must. The only way out is through. Look.”

He grabbed Caelum by the shoulders and turned him toward a mirror that remained unbroken. The reflection showed a version of Caelum on his knees, surrounded by flames. In his hands was a mask, its surface pristine and blank.

“What does it mean?” Caelum asked, his voice trembling.

“That’s up to you,” Dante said. “You’ve spent your life hiding behind masks, constructing identities to protect yourself from the truth. But now you have to decide—do you take it off, or do you let it consume you?”

The flames in the mirror spread outward, and the heat became real. The room dissolved into chaos, the mirrors shattering one by one. Caelum fell to his knees, clutching his head as the voices returned, louder than ever.

“Failure.”
“Monster.”
“Nothing.”

“No!” Caelum screamed, his voice raw. “I’m not nothing!”

The voices stopped, and for a moment, there was silence. Dante knelt beside him, his gaze steady. “Then prove it.”

Caelum looked up, his eyes meeting Dante’s. For the first time, he saw not an enemy or a tormentor, but something closer to himself. Slowly, he stood, his body trembling but his resolve hardening.

“I will,” he said, his voice steady. “I don’t know how, but I will.”

Dante smiled faintly, his expression unreadable. “Good. Then let’s begin.”