The sound of me striking the shield’s metal rim with a faulty axe cut through the musty atmosphere, startling those nearby. My efforts didn’t go unnoticed, and soon enough, all eyes were trained on me. From a general estimate, there were around a hundred participants taking part in the trial. It was held annually just that the scale had been enhanced this year because of the tri-annual metnaðr-raun. You needed community celebrations to keep the people happy and content with their otherwise monotonous lives. Strong social bonds were paramount to a functional society, especially one that hung in the balance like this one. Who would have guessed that the key to uniting people and achieving long-lasting peace was not the complete absence of conflict but the perpetual threat of eradication? Ironic.

Children, not just from my class but also others, were present here, who made up the group’s bulk. It was to be expected as most could not develop the required skills or confidence to pass in such a short period. It usually took two or even three years, with girls generally taking longer than boys. Those talented or prepared individuals would mostly pass after one or two attempts, while the others just hoped they got through by chance. There was no limit to the number of times one could enter the Vesperal Labyrinth, but at a certain point, the weight of failure forced people to accept the inevitable, and they could only pray that their offspring might break the cycle. Of course, there was also an age limit that I did not bother finding out as it was inconsequential to me.

Seeing their displeased faces, I spoke lest they turn into a violent mob, with me as the target of ire, my voice rising as time went on. “Everyone heed my plight. It is unfair. It’s unfair how those with privilege are at an advantage before the trial even starts! Look at them,” I pointed towards a few individuals wearing leather armour and light padding, “this is meant to be a test that seeks to determine our level of earthbending ability! Why are they allowed to wear armour that softens the challenges while we aren’t!? Shouldn’t we all get the same equipment!?”

My words caused the less clothed individuals to rethink who their true allies are. Heated discussions sprung up as friends and strangers alike began questioning the target of my comments. A few apt individuals tried to cool the rising temperature once they saw the writing on the wall, but why would I let them? “Look at me! I am just like you all!” I yelled, pointing toward my clothes. “This may be our only chance at a better life for ourselves and our families, but we can’t even catch a break here. Not only do we get trampled by the wealthy every day, but the one time we are meant to be treated as equals, they find a way to deny us of that right!” The room was split sometime during my speech, those with armour to my left, the rest to my right.

“D-Don’t listen to him!”

“He’s just trying to trick you into fighting us!”

“The instructors will come if you try anything!

“I don’t care! He’s right!”

“My mother is sick! I have to pass!

“The fewer of you there is, the better chance we have of passing!”

“I always hated how you looked down on me!”

Similar scenes took place as friends and allies turned against each other. The stage was set, and all it needed was its call for action. “The room has been sealed. No one will come to their rescue! Victory is solely for those who are bold enough to take it! Are we to be treated no better than the dirt they trod on for our whole lives, or do we fight! Fight for your chance! Fight for your loved ones! Fight for glory and honour! Fffiiigggghhhhttt!” I roared, setting the proverbial powder keg alight.

“Strip them of everything!”

“Ccchhhhaaarrgggeee!”

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”

The unarmoured surged forth, shields and weapons raised as they crashed into their mortal enemies. Despite the inherent handicap, they still outnumbered the other side two to one and soon began the gain an advantage. These kids had no combat training or experience at all, the most they had were basic earthbending techniques, but that was useless in such a confined space. With no earthbending to rely on and a relentless throng of opponents beating down on them, many fell while the remainder opted to hunker down and endure the assault in hopes that the instructors would come to their aid.

I stood atop the pedestal, admiring my handiwork. ‘Phase one went by without a hitch. If only the next part was even half as easy,’ I thought while hopping down, slinking towards the area where the exit into the arena was. The unarmoured had begun fighting with each other about who gets to wear what when the door finally slid open. A long tunnel illuminated by the odd torch stretched ahead of me as I heard the echoes of the crowds in the distance. I walked into the darkness, leaving the shouts, swears, and chaotic battle melody behind.

A difference in status. An antithetical opinion. Even just because the air was fresher or the grass greener, it did not matter. All you needed was a timely push. With all its unbound potential, the human race has never failed to succumb to the darkness dwelling in us all. Every man was born with a seed that, throughout their life, would be watered, nurtured and grown. Some would become great trees, others not so much, but what truly mattered was neither width of canopy nor lofty stature, for our essence lay deeper. Blight festered beneath the surface, twisting, corrupting, a gaping hollow that begged for more. More wealth, more power, more love.

Some make peace with it, uniting with those around them to keep it at bay, while others drown in pleasure and decadence, numbing themselves from the sensation of being eaten alive. But what happens to those with neither the steady hand of support nor the curse of abundance? Those unsatisfied with their lot in life? They would turn outwards, intent on filling the gnawing hole with whatever they could, and what better morsel than other trees? The work was already done. Bark and leaves ripe for the taking, with axe in hand, all that was needed was an excuse. A means to justify their heinous deeds of snuffing out another’s purpose. And that was precisely what I gave them, immature minds pressured by the strenuous circumstances to abet those whispers of liberation.

Returning to the present.

Boos arose out of every corner of Jörðgard, lost to an ever dimming sky, as my figure stepped into the light. Though the labyrinth’s stone walls blocked my view—rising to about two and a half times my height—the crowds I had seen on my way here, in addition to the noise, made it clear that most of the city was in attendance. The more, the merrier, I do not intend to make a spectacle of myself very often, preferably ever, but rare was it when the wishes of men were answered. Straightening my clothes and making sure the shield on my left arm and the spare on my back were secure, I raised a hand quelling the crowd’s swelling dissent. Air rushed into my nostrils, filling my chest till it could inflate no more.

I let rip, the force straining vocal cords and singeing throat. “Only those I deem worthy will pass!” The masses were stunned into silence for the better half of a few breaths, the sound of short footfalls as I jogged ahead being all that was heard. It did not take long for them to recover, though, erupting into a frenzy like children throwing a tantrum.

Maintaining a steady pace, not too fast or too slow, I followed the twists and turns of the labyrinth. The beauty of this trial was that, unlike a maze with multiple paths, a labyrinth had one, and all I needed to do to reach the end was keep moving forward. It would be foolish to expect children to navigate a maze filled with traps in dim light, only a handful would pass, and even that would be dependent on chance more than skill.

From what uncle Fjǫrnir told me, the real challenge was not the various hazards that needed to be overcome but the concealed traps one had to look out for along the way. Many would fall prey to them first physically, then mentally, prompting them to give up and drop out. This was a gruelling course that tested body and mind, as one without the other was useless, a sentiment I wholly agreed with. I believe the way trainer Galti put it was, “our mind is the base upon which we command the earth, and it can only be moved by that which is harder and more rigid”. His teachings had helped me begin forming a mentality and psyche that I envisioned to be a fortress in the end.

As I turned a corner, the wall on the far end slid open and let loose a boulder. Instantly turning back, I saw the neighbouring wall shift to bar my exit. With no escape, I faced the rolling stone, searching for a solution as it continued picking up speed. It quite perfectly fit the dimensions of the path, leaving no space at the edges for me to squeeze through and the fact that it was accelerating while not scraping on the walls told me it was likely being controlled by someone—the referees. If more people were here, we could work together to slow it down; however, I was alone. The distance between me and the boulder kept decreasing as my brain spun in search of a way out.

My countenance hardened in resolution as I decided on a plan of action. I sprinted towards the charging rock, wind whipping my hair, butterflies in my stomach. Sliding to a stop, I reached forward and lifted the earth before me, forming a makeshift ramp that I promptly crouched in front of, shield protectively overhead. I would use the rock’s force against itself, launching it right over me; that was the expectation, at least.

The crowds faded into the distance, magnifying the distinctive sound of grinding stone, leather straps moaning in protest as I tightened my grip on the shield, waiting. The moment arrived like a clap of thunder, leaving no time to register its presence, a dark shadow engulfing my form. Every muscle and tendon in my body clenched in preparation to bear the full brunt of the tumbling stone.

The pitter-patter of gravel striking the shield’s surface was all I was subjected to, each one making my heart skip a beat. Despite held breath, no crushing weight reared its head, the boulder careening through the air, landing a ways behind me. The ground shivered from the impact, sand and gravel flung high into the air, tainting my view. I dashed out of the dust cloud, hand over mouth and nose, eyes sizzling. Reaching the end of the corridor, I was met with a dead end instead of a forward path. It had been closed off, similarly to when I first entered this section. Slamming my fist into the cold stone surface, I cried out, “Hey! Open up! I completed the section!” My pleas went unheard as the dreadful sound of scraping stone made a resurgence.

Out of the corner of my vision, I saw the boulder spring to life, heading in the opposite direction. “Shit! What the hell are they doing!” I growled. The referees perched atop the walls were not just there to minimise injury and prevent cheating but to also operate these traps. From this, I knew that everything happening was done deliberately and with complete control, which left me stranded. If they were targeting me, who could stop them in time? If I got injured and had to drop out of the running, I would be held back a year, all my plans coming to a halt. This while ignoring the unforeseen repercussion I would face from those around me.

My pupils darted back and forth, searching, calculating. The wall was too thick to break through, my fist barely denting its surface. I could use another ramp, but what happens if it rolls back towards me again? Will it even work a second time? I doubt the referees would allow that to happen. The boulder grew more imposing with each breath, leaving me with no other choice. My vision crawled upward—I knew what had to be done. Straps fastening shield to arm were loosened with urgency, fingers imitating crazed musician amid coda. Ripping my arm out, I held it in the same way one would a throwing disc, twirling in position before hurling it over the wall. A clawed hand flew forward, fingers piercing stone like soft butter. With my goal firmly in sight, I began my ascent.