Marschal had to weave through the crowd to catch up to his newfound companions.

"Ah!" The swordswoman's lips burst into a bright smile. "There you are!"

He responded with a small nod as he struggled to keep up with her and the other Paravellan warriors.

The swordswoman named Nivere gestured to her red-haired friend and spoke in Paravella, the native tongue of the Empire. "That's Segott."

Segott offered a disinterested nod before Nivere gestured to the much larger man with the golden beard. "And this is Sicaros. He can be a little-"

Without warning, the large man named Sicaros suddenly grabbed and lifted Marschal up by his shoulders and shook him violently. The scrawny Paravellan's sense of being attacked warred with his vision of the jovial smile beaming from the large man's beard. Suddenly, a bellowing laugh erupted from his chest which elicited strange looks from the nearby moving crowd.

"Another brother of the Empire! Ha!" roared the golden-bearded warrior.

"Sicaros, put him down," urged Nivere. "You're attracting attention."

The brute promptly placed Marschal back down like a vase he had finished inspecting at a merchant's shop. With a smile still on his face, Sicaros nodded before they all started moving again.

"You're a skinny little thing, aren't you?" said Sicaros as he studied Marschal with a furrowed brow.

"Sorry about that," Nivere apologized. "He can be a little...boisterous."

"It's fine," Marschal responded in his native tongue.

He noticed Sicaros glancing at his sword. "That's an interesting weapon you have there. It seems too big for you."

"Oh," the young Paravellan looked back at his sword as though he had just noticed it there. "Yes."

"May I?" asked Sicaros while reaching for the blade.

Marschal flinched back. "S-sorry."

Nivere and her friends raised their brows at his response.

"It's...it's my brother's blade," he explained himself. "I don't like other people touching it."

Sicaros and Nivere share a glance.

"I hope you understand," said Marschal.

The three warriors fell silent for a moment before Nivere broke it with a sigh.

"We understand," Nivere bowed her head. "We meant no offense."

"No offense was taken." With that, Marschal punctuated an end to the discussion.

The swordswoman smiled. However, the young Paravellan noticed the red-haired man, Segott, studying him with a critical eye. Marschal instinctively averted his gaze, pretending he didn't notice his skeptical expression.

Marschal then noticed the Factory gates ahead of him begin to congest with a slowing crowd.

"What's happening here?" Sicaros asked, peering up ahead.

"Why have they stopped moving?" Nivere asked.

"Move!" shouted the golden-bearded brute, intent on finding his own answers as he bulled his way through the packed swarm. "Out of the way! Come on!"

The crowd didn't need to understand the large man's tongue to give him what he wanted. Marschal followed after Nivere and the red-haired warrior through the path of Sicaros' wake.

What was happening? Was there an accident already? Was this stupid test already starting?

With these thoughts plaguing his mind, it wasn't until the daylight suddenly vanished above him did Marschal realize he had crossed the threshold and entered the Iron Factory itself. It took a while for the young Paravellan's eyes to adjust to the darkness of the building's interior. He could see the shape of the surrounding crowd and felt their bodies brushing past him as he made his way forward.

When he bumped into a solid object in front of him, Marschal thought he had lost track of Nivere and the others. But with a second look, he realized he had collided into Nivere's back. After he maneuvered and situated himself beside his fellow Paravellans, he was shocked to find himself on the frontline of the entire crowd peering up at the Factory around him.

The first thing he noticed was the vast empty space that stretched out ahead of the swarmed entrance. A flat field of iron that disappeared into the distant darkness. The only thing he could see at the opposite end of the Factory was a glint of light shaped like a small door, presumably the exit to this challenge.

Which led to the question: Where was the labyrinth? Were they supposed to head towards the small faraway light?

Something wasn't right.

He then glimpsed the lines etched onto the metal floor. There was enough light pooling in from the entrances to make out the lines on the floor forming a series of rigid yet decorative pattern on the iron surface.

Marschal looked around to see if he could uncover any other clues inside the enormous building. Apart from the high ceiling and the empty darkness, all he could really make out was what seemed to be a high balcony rail lining the far walls of the Factory. However, it was too far away for the young Paravellan to be sure.

The crowd slowly and cautiously poured into the empty expansive building. An unorganized cluster of people began to form at the entrance. Yet, Marschal noticed an invisible line keeping the front of the crowd back. No one wanted to venture too far into the Factory. Marschal shared a glance with Nivere and the others before staring back up at the deep shadows of the building.

Sicaros narrowed his eyes at the distant light glittering at the opposite end of the Iron Factory. He then turned back to face the crowd. Then back at the Factory again.

"...What are we waiting for?" asked the large man as he took a step forward.

"Wait." Instinct forced the word from his mouth.

To his surprise, Sicaros stopped.

Suddenly burdened by a crowd of curious eyes, Marschal hurriedly buried his hands into his pockets to scrummage its contents. Where was it? His fingers fumbled against the fabric until he eventually felt the warm metal brush his skin. When he pulled the shield coin out, he held it out in front of him. He then flicked it up in the air and watched it fly further into the abyssal building.

The sharp clinks of its landing echoed eerily into the dead silence.

...Nothing.

What did he expect? A trap?

Murmurs began to rise in the crowd as Marschal mulled over his thoughts.

There was supposed to be a labyrinth here. Where was it? The exit on the opposite end of the building continued to glint in the distant darkness. It reminded Marschal of the fish he read about as a child that lured its prey using a bright light dangling from its head.

This was too easy.

However, the crowd seemed satisfied with the coin test. Enough to feel confident in venturing onwards into the iron maw. Marschal and his Paravellan companions stood by as the mass of people trickled past them. He glanced past the moving bodies to meet Nivere's eyes staring back at him with a raised brow as if to ask, 'what now?'

Marschal could only shrug in response. What else could they do? Leaving most certainly wasn't an option.

In unspoken agreement, Nivere and Marschal cautiously followed the large group, as though being carried away by a slow-moving river. Sicaros and Segott also followed in a similar pace.

After several minutes walking across the metal floor through the blanket of darkness, it was difficult to discern how far they had travelled. Were they even halfway there? The door of light was still a glowing fleck, clearly a sign of how far they needed to go.

Marschal found it difficult to see but he could still feel the crowd brushing past him and hear their murmuring voices slightly echo in the iron cavern. He could sense the wariness in everyone's step, the collection of slow gaits.

The soles of his feet occasionally traced the lines etched onto the metal floor. Since the entrance to the Factory, Marschal noticed that most of the lines ran in parallel pairs.

After several more minutes traversing the floor, Marschal began to realize the light of the exit gradually growing brighter. Was he imagining it?

No. There was enough light for the young Paravellan to glimpse a man at the front of the crowd glancing at the people beside him. The man's pace then suddenly quickened, sending him noticeably further ahead of the group. But Marschal wasn't the only one who noticed.

Several more walkers were inspired by the man in front and began emulating and matching his pace. All of which resulted in a cluster of people shuffling faster and faster towards the bright goal ahead. What, at first, began as a surge of power walking slowly evolved into a swarm of light jogging.

Until it eventually broke out into full-blown running. Suddenly, Marschal found himself bracing against a frenzied crowd stampeding to the exit.

He could hear Sicaros howling over the rushing swarm. "Bastards! They'll reach the end before we do!"

Sicaros was poised to run off with them when instinct once again forced Marschal to shout, "No!"

Again, to his surprise, not only did Sicaros obey, but the young Paravellan also found Nivere and Segott looking at him as well. He couldn't help but shrink beneath their questioning gazes. Did he speak too harshly? Did it sound too much like an order? Was that too brazen? Too rude?

"Why not?" Nivere demanded.

That was a good question. Why shouldn't they be trying to reach the exit?

"W-well......I just think..."

It was all just too.........simple.

Before he could place the thought into words, he noticed the long-railed balcony up above, lining the edge of the far wall. And there was just enough light for him to see a row of cloaked forge elves peering down at them from their perch. They then raised their hands above their dark heads, which lit up into red-golden flames. At the same time, orbs of fire materialized between each of their raised open palms. From a distance, the display had the appearance of a line of candles illuminating the ceiling of the Iron Factory. Marschal whipped around to notice the opposite wall mirroring the same use of fire magic on a similar balcony. The same above the exit.

What were they doing?

He glimpsed movement from above. When the elves turned around, only then did he see the holes on the metal wall behind them; one for each elf. Marschal watched as the orbs of flame hovering between each of their palms were all simultaneously shoved into the holes. As a result, a deep resonant hum bellowed and reverberated throughout the Iron Factory like the sound of giant metal parts grinding against each other. The young Paravellan continued to watch the elves wave their hands at the furnaces they had created from the holes. Flaming script appeared on the rim of the round wall furnaces though it was too far for Marschal to read clearly. It also didn't help that the rims were rotating like wheels and seemingly in accordance with the way the elves were waving their hands. Embers flurried from their burning hair and drifted down into the crowd below.

While a few people stopped to notice the elves working above them, many more people continued to dash to the exit within their reach. With a crowd of eyes glued to the forge elves, Marschal suddenly felt a subtle warmth beneath his shoes. He peered down to see fiery light glowing through the lines etched into the metal. Where the Paravellan once strained to see through the darkness of the Factory, now he found himself witnessing a sea of people bathed in red-gold light from below. Marschal noticed the fiery lines on the floor running up the walls of the Factory and towards the elves in the balconies, connected to the furnaces that grew hotter and brighter with each wave of their hand. He peered back down at the floor lines to discern its pattern. The Paravellan was sure the lines formed a shape of some kind. To him, they seemed almost like they were......

His eyes suddenly widened.

Marschal quickly navigated his way through the mass of people until he caught Nivere's eye staring back at him. He then frantically pointed at the lines below their feet.

"MOVE! Move away from the lines!"

No sooner did he shout the warning, a metallic roar bellowed throughout the Factory as an iron wall shot up from the floor and blocked the exit. The Paravellan was nowhere near the wall but he could feel its scorching heat pushing up against his skin from where he stood. Ominous, jagged lines of molten light decorated the surface of the new construct, mirroring the lines on the floor. It rose all the way up until the top of the wall smashed into the Factory's ceiling with a deep echoing thud.

Suddenly, another wall rose up perpendicular to the first. Its sudden appearance sent people flying back while others were carried up by its rise until they eventually fell to their death or were pulverized the moment the wall connected with the ceiling. More screams pierced the air as more and more metal, fire-lined obstructions emerged from their slumber. Marschal noticed the deep sound of iron grating against iron from behind him and he whipped around to see more iron walls populating the rest of the Factory interior, shimmering with heat.

The swarm of people that were gazing up at the elves or heading to the exit were now scurrying like ants in the rain. The young Paravellan hurried towards Nivere and the others. This wasn't the time to be separated from them.

When he finally reached them, another iron wall erupted from behind the trio of warriors bringing with it a cascade of falling bodies unlucky enough to be standing in the wrong spot when the floor ascended beneath them. Marschal braced himself against the blast of scorching heat radiating from the lines grooved into the new metal constructs. He felt another blast of abrasive heat from behind as another wall reared up from the iron surface. The young Paravellan inched himself away from the heat of the rising parallel walls until he stood in the center of the newly formed corridor. Eventually the iron barricades halted with an abrupt clang from above.

Marschal and the other Paravellans could only stand there silently in the palpable heat, listening to the ruthless thuds of erected metal accompanied by screams of agony in the distance.

Then, eventually.........

......silence.

Time passed before the violent heat from the iron walls began to dissipate and dull down. But it still offered enough light to see in the darkness. As though the metal had finally been sated from their emergent chaos and were now resuming their slumber.

Nivere and her friends shuffled around, gazing up at the new constructs surrounding them.

"What is this?" asked the swordswoman.

Marschal approached the wall and pressed his fingers delicately onto the lines grooved into the metal and started tracing it upwards with his hand.

"This......is the Labyrinth," answered the young Paravellan.

His eyes never left the wall, even when Sicaros spoke up.

"So... what do we do now?"

The question seemed so general that Marschal never expected an answer until Nivere's voice addressed him directly, using his name.

"Well, Marschal?"

He suddenly whipped around to see the three warriors staring at him, expectantly.

"Me?"

"You have good instincts," Nivere answered.

"I do?"

The swordswoman shrugged.

"What do we do now?" Sicaros repeated.

"I don't know," Marschal replied, honestly. "Perhaps we should find a way out of this maze." The most obvious answer was better than none at all.

However, Nivere seemed satisfied with the response and offered a firm nod. "Fair enough."

"Where should we go now?" the large man asked.

"Umm......maybe," Marschal pointed randomly down the corridor, "we should-"

He was suddenly cut off when an incendiary explosion lit up the distant corner of the corridor followed by a cacophony of screams. Then just as quickly as they appeared, the sounds were extinguished with a callous brevity.

Marschal and the warrior trio stood there in tense silence for a moment before the young Paravellan swiveled around and pointed down the opposite end of the corridor, away from the explosion and screams.

"...Maybe, go this way?"

Nivere nodded. "I think that might be best."

The young Paravellan nodded back. "Alright."

Despite the agreement, the four of them still stood awkwardly in the center of the corridor, making no move to advance forward.

Cowards, Marschal thought. He was scrawny and inept at combat. What was their excuse?

With nothing else for it, the young Paravellan straightened up and gestured down the corridor. "Well......after you."

The trio collectively frowned at Marschal before peering back down the ominous iron hallway.

Eventually, Sicaros nodded.

"Alright!" the large man bellowed as he pulled the axe from his back and gripped it firmly in his hands. He eyed the corridor with a steel gaze, as though facing an enemy he could chop in half. "Let's beat this bastard!"

While Sicaros marched forward, Nivere and Segott exchanged glances. The red-haired warrior then shrugged before heading off after the large man. Nivere sighed before she too followed suit, leaving Marschal standing by himself. As they headed off, the young Paravellan gazed back at where he heard the explosions and screams.

What was he doing here? He wasn't even sure what he was looking for, let alone if he was ever going to find it. But was it worth risking his life? Navigating his way through this iron deathtrap seemed significantly more frightening than war elves and bandits. Though, back then he had Juren. Marschal still didn't know why he followed him and even more mystified why he abandoned him. All he knew was that they were the right decisions at the time.

Now he was following three of his own brethren through an iron maze for a chance to......to what? To escort a mysterious woman up a river? For a quest? What quest? Was she even real? The whole ordeal had the makings of a trap. Yet, Marschal couldn't help but feel-

"Hey," Nivere called out to him. "You coming?"

The young Paravellan turned to see the warrior trio staring at him, patiently. At that moment, meeting their eyes, Marschal nodded to himself.

"Yes," Marschal answered. "I'm coming."

Now wasn't the time for introspection. Escaping the Iron Factory was their first and foremost priority. Which meant following his fellow Paravellans was the only option left to him, which he admitted wasn't bad as far as choices went. One could never go wrong with warrior companions. However, they were still strangers. Though, hopefully, that might change in the future.

But for now, he kept his distance from behind, while they all ventured deeper into the Iron Labyrinth.