They woke together.

  Stone pressed cold against their backs, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. The hum was still there—constant, ever-present—but something about it had shifted. Not louder. Not faster. Just… off.

  Blurred, somehow. As if the sound had been passed through water.

  Harlada sat up first. The stone beneath her palms looked the same, yet not. Its surface caught the light differently, a faint sheen where there should have been none. Polished, perhaps—but only just. Enough that her eyes lingered, uncertain whether she was inventing it.

  Leo blinked, then blinked again. The glow between the cracks in the floor held a cooler tone now, barely perceptible, leaning toward blue. Not enough to call it a change. Enough to doubt your memory.

  Bert rubbed his face and groaned.

  “Please tell me this isn’t another reset—and that we actually made it to the next level.”

  No one answered.

  ***

  They stayed where they were.

  No alarms. No footsteps. No sudden, creative attempt by the Maze to end them.

  “That’s new,” Bert said. “Usually we’re already in trouble by now.”

  Leo glanced at him. “You were already in trouble.”

  Harlada scanned the corridor ahead, then the one behind them. Both empty. Both waiting.

  “Don’t trust it. The Maze never gives us quiet for free.”

  Leo frowned at the faintly glowing floor. His interface flickered once, then settled.

  “If this is the next level… then the enemies scale.”

  Bert grimaced. “They already scaled us into paste.”

  “That was Level One,” Leo said. He didn’t raise his voice, but the words landed heavily.

  “We were overwhelmed. Statistically. Tactically. Luck carried us the rest of the way.”

  Harlada crossed her arms. “So what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying,” Leo continued, “that if Level Two assumes Level One was a success… then whatever’s ahead of us is built on the idea that we handled that easily.”

  Bert stared down the corridor.

  “Which we absolutely did not.”

  Leo shook his head slowly.

  “I’m hoping the Maze is bad at bookkeeping.”

  For a moment, none of them spoke.

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  The hum pulsed—soft, blurred, patient.

  “If the enemies are stronger,” Harlada said at last, “then we don’t rush. We don’t improvise. And we don’t split up.”

  Bert nodded. “I vote we survive long enough to complain about it later.”

  Leo allowed himself a thin smile. “Agreed.”

  They stood.

  And stepped forward anyway—toward the glass.

  ***

  They reached the glass wall together.

  It was clean. Too clean. Not a scratch, not a smear—just a flawless pane separating them from the next chamber.

  On the other side, four groups waited.

  “No,” Bert said quietly. “Still four.”

  Leo leaned closer, squinting.

  “That means the rule didn’t change.”

  “Or it did,” Harlada replied, eyes narrowing, “and this is how.”

  The first opponents stood calmly, hands folded inside wide sleeves. Bald heads. Simple robes. Bare feet on stone. Monks—perfect posture, eyes closed, breathing slow and deliberate. They looked at the other groups without any visible emotion.

  “Those worry me,” Bert said. “Anyone that relaxed in here is cheating.”

  Next to them were three broad shapes pacing back and forth. Thick arms. Bare chests. Fur-lined cloaks thrown over their shoulders. Viking helmets sat crooked on their heads, horns intact and unapologetic.

  Barbarians.

  They thumped their chests, laughed too loudly, and struck each other with the flats of their axes just to hear the sound.

  Leo swallowed. “They look… upgraded.”

  “Everything looks upgraded,” Harlada said.

  The third group made her stomach turn.

  Three figures stood unnaturally still, heads tilted as if listening to something only they could hear. Their skin was scaled—dull green and grey—and when one of them smiled, its tongue split neatly down the middle, flicking the air.

  Reptilian. Humanoid. Wrong.

  Bert leaned away from the glass.

  “I hate that one the most. I don’t even know why yet.”

  “And the last?” Leo asked.

  They all looked.

  The fourth group was… unstable.

  Its outlines jittered, like a bad reflection. Spiky hair phased in and out of focus. Padded orange bodywarmers clung to frames that seemed to skip reality itself. In their hands—far too large for their bodies—were weapons so oversized they bordered on parody, swollen and overdesigned, humming with displaced energy.

  Every few seconds, they shifted half a step sideways without moving.

  “Dimensional,” Leo said slowly. “Shift-capable. Maybe multi-instance.”

  Bert stared.

  “Why do they look like they shop exclusively for endgame loot?”

  The monks’ eyes snapped open.

  On the glass, faint lines of light began to form.

  Harlada stepped back. “We’re done observing.”

  The hum deepened—still blurred, still patient.

  ***

  The maze pulsed.

  RUN #70839 commencing in 5 minutes.

  “So, huddle?” Bert said, already stepping into position.

  “Huddle,” Harlada echoed, joining him.

  Together they pulled Leo in, who was still staring at the opponents.

  “They look so competent,” Leo said—more surprised than afraid.

  Harlada tapped him on the head, gentle but sharp enough to refocus him.

  “Focus.”

  Leo exhaled and joined the huddle properly—mind included.

  “So,” he said, “the plan is: do nothing. Just explore.”

  “Sounds safe,” Harlada agreed.

  “Excellent plan,” Bert said.