Leo was the first to wake.

  Fog clung to everything — damp, heavy, the kind that frizzles hair and leaves a film of cold sweat on the skin. The air reeked of age: mould, regret, and something sharp, like guilt steeped in vinegar. The place tasted wrong — bitter and hot, like regret that burns the tongue.

  He shivered. “Not particularly welcoming,” he muttered, already anxious. Then he kicked Bert and Harlada, both still out cold.

  “You two still breathing?”

  Leo nodded, “And you dungeon, still haunting us?”

  Something pulsed in the distance.

  Confirmed. Welcome to the Maze of Many.

  Leo sighed. “Thought so. Fine, explain the rules.”

  ***

  Two short pulses followed. For a moment he wasn’t standing anymore — he was looking.

  A bird’s-eye view unfolded before him: a web of corridors built from grey-blue stone. Torches burned at perfect intervals, yellow flames guttering in the stale air. Every path looked deliberate — every dead end, every trap, every perfect turn placed to make parties lose their way… or each other.

  Each level had one route forward. One path to the centre. At that heart, a single staircase spiralled upward: Progression.

  The first team to reach it ascended. The rest — died, or started over.

  Around that central stair, five glass-walled chambers gleamed. The starting rooms. From each, the other contestants could be seen — four mirror-versions of their own party.

  Five Leos. Five Harladas. Five Berts.

  Dimensional echoes of themselves. Opponents. Rivals. Corpses-in-waiting.

  The system message flared again:

  Permanent death enabled. Respawn disabled. Roster will continue without fallen members.

  Leo swallowed hard.

  ***

  Harlada stirred, groaning. Leo crouched beside her.

  “Welcome to the Maze,” he said.

  She blinked blearily at the endless walls, then nudged Bert awake — harder than necessary.

  He rolled over, clutching his leg. She grinned.

  “Still breathing?” she asked.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  “Barely,” Bert muttered. He tore the sleeve from her tunic. “Consider it a warning.”

  “Better not make it a habit,” she shot back.

  Leo cleared his throat. “Focus, both of you. No respawns this time. Death means death.”

  He pointed between them, voice low. “Let’s at least not kill each other.”

  Harlada gestured at Bert. “Or ourselves.”

  ***

  Bert frowned. “So, where are we? Another tutorial? Another dream?”

  Leo shook his head slowly. “No. This is the real Maze. The one after the doors.”

  He rubbed his temples, trying to piece together what he’d seen from the bird’s-eye view. “There are five teams. Ours… and four others. Each team is—” He hesitated, glancing at their faces. “—us.”

  Harlada’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean us?”

  “Copies,” Leo said. “Versions. Dimensional shifts. All of us, running the same maze, same goal. Only one team reaches the middle and goes up the stairs. The others either die or start over.”

  Bert blinked. “And you’re sure about the dying part?”

  Leo’s eyes flicked toward the faintly glowing wall. “The Maze confirmed it. No respawn. No retry. You die here—you stay dead. The rest of the team continues without you.”

  A long silence. The fog thickened as if listening.

  Harlada crossed her arms. “That’s… harsh.”

  “It’s unfair,” Leo said grimly. “nothing of this whole experience was fair.”

  Bert laughed nervously. “Unfair? We’re fighting ourselves! That’s more than unfair!”

  Leo ignored him. He crouched, tracing the damp stone with a finger. “The Maze’s design is simple—traps, puzzles, monsters, and false paths. Everything loops, except one true route to the centre. Once a team reaches it, the floor resets.”

  “And the others?” Harlada asked.

  “Start again. Or remain death.” He tapped the stone. “I think it wants us to die.”

  That shut them both up.

  For a while, none of them spoke. Water dripped somewhere far away, echoing in the gloom. Then Bert broke the silence, voice smaller than usual.

  “So what’s the plan?”

  ***

  The Maze pulsed.

  Maze Run #477983 commencing in 5 minutes.

  The message burned into the fog, then dissolved, leaving silence thick enough to choke on.

  The three exchanged uneasy glances.

  “We really need a plan,” Harlada said, voice flat, serious in a way that made Leo instantly nervous.

  Leo nodded. “Agreed. We go slow. No rushing for the Progression Stair yet. We learn the layout first — the traps, the routes, who we’re up against.”

  Harlada crossed her arms. “And we make a rule. Every alley, chamber, or corner — we stop, check, decide before we move.”

  “Very wise,” Leo said, impressed and weary all at once. Then he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Bert, you hearing any of this?”

  No answer.

  Bert was standing by the far wall, staring through the large glass window — the one none of them had dared to approach until now. The faint glow from outside painted his face pale.

  He turned slowly, voice low. “You see the other parties, right?”

  Leo frowned. “Other—?”

  Bert pointed to the glass. “You knew they could see us too?”

  Leo’s mouth fell open. He stepped forward. Harlada followed, her boots echoing in the hollow room.

  They reached the window. Looked out.

  And froze.