They moved on with exaggerated care — tiptoeing, hugging walls, breathing like they were afraid oxygen itself might trigger a trap.

  After fighting their own half-rotten reflections, caution had graduated from a rule to a religion.

  Leo raised a hand. “Slow. Corners first. Corners kill.”

  Harlada nodded. “Corners love killing.”

  Bert agreed enthusiastically, mostly because he didn’t want to be hit by another fireball.

  They crept along the corridor until Harlada suddenly stopped, holding up a fist.

  Leo froze.

  Bert froze, but with the anxious energy of a squirrel pretending to be a rock.

  Ahead of them, at the far end of a corridor crossing theirs, three pale figures drifted silently into view.

  The albino versions.

  Their hair floated weightlessly, like pale seaweed.

  Their eyes glowed faint red.

  Their movements were silent, precise, almost… graceful.

  They weren’t scouting.

  They weren’t sneaking.

  They were simply gliding, like murder-swans in human form.

  Leo mouthed, Oh no.

  Harlada grabbed both their collars and dragged them backward behind a broken pillar.

  They huddled, breaths shallow.

  “Okay,” Leo whispered. “We stay out of their line of sight. No fighting them. No engaging. They’re too… clean.”

  Harlada nodded. “They don’t look like they joke around.”

  “And they float,” Bert added. “People who float are never fun.”

  As the albino trio vanished silently around another corner, Leo let out a breath.

  “We give them room,” he said. “Lots of room.”

  “Agreed,” Harlada said.

  “Extra agreed,” Bert said.

  They waited a few more heartbeats, then continued deeper into the Maze.

  ***

  They had barely moved ten steps when Bert suddenly flung out both arms.

  “STOP!”

  Leo and Harlada froze mid-stride.

  Bert knelt dramatically, inspecting a faint groove in the stone floor.

  He reached out, tapped it, then pointed triumphantly.

  “A trap,” he announced. “I found a trap. Before stepping on it.”

  Leo blinked. “Wait. For real?”

  “Yes!” Bert puffed out his chest. “I, Bert, trap-finder extraordinaire, have prevented our fiery deaths twice today.”

  “Twice?” Harlada asked.

  “The second one was just now,” Bert said. “And the first was… well… I sort of found that trap by accident. But I still found it.”

  Leo gave him a solemn nod. “Good job, Bert.”

  Harlada even patted his shoulder. “Your sacrifice of dignity is appreciated.”

  Bert beamed.

  The Maze pulsed faintly, almost like a bored applause.

  Trap detection acknowledged.

  Survival odds increased by… negligible amount.

  Leo sighed. “Let’s just keep moving before optimism kills us.”

  And they stepped carefully around the newly discovered trap, deeper into the twisting stone.

  ***

  They gathered around the newly discovered trap like three scholars around a forbidden artifact — excited, terrified, and deeply unqualified.

  It was a fire trap.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A big one.

  The kind that roasted an entire corridor at once.

  Leo crouched beside it, thinking hard. “Okay. We can’t outrun the albinos. We can’t out-stealth them. We can’t out-weird them.”

  “We can, however,” Harlada said slowly, “set them on fire.”

  All three stared at the trap.

  Then at each other.

  Then back at the trap.

  “…I like it,” Bert whispered reverently.

  Leo nodded, warming to the idea. “We lure them in. I can web their feet when they reach the trigger point. Harlada—your wind spell?”

  “Gust of Wind,” she said, tapping her staff. “Short range. Strong enough to knock them back into the flames if they try to escape.”

  Bert rubbed his hands together. “They float, remember? Extra flammable.”

  Leo gave him a look. “Nobody floats because they’re flammable, Bert.”

  “You don’t know that,” Bert argued.

  Harlada ignored him. “We need them right here.”

  She tapped the center tile — the one Bert had discovered.

  “It’s a pressure plate. Anything heavier than a squirrel should set it off.”

  “Albinos weigh more than squirrels,” Bert confirmed confidently.

  Leo nodded. “Good. I’ll web the exit path so they can’t retreat. Harlada pushes them back into the fire. Bert—”

  “Yes?” he asked eagerly.

  “Stand behind us and don’t do anything.”

  Bert deflated. “Oh.”

  “Bert,” Leo added, “that is the most important job here.”

  Bert straightened, proud again.

  They spent a tense minute setting up:

  Leo coated the walls in sticky webbing, ready to collapse inward like a net.

  Harlada warmed up her wind-spell arm, stretching like she was about to run a marathon.

  Bert… stood there, extremely ready to not screw up.

  Finally, Leo nodded. “Okay. The trap is armed. We are armed. The plan is armed.”

  Harlada took a deep breath. “Now we just need the albinos.”

  Bert pointed down the corridor with theatrical seriousness. “Let’s go find our spooky, pale, floaty twins and bring them back here to die horribly.”

  Leo didn’t love the phrasing, but the intention was correct.

  “Right,” he said.

  The three of them stepped out into the Maze, moving like a very nervous hunting party.

  Somewhere ahead, faint and silent, the albinos drifted between the torches — perfect, graceful targets who had absolutely no idea what kind of idiotic trap trio was coming for them.

  Harlada whispered, “Remember — slow, careful, quiet.”

  Bert whispered back, “And if things go wrong—”

  “Things will go wrong,” Leo corrected.

  “Good point,” Bert said.

  The Maze pulsed, amused.

  Ambush attempt acknowledged.

  Success probability: ambitiously low.

  And onward they went.

  ***

  They didn’t have to search long.

  The albino trio moved ahead of them like ghosts on rails — drifting through the corridor with that unnerving, weightless grace. Their hair floated. Their robes whispered. Their feet didn’t quite touch the ground.

  Leo raised a hand. “Okay. Soft approach. We need their attention. Just enough to lure them.”

  Harlada nodded. “No sudden moves.”

  Bert had already stepped forward.

  “HEY! PALE US!” he shouted.

  Leo smacked a hand over his own face. “That is a sudden move.”

  The albino versions stopped.

  Turned their heads.

  And stared.

  Not with curiosity.

  Not with hostility.

  Not with recognition.

  Just… blank observation.

  Three pairs of red eyes drifted over Leo, Harlada, Bert — pausing on none of them, judging none of them, acknowledging absolutely nothing.

  Then, without a word, the albinos turned away.

  And floated onward.

  Like they had looked at three insects and decided not to bother stepping on them.

  Bert’s jaw fell open.

  “…Did they just ignore us?”

  “Yes,” Leo whispered.

  “Completely,” Harlada confirmed.

  Bert’s face darkened. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You do not ignore me.”

  He nocked an arrow, drew it back, and fired before either of the other two could stop him.

  The arrow sailed perfectly.

  It should have hit the back of one albino dead center.

  Instead, without even turning their heads, the trio shifted — a coordinated, effortless drift sideways.

  The arrow passed harmlessly between them and clattered down the corridor.

  They didn’t flinch.

  They didn’t react.

  They didn’t even slow down.

  They simply continued gliding forward, as if Bert’s attack was less relevant than a dust mote.

  Harlada let out a low whistle. “They didn’t even care.”

  Leo exhaled. “We’re dealing with emotionless murder-swans.”

  Bert crossed his arms angrily. “I’ve never felt so disrespected in my life.”

  Leo placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Use that. We need them insulted enough to follow us.”

  Bert brightened. “Oh! Yes. Yes we do.”

  He cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “YOU FLOAT BECAUSE YOU HAVE NO PERSONALITY!”

  The albinos did not react.

  “…Okay,” Bert muttered. “This is personal.”

  The Maze pulsed, amused.

  Provocation attempt: unsuccessful.

  Proceed with alternate stupidity.