But the paralysis… didn’t.

  Not immediately.

  Not quickly.

  Not even in a way that felt humane.

  Seconds stretched into minutes.

  Minutes felt like hours.

  Hours felt like days.

  The trio stood (or sat, in Bert’s unfortunate case) frozen in their humiliating garden-gnome poses:

  Harlada: eternally fishing.

  Leo: eternally waving.

  Bert: eternally wheelbarrowed.

  Every tiny twitch that returned felt like a miracle.

  A blink.

  A toe wiggle.

  A jaw unclenching with a painful pop.

  A violent collapse to the floor as all three suddenly regained their full body weight at once.

  CRASH—THUMP—SMACK.

  Harlada groaned.

  Leo gasped for breath.

  Bert rolled out of the wheelbarrow with a pitiful moan.

  They lay there in a glittery heap.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  Then Leo finally croaked:

  “…what… what just happened?”

  Harlada pushed herself upright, glitter cascading off her like cursed snow.

  “I don’t know,” she muttered. “I truly don’t.”

  Bert sat up, clutching his head.

  “I think… we were gnomed.”

  No one disagreed.

  Leo looked up at the ceiling.

  “Maze? Explanation?”

  The Maze pulsed once.

  A flat, unimpressed tone echoed:

  “NO.”

  Leo stared.

  “That’s it? Just—no?”

  Another pulse.

  “INCIDENT IRRELEVANT.”

  Harlada snapped, “Irrelevant?! We were paralyzed, posed, humiliated, and then a stone fell on—”

  “MINOR CLEANUP OPERATION. CONTINUE.”

  Bert raised a hand weakly.

  “Maze… are we… safe?”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  The Maze pulsed in a way that almost felt eye-rolling.

  “DEFINITION OF SAFE: UNKNOWN. PROCEED.”

  The three sat in stunned silence.

  Leo rubbed his face. “I want a refund.”

  Harlada snapped her fishing rod prop in half. “I want revenge.”

  Bert lifted the soggy snack bag. “I want… new snacks.”

  The Maze pulsed again, impatiently.

  “ASCEND.”

  The trio exchanged a look.

  Exhausted.

  Confused.

  Humiliated.

  Glittery.

  But alive.

  Barely.

  Harlada sighed. “Fine. But if the next level has gnomes…”

  Leo nodded firmly. “We revolt.”

  Bert raised a fist weakly. “…yes.”

  Together, still shaking off the last of the glitter, the pain, the humiliation, and whatever the gnome had done to them emotionally, they stood up.

  And prepared — reluctantly — to step toward Level 2.

  ***

  The Stair of Progression loomed before them, spiraling upward through a shaft of warm, shifting light.

  It should have felt triumphant.

  It should have felt like victory.

  It didn’t.

  Leo placed one foot on the first step… and paused.

  “We should be happy,” he said quietly. “We made it. We survived. We’re moving on.”

  Harlada didn’t answer.

  Bert didn’t look up.

  Leo’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  “…so why don’t I feel anything?”

  Bert finally spoke, his hands clenched tightly around his new lion-pommel sword.

  “I keep thinking about Bearded Leo,” he muttered. “He didn’t have to die. He was angry, sure, but… but he didn’t deserve that ending.”

  His voice cracked.

  Harlada stared at the step beneath her boot, jaw tight.

  Leo swallowed.

  “How long,” he asked softly, “do you think we can keep doing this? Maze after maze, run after run… dying versions of us everywhere… is there even a point?”

  For a moment, none of them moved.

  The torches flickered against the walls.

  Far below them, echoes drifted — fragments of previous cycles, broken paths, forgotten versions of themselves that didn’t make it.

  Bert whispered, “…What if we’re next? What if Level Two is worse? What if—”

  Harlada cut him off.

  Not loudly.

  Not harshly.

  But firmly.

  “Stop.”

  She looked up, eyes burning with something fierce and fragile.

  “We survived,” she said. “We made it here. We lost people — versions of us — but we’re still standing. That means something.”

  She placed a hand on Leo’s shoulder.

  “We go on because they didn’t.”

  She placed a hand on Bert’s arm.

  “And because we’re still here.”

  Leo exhaled shakily.

  Bert blinked hard and nodded.

  Harlada squared her shoulders, lifting her staff, voice steady even as exhaustion clung to it.

  “No matter how many versions there are… no matter how bad the next level is… we keep going.”

  She stepped onto the stair.

  One step.

  Then another.

  Leo followed.

  Then Bert.

  As they climbed, the light grew brighter — not warm, not comforting, just insistent.

  Unavoidable.

  Behind them, the Maze pulsed once, almost approvingly.

  Ahead of them, Level Two waited.

  They didn’t smile.

  They didn’t celebrate.

  They simply kept climbing.

  Because that’s all they could do.

  Because that’s all there was.

  And together — heavy-hearted, glitter-dusted, and determined — they rose toward the unknown.