Chapter 5: Maze

An obscured figure rose from its slumber, heaving sighs in between breaths. His rest couldn’t have taken more than a few hours, or at least that’s how it seemed to him.

By his current demeanor, the boy seemed flustered, or worried even. What had transpired during his sleep was something which concerned him, enough to solicit his attention.

As for what it was, he said the following.

[3 days!] He blurted out in haste, though the reason remained unknown. As his visor caught alight with emerald lines, as embers lit with green, though he took no notice of them.

He was far too engrossed within his thoughts

[3 days, 15 hours, and 43 minutes.] The boy enumerated a specific period of time; of three days, fifteen hours, and forty-three minutes, wholly unrelated to his previous rest, or was it?

He had been exposed to many strange events as of late, and he knew little about most of them. His current predicament did not allow him to fare any differently, as he became deeply concerned over his regarded self.

These numbers, what were they?

[There's was this ticking sound inside my head.] He pondered over the implications of the strange noise, though the sound had already disappeared. [But it's gone now...]

As he slept peacefully, the sound of a ticking clock muzzled his thoughts. Even as he slumbered, he couldn't escape from the noisy obstruction. It was within his mind, yet it refused to silence itself.

Though now that he was awake, the noise had ceased, as it vanished from his perception.

[And, I'm faintly aware of how long I've slept?]

With hazy thoughts, he continued his mindless pondering. And through reasoning, he came into awareness of the numbers.

[Wait...]

From the words alone where months, days, and even minutes were preserved by his mind, he ascertained what they emphasized.

It was the duration of his sentience, from when he first awakened within the regal throne, up until his current state as he pondered.

His mind kept his every waking moment into account, as he slumbered quietly.

And it came into the form of a blurb for him to blurt out, in which he did so, as it led to his current bewilderment.

Of what the numbers implied, though now that he knew what they were, his confusion became more rampant.

[Oh, for the love of-] His anger, in brief abatement, had been held short by his 'tongue', if he even had one. He was confounded by everything that hounded him.

[Why do these strange things keep happening to me?]

He only sought to understand who he was, yet the world denied him that possibility. Instead, he was thrown within strange events that he knew nothing of. And that was not the worse that had yet to come, he was sure.

He had been imprisoned within the walls of a corridor with no entrance. And the exit, it remains closed to him.

[I just want to sleep normally, goddamit!] This indignation of his was reaching heights previously unknown to him. And not for a good reason, that is.

[What what's with that weirdly specific series of numbers detailing how long I've been alive? How the hell was I asleep for three days when I feel like nothing changed? And why is there a timer inside my head? Who the hell is responsible for this crap!]

This had been the trigger of his lengthy spiel. Where he, for reasons beyond his comprehension, was capable of precisely keeping time that passed, and in his sleep at that.

As if he was a biological clock. Or rather, his enigmatic mind was. How it did this was still a mystery to him.

[And lastly, my dreams. I still feel conscious even though I’m already asleep. Can’t my mind even separate my cognizance from simple sleep? Nothing makes sense, nothing at all!]

Indeed, the situation seemed unreasonable for him. He had been hoping for a nice, cozy rest. Something that should be devoid of any abnormality that his mind may have created.

It was a simple wish, accompanied by a simple desire. One so easy to accomplish, assuming that the world did not abhor him so.

It should not be hard to grant him that, at the very least. Though, reality was far harsher than he assumed.

What he expected to be a simple rest in blissful slumber turned out to be more than his simple desire envisioned, and he owed to it much of his dismayal.

[Enough, I’ll just get out of this place as soon as I can.]

It took much effort to keep regain his composure, as it became frustratingly hard under the mottling pressure borne of his self-doubts.

Loathed it was, he knew better than to succumb to his anger. This 'black box' of his, the visor he wore, it created the impression of having his emotions tampered with. It was beyond his capacity to resist it.

The most he could do was maintain a rationalized view of his surroundings; one unaffected by his sentiments.

This was just a theory from his perspective, as he'd yet to prove his visor's detrimental effects. Still, from what he recently saw of himself, of the way his feelings led him to act, was enough to convince him.

That he needed to remain calm.

[Nothing good will come out of ranting any further, and my mind is strangely accomodating to my current thoughts.] He exacted the mentality required of him, as he took on a pensive manner.

It was strange, now that he thought about it. With contemplative introspection, he ruminated on his previous experiences. Every single one of them, he found, were notably peculiar and deserved his attention.

From when he despaired at the sight of emerald numbers, as his mind fell into disarray. He experienced anguish over the doubts that clouded his image of what he his origins were; that he was no human.

To the time he struck at the mahogany door, as he felt the pain from his inane action. He weathered the strained injury that marred his hand, while it ached with burning agony. In his anger, he acted like so.

And currently, his strange apathy that replaced every single thought of incoherence that might hinder him from a levelheaded perspective. He suddenly became a logical individual capable of rational thought.

Despair, anger, and now apathy. In short succession, he endured through these emotional instabilities that dominated his mind.

It truly was strange of him to act like that.

[Hmm...] His pondering came to an end as it revealed nothing to him. [I know far too little for things to make sense anyways, might as well ignore it.]

His previous endeavors with regards to the reprising tower of mysteries that confounded him had all ended in failure, he found. There was little he could do to solve these enigmas that he faced.

If he wasted more of his efforts into unearthing what they hid only to fail in vain, then it would have been better for him to ignore the perplexing matters that surrounded him.

It would be futile continue his attempts when they yielded nothing to him; that would be the height of folly for the boy. To repeatedly bash his head against a wall, anticipating change. To him it was insane.

And of course, he was no lunatic to bash his head against an obstacle; figuratively and literally. He was better than that.

[Might as well see what changed.] As he made amends with his current choice, the boy brought his gaze to investigate his environment.

He studied his surroundings once more, trying to look for any deviation that may have happened during his sleep. Though, for what had changed of his environment, it were as if he stepped upon a new world.

A place where everything towered over him, like an ant trying to make sense of the heavens.

A scene where he saw the world for those who belonged to the giants, as his diminutive form stared in astonishment.

[What in the world?] His surprise exposed itself from his voice alone, as he stumbled upon the strange sight. [What happened while I was asleep?]

This entire corridor he walked had grown in size, statues and paintings inclusive of the changes. He saw the wooden door on the distant horizon, a giant gate in its appearance. The painting seemed to have grown in turn, paired to the door below it.

The door was a kilometer away from him, judging by the amount of statues as they had gaps a meter each. Said statues would also be a meter in width, and he found it easy to grasp their physical appearance from afar.

How he gained this information related itself to his visual acuity, which he did not know to possess until now. Needles to say, his attention did not focus on his newfound percceptivity, as he was too baffled to keep his head straight.

So he assumed that everything else grew bigger. Either that or he had shrunk himself.

[Oh, what a wonderful world to be in.] His disapproval for the disorder that he himself faced was vastly undermined by what his words implied. [Really, how entertaining.]

He condemned the changes that braided his immediate surroundings. And surprisingly, he shed the mask of apathy in favor of a more profane personality, in the form of an expletive.

[Fucking hell.]

The entrance to the throne room was no longer apparent, replaced by an unassuming wall. So the option of tracing his steps was already out of question, and he wouldn't be capable of escaping.

The world grew big, or perhaps fell to his pygmy state. And again, he knew not why. Mystery after mystery, it followed him like a plague.

And as for what remained of the youth, it was one very confused boy.

[Do I need to care?] His patience had been tested, time and time again. He wanted to ignore everything. [Is there a reason for me to put up with this conga line of fuckery?]

While his emotions had been emboldened by his anger, the ground shook. It took him by surprise, and he waivered as he stood.

[Goddamit!]

The rumbling had caught him off-guard, causing him to fall down, his body splayed in gauche form.

His current appearance was similar to how a drunken fellow may suddenly tip off and fall, as his body took on a weird pose in respite.

An embarrasment, did the crumbling ground bring to him.

[Why is god doing this to me...] With a muffled tone, he mumbled these words as he lied still, collapsed. With his face flat on the ground, it muzzled his voice. He made no effort to stand up.

[With sincerity, I truly scorn your existence...]

Yet before he could impart his ire further upon the world, the ground shook once more.

[The statues!] He uttered out in shock, as the sight seemed to further confuse him. [What the hell are the they doing?]

The statues that were once motionless had moved. They weaved the spears they held, swinging it in the air.

The stone figures held their lances, parallel to the ground as they struck at the floor.

Like the beating of drums, their actions resounded across the hallway. The clamor reached his ears, and so the figures made their noise.

An uneasy feeling rose from inside him, one he did not duly like. The perceived a presence that yearned to observe his actions, as if he were a doll to play with.

These were just chords of illogical sentiments, mind you, as he saw no one else with him.

{10}

[Huh?] A transparent screen of crystal make, one that greatly startled the boy, appeared before him. It bore the number ten.

{9}

{8}

{7}

Glowing lines appeared on the ground, lingering for a short while. From there, gray walls came from where the lines manifested, forming passages and walkways.

The ceiling remained visible to him as the events unfolded. He only saw chandeliers hang from above.

{6}

{5}

[Things keep happening left and right, what am I supposed to do!] He roared, infuriated at the sequence of events. Everything continued to confound him, with no regards to his own understanding.

{4}

{3}

The walls finally stopped their ascent, forming twisted passages and dead ends. It was a challenge he was forced to participate in.

It was a maze.

[Is this a... labyrinth?]

The labyrinthine structure encompassed the entire corridor, blocking the statues from his view.

The only object that was visible to him were the door, which remained beyond his reach. And the painting, which stood where it was.

The moon... it stared at him.

He fell its gaze bore into him as the glass screen counted down.

{2}

{1}

{0}

The statues stopped their noisy assault, falling to a standstill. The air was frigid, with an atmosphere that felt choking.

Anxiety welled up inside him, as he showed wariness at the situation, slightly nervous at the events.

It seemed obvious what his goal were to be.

{|}

Unreachable Moon:

Reach for the moon, you foolish king.

Traverse this moonlit maze of your creation.

The sea of tranquility follows you,

scornful of your foolish crucibles.

{|}

A hologram of sorts materialized in his view, with its entire theme muddied in emerald green.

Words formed in the air, another poem.

He questioned the sudden pop-up, curious about who it referred to. [By foolish king, is it referring to me or-]

Another rumble befell on the peaceful silence, as it shot down the boy’s query. The sound of roaring water was audible, increasing in volume.

{|}

Flee this place

{|}

A single word replaced the previous poem. He knew what it meant, and what was clear of him to be done. He had to escape the maze. With the apparent danger, a sense of urgency hit him. He ran.

The sound was distinguishable, roaring waves in tow. The noise progressed to deafening heights, with the ground shaking more and more.

[You’re one messed up motherfucker, whoever you are!] He shouted as he ran, whilst he shook his head in disbelief. [Why the hell am I even in this place!]

It became his only way of expressing his anger, without swearing like a drunken sailor.

Each attempt he made to close in on a passage lead to a dead end. When this happened, he would have to trace back to the starting point as the rolling waves came near.

The wall of water grew bigger, and it boomed in dissonance as the wave crashed. The wave lurched closer and closer, despite the amount of effort he put into traversing the maze.

Dead ends and collapsed passageways hindered his progress in reaching the end of the hall.

The maze did not help.

[Goddamit!] He bellowed out, though none would hear the boy's blatant cries.

The water exposed itself from behind him. It had already reached the boy’s position.

‘The water... it’s violet?’ The water’s color indeed varied from its normal counterpart. It was purple, unlike the sapphire blue he knew. ‘Then... what’s different about it?’

These were his thoughts when the wave of liquid came crashing down, mere seconds away from him.

The brackish water seemed dangerous. It was as if he was going to die from the slightest touch.

‘Is this the end?’ He thought, as the conception of death loomed near him; donning a watery wall as its mask. ‘Nope, it’s not. Get it through your thick skull, you amnesiac bastard!’

His irresolution remained in his thoughts, as he continued to his hellish sprint.

[Think!] He sprinted faster, navigating through the winding walls. [Think of a way to get out of this mess!]

Earlier, before the walls even existed, the glowing lines characterized where said structures would appear. The lines were visible, up to the door’s anterior, on its front side.

If the lines marked where the walls would manifest, then he already possessed the means to escaping the maze.

After all, he remembered every single detail, no matter how small.

[Of course, let's not ask how I suddenly remembered everything vividly.] He muttered in vexation, as yet another mystery popped up. [I'll die if I don't make use of it anyways.]

He had created a static image of the floor’s entire arrangement in his mind, with the lines and bends intact. Their vividity really helped with his predicament, as he did not falter in remembering the charted maze.

[Soo...] He drew his words close, as confidence brimmed from his mind. [Fishy or not, I'm gonna use my bloody memory!]

To avoid the obstructed routes, he wove through the labyrinth of stone, with the current of violet that followed him.

‘750 meters left.’ He kept count of the remaining distance he had to navigate across.

Each step he took was a meter, his body somehow acting precise movements that rivaled the accuracy of machinery.

His mind kept itself busy by layering a static image of what he remembered with his current reality. It helped as he further fled from the rolling wave, and its assistance allowed him traverse the labyrinth.

‘500 meters.’ The distance between him and the wave grew farther, easing his troubled mind.

‘250 meters.’ He was close now. Close to escaping from the accursed maze. It was at this point that hoped dawned on him.

‘100 meters.’ The door towered before the boy, carrying an aura of simplicity. The painting above it seemed foreboding, as if it mocked his presence. Its impression took on varying degrees of anger for him.

‘50 meters.’ As soon as he reached this hallmark, the door grew small in size, as the painting mimicked its diminishing form.

As if the gap had widened.

[Fucking non-euclidian geometry, why is it happening to me?!] He screamed, unaware of the fact that the water was now a sizable distance away from him. [I need fucking answers!]

There was no need for him to be quite tense, as his watery grave would not come. The distance between him and the violet water had rendered it threatless.

As long as he continued his sprint, his life would not come to harm.

‘25 meters.’ Both objects were neared him in perspective, as they finally adapted a size he could use.

‘10 meters.’ The door and the painting were now at a measurement equal to what he remembered. From his standpoint, they returned to their former scale in conjuction with him.

‘5 meters.’ He neared the doorway, as he slowed down in his mad dash.

‘2 meters.’ He approached the door intending to escape, before noticing the painting’s gaze. The moon continued its mockery of him.

‘0 meters.’ The boy stopped before the door, catching his breath within the silence. He looked behind his abaft figure, to see nothing that chased after him.

Though he did not feel safe.

The painted moon that loomed from above, with an ever-scornful gaze, led its presence to make a mockery of him. A canvas that held the celestial sphere, whose watchful eyes saw him near.

The gaze from earlier, he felt it from this object; one he presumed to be harmless.

It was his mistake, he presumed. He now deemed it dangerous.

[That uneasy feeling... it came from you, didn’t it?] He held the painting in his hand, wary of its existence. Its mocking glimpse enraged him. [What happens when I break you?]

The boy held the painting in his grasp, as he clutched it with wretched hate. His anger caught him first, before any sensibilities came to him.

These 'emotion instabilities', as he called them, were beyond his authority to control. It would happen once more, and he wouldn't be able to stop it. Though he did not think of it as a reason to stop himself.

This painting mocked him.

[Ah, I'm acting up again.] While his emotions were unprecedented, he did not reject the notion. He accepted them, as a matter of fact. [But it matters not, does it?]

The canvas refused to answer him, for it did not seem to live. Yet the gaze it bore into him, it was indisputable that it came from the painted moon. He knew it to be true, that the painting really took him for a fool.

Was it foolish of him to direct his anger towards a painting?

[I don't care at all, mind you.] The boy didn't care. So long as he could find reprieve within the painting's demise... [As long as I can take you, break you apart...]

If he could quell his estranged anger, one that strayed into his foreign mind, then...

[IT DOESN'T MATTER!]

From his visor, a scarlet grin showed itself. Composed of ruby lines, it possessed his face. And the canvas he held, he brought it with strength towards the door that refused him.

He broke the wooden shell. And from there, the splinters fell.

Its canvas tattered and torn, wounded by the youthful form.

He continued to do so over and over. He struck, and he struck, and his arm limped as it suffered. The impact wounded him. It hurt the boy, and he was conscious of that.

His visor remained unblemished by his perverse violence, even as he struck through with force.

The painting continued to suffer from his wrath, as he broke it with sheer force he exerted until it was beyond recognition, with the frame already shattered. The canvas in tatters, and the frame in splinters.

He did not exempt the entrance from his anger, for it had broken down already. The previous obstruction, which took the form of a door, was already gone.

In his anger, he destroyed the hindrance.

He focused on the painting, though nearly nothing remained of it. The piercing gaze had perished, along with its vessel's destruction.

And as the gaze departed, so did his destructive anger. It dwindled to benign degree, as he regained his capacity for rational thought.

From his visor that bared red, his linear eyes returned to its emerald color.

[It was from you then...]

The boy heaved his breaths from the physical exertion, as his arms flared up in pain. Just as the painting did, and as the door suffered through, his limbs followed in injury.

He dropped what meager remnants he held, fragments that once belonged to the painted moon. They finally fell to the ground, unrecognizable from the debris of wood and paper.

There was no need for him to hold them anymore, as they had served its purpose; a way of inflicting destruction upon the door.

[Well, what do you know...] In a mocking tone, he spoke of the door's demise. His misgivings were unjust, as it did not show any anomaly. [It was a normal after all!]

Beyond the wreckage, a flagrant room was exposed. Flagrant, not because of its striking mistake, but rather due to its juxtaposed form that opposed the corridor he stood in.

What set it apart from the hallway he was in was its strikingly colorful appearance.

It was a welcome sight, compared to his previous grievances with the corridor, and its accursed labyrinthine maze.

The world before him, a place with floral transience of where the flowers fell.

[It's lovely...] His anger dissipated with the view, and his steps took him lingeringly, distracted by the radiant garden.

The enclosure seemed to be in a transparent area, its size comparable to a private mansion.

Constructed from brick and mortar, the walls were glazed with speckled moss, as sunlight shone from the sky. The daytime light illuminated the serene field with a dazzling glow.

For the first time within his brief waking, he saw the light of day.

[The light...] Enamored, he walked. Desirous, he treaded. [I need to get close...]

In its center was a tranquil lake, serene in appearance, and its impression imposed majesty upon the blossoms. A variety of flowers, each of different kinds grew from the lakeside, dotting the soil with vivid hues.

The sight calmed him.

And he still stood by broken rubble, as he passed through the broken entrance. He walked in lumbering form, still surprised at the sight that lay in front of him.

[Finally...] In the radiant soil, he felt alleviated. His troubles were now at ease. [I got through...]

He had every right to still his confused mind, as there would be no more troubles.

There was no need to run, as nothing chased after him.

He had escaped from the labyrinth, where the moon once gazed past...