The First Glader

3

She didn't know how long she'd been unconscious.

But when she came to, the world felt wrong.

Cold stone chilled the side of her face. Her head throbbed in violent pulses. She pushed herself upright, vision tilting dangerously, stomach twisting.

Then she heard it.

The sound she'd only ever heard from far away.
The sound she'd studied every morning and evening without truly understanding what it meant.

The Doors.

Closing.

The grinding roar rolled through the Maze like thunder trapped between stone walls. Ada's breath punched out of her lungs. She staggered upright and ran—half limp, half sprint—toward the dimming light.

She rounded a corner just in time to see the last crack of daylight disappear as the walls sealed shut.

"No—NO!" She slammed her palms against the stone, breath ragged. "STOP—please—!"

The Door locked.

Silence fell heavy and absolute.

Ada backed away slowly, her heartbeat thundering so loudly it echoed in her ears. Then something shifted deep within the Maze—something not stone, not wind.

A scrape.

Metal against stone.

Far, but not far enough.

Her chest tightened. Her breath stuttered.

Another scrape—longer this time, followed by a wet, stuttering click that made her stomach drop. The sound didn't belong in nature. It didn't belong anywhere near a human being.

Ada stepped backward, eyes wide even though she couldn't see anything down the dark corridor ahead.

A soft hum joined the scraping.

Mechanical. Alive.

She didn't wait.

She ran.

Hard.

Her feet pounded against the stone, the Maze warping around her, corridors twisting in ways that felt wrong and shifting. Her breaths came sharp and painful, the cold air slicing her throat.

The creature behind her let out a sound that didn't belong anywhere—half metallic grind, half animal snarl. It picked up speed. Fast.

Too fast.

Ada's legs burned, but she pushed harder, sprinting around corners she only half remembered. Each turn echoed with the scrape-scrape-click of the thing hunting her.

She risked a glance back.

She shouldn't have.

A shape lunged into view where the darkness had pooled—massive, insect-like, jointed limbs slamming into the ground with terrifying force. Metal glinted in patches across its body, wires dangling like torn sinew. Its eyes—if they were eyes—glowed faintly in the dark.

Ada's lungs seized.

She whipped forward again, running so hard her vision blurred.

"Please—please—please—" she whispered, breath hitching. The Maze swallowed the sound.

A corridor forked ahead. She chose the left, then immediately regretted it—the wall on one side had caved inward, narrowing the path until she had to squeeze sideways to get through.

The creature didn't slow.

It jammed one massive limb into the gap behind her, metal screeching as it shoved forward, stone cracking under its weight.