(Point of View: Lexo)
The fall was a disorienting tumble through a tunnel of multicolored molasses that tasted like cosmic fruit salad. When the dizziness finally subsided, I landed—this time on my feet (oh, blessed progress!)—not on sand, but on a smooth, cold floor that glowed faintly on its own.
I found myself in a cave. But not one of those cliché superhero caves filled with bats and musty dampness. In this place, the walls, floor, and even the ceiling appeared to be carved from enormous crystals of translucent quartz—a pristine white that trapped and refracted a gentle, harmonious light. Instead of stalactites, clusters of bioluminescent flowers, with bold electric blues, vivid emerald greens, and intense pinks, hung from the ceiling, casting a peaceful glow like thousands of natural lamps. It was absurdly idyllic. And unnervingly quiet.
Well, almost quiet. In the distance, I could hear muffled sounds—the clash of metal, a choked cry, the crackle of energy. Other contestants? It appeared so, although the sounds came from all directions, as if each of us had landed in a different part of this natural labyrinth.
I quickly checked my internal state. Moments ago I'd nearly fainted, but now I felt as refreshed as if I'd slept at the Four Roads Village inn (and trust me, even a hard bed there leaves you feeling brand new). All the physical and mental exhaustion from the arena battle seemed to have vanished. My mana reserve was full again, and my core pulsed steadily. Healing magic from that strange kitty? Or perhaps the restorative properties of this crystalline, floral sanctuary? I doubted the kitty would have any twisted motive in healing me—this place was clearly magical.
Just as I began to reorient myself, the Smiling Cat's voice echoed in my head—clear and mocking, though no physical form of his was in sight.
"Welcome, survivors and future candidates for spontaneous editing, to the Second Challenge!" his mental tone purred. "The Labyrinth of the Tortuous Mind! Or, as I like to call it, 'The Anti-Brute Filter'!"
There was a pause heavy with smugness.
"The objective is simple, even for your... limited capacities: You must reach the center. But here's the fun twist!" (I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.) "This test isn't about strength—oh no! We had plenty of that in the arena, and frankly, it was a bit disappointing. This challenge is all about... INTELLECT!" (The word dripped with sarcasm.) "And, of course, about your only relevant ability here: Chronos!"
A chill ran through me.
"Given the... ahem... rampant abuse of other magics in the previous round," the Cat continued, his tone now laced with irritation, "all abilities other than temporal manipulation are strictly PROHIBITED in this labyrinth. Sealed! Locked! Kaput! Try to use your little fire, water, air, or any other elemental trick—and you'll soon learn reality has a nasty habit of refusing to cooperate. I wouldn't recommend it!"
Great, I thought. Goodbye Spatium, Light, Fire—everything except my most dangerous and least understood ability. This was going to be fun.
"Fighting among yourselves is not allowed," the Cat added as an afterthought. "Any sign of unnecessary violence will be... strongly frowned upon. The goal is to reach the center using nothing but your wit and mastery over tick-tock. Understood? Perfect!"
One last thought slipped through before his presence faded: "Ah, and so no one feels lonely on this delightful stroll through the crystalline park... each of you will receive an echo of your host—a little... supervisor. Enjoy the trip!"
Then, as if summoned by magic, a kitten appeared right before me—a tiny, portable, smiling version of the original. It was translucent, made of fluctuating light and time, hovering silently at shoulder height. Its overly wide grin and piercing yellow, reptilian eyes made it almost adorable, if not for its unnerving expression.
"Wonderful," I thought with an internal sigh. A walking tutorial complete with a feline superiority complex. Just what I needed.
The little kitty didn't speak, but I felt a mental link—a stream of simple data about the labyrinth: shifting corridors, doors that opened only at set times, platforms moving at variable speeds—all designed to be navigated with Chronos.
I set off, choosing a corridor that looked promising (meaning it didn't abruptly end in a solid crystal wall after a few meters) and advanced cautiously, my little feline supervisor silently drifting behind me.
The first test was straightforward: a series of crystal platforms that appeared and disappeared in rapid temporal patterns—too quick for a normal crossing. The solution was evident.
PAUSE BABY!
My 40-meter bubble froze. The platforms hung motionless in the air. I carefully made my way across, leaping from platform to platform until I reached the other side.
RESUME, MADEMOISELLE!
Simple enough—albeit at the cost of 1 MP per second, so efficiency was key.
Next came a tougher challenge: a long corridor lined with enormous crystal blocks sliding side to side at dizzying speeds, threatening to crush anyone in their path. Pausing time could let me pass, but the corridor was too long and would drain too much mana. I observed carefully; some blocks moved slower than others.
If that guy who amazed me so much could manage it, then so could I. I cracked my neck like a fighter ready for battle, cleared my mind, and focused. Then I opened my eyes.
ACCELERATE (SLOW BLOCK)! I raised my hand in an epic gesture.
SLOW DOWN (FAST BLOCK)! I lowered my hand with even greater drama.
I targeted specific blocks instead of pausing time entirely. I accelerated a slow block just as it passed, creating a gap, and simultaneously slowed a fast block coming from the opposite side, giving me a window to slip through. It demanded brutal concentration and meticulous control—alternating between speeding up and slowing down blocks as I dashed forward. I reached the far side panting, my mana significantly depleted, but I had done it. The tutorial kitty blinked—maybe impressed? Hard to tell.
The tests kept coming, each more ingenious and challenging than the last: doors that materialized only for split seconds, giant gears rotating at impossible speeds with notches usable as footholds only if slowed to the right rhythm, and labyrinths of light where the walls changed according to a temporal cycle I had to memorize and predict. There were even segments guarded by crystalline, time-worn humanoids that moved in lethal, predictable patterns, which could only be dodged—not attacked—using precisely timed pauses or accelerations.
It was utterly exhausting, both mentally and physically (despite the earlier healing). The constant micro-pauses and selective temporal manipulations drained me, and I could feel the strain in my core and tension behind my eyes. Still, I pressed on, determined to reach the center and conquer this absurd test. My little feline supervisor floated silently behind me, observing every move and decision. Sometimes I sensed a flicker of mental approval when I solved a puzzle quickly; other times, a wry wave of amusement when I fumbled and had to backtrack. Damn, cat, I thought.
After what felt like hours—or perhaps minutes, since time here was relative—I finally arrived at a vast circular chamber at the labyrinth's heart. The crystal walls glowed intensely, illuminating the entire space. Exhausted, sweating, and nearly drained of mana, I stood before the final challenge.
And there, dominating almost the entire center of the room, bathed in the soft glow from a ceiling adorned with bioluminescent flowers, was…
A giant Netamino board. Its squares were crystal slabs the size of small tables, and its pieces were statues of pure light—the King, the Queen, the Mages, the Generals—lying in silent, imposing order, waiting.
I stared in disbelief. After all those Chronos tests, the ultimate challenge turned out to be… a board game? Pietro's favorite game? I couldn't help but burst into hysterical laughter. The sheer absurdity was sublime.
Just then, my portable kitty floated to the edge of the board and perched, grooming an imaginary paw as if waiting patiently.
Moments later, I heard soft footsteps approaching from a corridor leading into the chamber. Another contestant had reached the center.
I turned, instinctively bracing myself for whatever confrontation might come—though fighting was no longer an option here.
The figure emerged into the chamber's light, cloaked in blue, with a mask that hid the lower half of his face yet revealed a familiar bearing. It was him—the other kid I'd come to know from the arena. "Blue," I'd call him in my mind, although I still didn't know his real name. He was the one who'd helped me (more or less) back there.
We stood facing each other across the vast Netamino board, and the only thought that resonated in my mind was: Oh, great. Just what this fruit salad needed.