I began right away.

There was no ceremony, no incantation. Only will.

With a breath, I called upon the three cubes I had been hoarding in reserve. They hovered in front of me like relics: [Stage of the Starborne], [Paper and Pencells], and the most recent, still thrumming with corrupted resonance—[The Ruined World].

The moment I accepted them into myself, my body shuddered.

Dimensional mana was never kind. And now, I was forcing two cubes steeped in its ever-fracturing influence to settle into my anchor slots at once. I'd braced for the backlash. It still hit harder than I thought.

My stomach churned. My vision warped at the edges, like the air itself refused to hold still. Space seemed to tug at my skin—an itch behind every nerve, as if I were being unraveled and rewoven simultaneously.

I groaned and swayed. "Ugh. Remind me again why I'm anchoring two dimension-aspected cubes during formation?"

Gin didn't even look up from where he was casually flipping through a small booklet made of leather and teeth. His smile was maddening—perfectly symmetrical, infuriatingly pleased with himself.

"Because the shell they'll create together," he said, "will be beautiful."

He snapped the booklet shut and pointed it at me like a wand. "You're building a labyrinthian. That's what we call fighters specialized for the labyrinth. And your first shell? It was general utility, wasn't it? Paper tricks and parlor games. Charming."

He stepped closer, his eyes shining just slightly too much. "But this shell? I want this one to be lethal. Deliberate. I want it to define you. To become everything your first shell wasn't. Refined. Chosen. Less duct tape, more godsteel."

I grimaced. "You're enjoying this."

"Immensely," he said without hesitation.

The nausea worsened. I stumbled back a step as the cubes melted into my core, fusing, rewriting, nesting within me. My soulscape trembled under the pressure.

Then I felt it—an internal twist. A metaphysical wrenching as the shell began to take shape, a new architecture for power. But unlike the scattered versatility of the first, this shell clicked into place like the chambers of a loaded weapon.

I reached out mentally, feeling the weight of my choices. There would only be seven slots in this shell, not nine. Seven chances. Seven definitions of what I would become. And I'd just burned three on anchors.

"Wait," I muttered, swallowing bile, "does that mean…?"

Even before I finished the question, Gin was already shaking his head, bells on his coat ringing in sync with his disappointment.

"No," he said. "You're not ready."

"Not ready for what?"

"For the griffin."

My stomach flipped for a whole new reason.

"You still don't understand the cost of bondcrafting," he said, flicking my forehead. "And yet you went and picked a bird. A majestic, stubborn, high-altitude bird. Why not a nice alley cat? Loyal, temperamental, violent—something you can actually relate to."

"I—"

"And don't even get me started on rabbits," he cut in. "Do you know what eats birds and rabbits? Cats. Do you know what drinks their blood? Me. Did you know your blood is delicious, by the way?"

I stepped back automatically.

Gin's grin widened like a blade unsheathing. "There it is. That little flinch. That's what I like to see. Fear. Let it temper you. Fear makes steel. Courage makes you swing it. And madness…"

He trailed off, letting the word linger like perfume in the air.

Madness makes Walkers.

I didn't say anything. My head was pounding. I could still feel the reverberations of the dimensional mana trying to nestle into the lattice of my soul.

Gin turned his back to me and walked a few paces away, then paused.

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"You've set your foundation. Three cubes chosen. Four left to define this shell. Choose well, Little Walker. You won't get to build the third without burying the second."

He looked back over his shoulder, eyes glittering.

"And if you bury it wrong?"

His smile sharpened, almost wistful.

"I'll be the one pulling your corpse out of the labyrinth. Piece by piece."

***

The door creaked open with a flick of my wrist, and I stepped into my room.

Warm lamplight spilled across the floor, casting long shadows over the worn rug, paper-tucked desk, and the small library that had begun to take root in one corner. The walls still smelled like stardust and ink—a side effect of absorbing three Skillcubes in one day. My head throbbed like a war drum, and my bones still ached from being rebuilt around that new dimensional shell.

But I wasn't alone.

Fractal was already perched on my bed, legs swinging, her hair a mass of black-and-silver curls that shimmered faintly in the light. She gave me a sleepy smile the moment I entered, eyes bright.

Cordelia sat by the bookshelf, cross-legged and reading. Without looking up, she marked the page with a folded petal and closed it carefully.

Ten was upside down on a lounge chair—somehow—her ankles lazily looped over the backrest, metal cuffs gleaming. She was bouncing one of her weighted chains like a yo-yo.

V stood by the window, the open pane catching the faint glimmer of the night sky on his mask. Silent, as always.

And Lumivis? He shimmered into view as I stepped farther inside, his form of starlight and dignity rising like a mirrored moon in the corner. His eyes held the usual calm, but they flicked toward me with quiet scrutiny.

I cleared my throat and shut the door.

"Okay," I said. "Let's talk."

That got their attention.

Ten flipped over with a grunt and sat upright, curious. Cordelia looked up. Fractal tilted her head. V turned, silent and attentive. Lumivis folded his hands behind his back, waiting.

"I want to start preparing," I said slowly. "Not just for the next Otherrealm. For going deeper. No more scouting or surface patrols. I'm going all the way in."

Fractal blinked. "Already? You just got back. You're still—bleeding." Her voice lowered as she stood up. "And your aura's unstable."

"I know," I admitted. "But the cubes are settling. [The Ruined World] will root into my second shell within the next two days. And once it does…"

I looked to the floor, then back at all of them.

"I need you. All of you. I need us to start functioning like an actual formation."

Cordelia raised a brow. "A what?"

"A combat formation," I said. "Labyrinth style. I don't know much about the tactics yet—I'll admit that—but I've seen enough of the Halls and Otherrealms to know that random reaction isn't going to cut it. We need roles. Movement patterns. Awareness of each other's zones."

"Labyrinthian methods are based on trust," Lumivis said. "Absolute, bone-deep trust. Teams that walk into pocket realms together must move like organs in a body. If one fails, the rest bleed."

"Exactly." I nodded. "And right now we're… competent individuals. Not yet a whole."

Ten snorted. "Is this the part where you assign codenames and colors?"

"No. You'd all veto whatever I picked anyway." I rubbed my forehead. "But we do need to start drilling. Scenarios. Simulations. Learning each other's blind spots. If I'm dropping [The Ruined World] to carve an area, I need to know that Fractal's not inside the radius. That Cordelia can maintain psychic coverage without burning out. That V's already trapped the flanks and Ten's ready to crush the breach."

Cordelia tapped her lip thoughtfully. "I'd need to start syncing my flower sigils with Fractal's movements. Could redirect psychic overflow to stabilize her tether. Might let her slip deeper."

"I can stop being bait if I have a wall," Fractal said. "A good wall."

"I'll make the wall," Ten offered with a grin, slamming her ankle chains together. "And if not a wall, then a crater."

V made a simple, slow gesture—a sweep of one hand to the floor, then a closed fist—his way of saying acknowledged.

"And me?" Lumivis asked softly.

"I need you near me at all times. You can't yet leave my aura, and you are the source of my machina as of current. I'm not giving up that training, I want to merge it into my new training."

He nodded. "Understood, Sire."

I took a breath.

"I'm not saying we're ready now. But I've started building my labyrinthian shell, and it's going to change how I fight. I won't be a duelist anymore. I'll be controlling terrain. Choke points. Traps. False paths. It'll be up to you all to move through that space like dancers—graceful and brutal."

"Sounds fun," Ten said.

"Sounds necessary," Cordelia corrected.

Fractal didn't speak—she only came up and took my hand.

It was warm.

"Are you scared?" she asked quietly.

"Terrified," I admitted. "But more afraid of going in alone again. Or losing any of you because I didn't prepare."

They didn't laugh. They didn't question. They just stood with me in the quiet, the five of them circling like stars caught in my orbit.

V finally gave a sharp nod, his gloved hands resting at his side.

Cordelia exhaled. "We'll need a training chamber."

"I can modify the basement," Lumivis offered. "Spiritual dimensions can be layered atop it. Mimic the feel of certain Otherrealms."

"And I want drills," I said. "Reaction, rotation, withdrawal, and reentry. Two styles: wide open terrain, and confined corridors."

Ten raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're not trying to be a general?"

I gave a tired smile.

"I'm trying to keep my family alive."

Fractal squeezed my hand tighter.

I let myself sit on the edge of my bed, surrounded by them all. The pain, the madness, the hunger of the Otherrealms—it could wait. We had planning to do. And maybe, just maybe, a way to fight back together.

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