"The second maze…Life and Desire." When she had finished placing the orbs, she held her breath as she was whisked away to her next location. She and Sylvain had come along on the Clephsydra with the Steward as Shiloh and her fiance were planning to endure the challenges the other goddesses had created. As they watched the deity leave for the Sanctum, Nerine had waited until everyone else was occupied so she could slip away herself. Now looking back, it was foolish of her. Initially she had thought she was only taking them to test her mettle, but she was beginning to doubt her own motivations. Why did she decide to take this one? She could have taken them in any order.

Life and Desire. Perhaps the scholar should have started with Life and Love, but she didn't. Walking along the maze paths, she wondered if the others were similar in appearance. The hedges were high like those around Kirika Lake, and it didn't look any different from a typical maze. As she passed by a fork in the road, she caught a glimpse of someone on the other side walking by. With a hand raised, she prepared to call out to them when she froze. The person she saw made the words die in her throat. It…was him. What on Revaliir was he doing here? Did he come to take the challenges too? Her heart was racing as anxiety began taking root and she hid around the corner. Of all the people she could have run into, why did it have to be that man? There was no mistaking it: that posture, the color of his hair, even the clothes–she had seen him wear those more than once in her memories. Just when she had thought she had forgotten and it was buried, he appeared at the worst possible moment.

She heard him call out for someone, and she was tempted to answer. But he wasn't calling for her name. Ever since she had learned the awful truth, she was never able to face him. When she thought she had the resolve to confront him and demand an explanation, she found herself running away. It was painful enough that she saw undeniable proof; she didn't want to have her fears confirmed again. Whenever it came to him, why was she so weak? Taking one of the fallen rose petals in her hand, she twisted the silky red piece until the vibrant crimson turned a dull burgundy. "Why did it have to be you?" 

Something inside of her stirred. Maybe she was mistaken. After all, her friends and family had always objected to them being together. Perhaps something came up and he wasn't able to respond back, maybe he had been busy. If it was something serious, could she be so selfish to blame him for not writing back? Had she been clinging too close, and he wanted some time apart so he could breathe? Emerging from her hiding place, she dashed in the direction of his voice. But just as she was within a few meters, the ground suddenly rose up and blocked the corridor. In a panic she pounded at the earthen wall as he continued to walk further down, disappearing from sight. "Alistair! Alistair, it's me–Nerine!! I'm here! Alistair I'm here!" As she slid down to her knees, she began sobbing as the wounds she thought had healed were reopened again. "Alistair…" Nerine choked between sobs, "Why won't you answer me? Tell me, was it all a lie? All those years at Auzial, before I left for Iria?" Pressing her forehead against the stone, she cried. "Why did you leave me?" 

One down, two to go. When they were back in the Sanctum, they chose the next combination in the ascending order and the light enveloped them again. "Another maze. What'll it be this time? …Cymbel?" From the silence she realized that although they had entered together, she was alone. She couldn't sense him anywhere. It was worrying, but she suspected it was the maze at work. This time she'd be facing both life and desire, and she was nervous to see how it'd play out. Shiloh wasn't a person who had many desires, and she could count those that she had on a single hand. But by no means did she expect things to be easy. They never were.

After walking around in circles, she finally found something that wasn't a dead end. Preparing to pass through, a rock wall emerged in front of her with handholds spaced at varying positions along the face. Without hesitation, she grabbed hold of a spot and started climbing. Pacing, timing, momentum. These were all the things you had to keep in mind when climbing up free-handed. You needed to know with absolute certainty that you'd be safe, especially without a harness. Things were going well when suddenly the foothold beneath her left leg snapped and gave way. Clamping onto her current handhold with both her right and left hands, her heart jumped as she quickly had to adjust to the change in weight distribution. This wasn't making sense. She had seen that ledge seconds before and it was rock-solid when she had used it to pull herself up. Taking in a deep breath, she swung over to a nearby outcropping she had noted earlier gauging the seconds before she would make contact. While she was halfway a portion of the wall then jutted out, nearly throwing her off. Scrambling to change direction mid-air, on reflex she summoned her grappling hook with a rope attached and dug it into the side of the stone. Alarm bells were ringing in her head as she laid flat against the stone wall, eyes wide and almost hyperventilating. Where did that shift in the wall come from?! That wasn't there earlier!

Nothing was going as planned–handholds she thought were sturdy would break away at any time, and the flat areas would randomly jut out when she was preparing to cross. She couldn't trust anything anymore. Immediately she thought of scaling it as quickly as possible hoping to move fast enough before the wall could react. As she was readying her next jump, something clicked in the back of her mind. "…This is Cupiditas, isn't it?" The fourth level of the Circulos Inferos, the sphinx and the tortured forced to endlessly throw away gold, the challenge the circle's guardian had given to her and to a beastkin woman. This was the exact same situation. Everything she had thought, everything she had did–was mirroring that same moment. But this time, she didn't have anyone else to rely on. Even if she wanted to, that wasn't an option. It didn't matter that she was now a deity–everything was the same. Nothing had changed. She couldn't overcome this obstacle with her strength alone.

"…I can't do this." Those four words were the hardest thing to admit, after a lifetime of fending for herself with no one to catch her if she fell. Even when she couldn't, she had to find a way. Nobody else would help her, and those who wanted to couldn't either. Whether through planning or brute force, moving forward was the only option. She had to survive, no matter what. The wall shifted again and she found herself sliding back to the bottom. There weren't any other paths that she hadn't tried already. This was the only way, the one way which didn't immediately stop at a dead end. 

Letting go was hard, forgiving was at times almost impossible, but forgetting– it was something she couldn't even imagine happening. Every time she attempted to make sense of it, to rationalize things so it would hurt less, she kept blaming herself for not being good enough. Alistair was charming, audacious, and confident. Back when they were students in the same school she would always feel her face flush whenever he gave that devil-may-care smile. Before she met him she had never thought herself as being shy, so when she found herself stumbling over her words in front of him it came as a surprise. The first years were wonderful; like pure bliss. At times he'd surprise her with something hidden in her things, like a silly letter or a pressed flower. They would watch the sunset together and spend their holidays in each other's company. When they would talk about coursework, all too often they'd end up drifting off topic sharing their hobbies and interests. Wasn't that normal for lovers to do?

Everything went according to what she had seen and heard about romance…so why did it end? She never doubted she would spend eternity with him. He had thought so too, he even said it himself. So why did he change? Burying her face into her arms, she sat with her back against the wall. She was so tired of crying, of feeling hurt whenever something that reminded her of him came up. "Why can't I just forget him and move on?" He didn't love her anymore, so she didn't have to keep loving him either. They had spent so many years together, that she couldn't recall a time where they had been apart. Nerine sat in silence, no longer concerned about the maze.

"When I look back on it all, my aunt and cousins always didn't like him very much. My cousins tried to be civil, but there were times when they would ask me if I had anybody else in mind. My aunt was all smiles when I first brought him to her, but after a while she started telling me he wasn't the right one. He and I weren't a good match…that's what she said. I told her then that he loved me and I loved him. She looked like she was going to say something, but stopped and sighed." They didn't tell her when she came back that he had changed his mind, and they kept pushing her to find someone else. 'You don't need to see him anymore. Aren't there plenty other men that you've met back in Parvpora? You don't need to limit yourself to Sularia or Arri.' 

"If they knew, why didn't they say anything? Why did they wait for me to see him, then act like they were trying to make me feel better?" It was too cruel. It hurt so much to find that the people you believed had your best interests in mind weren't even willing to soften the blow. Even if Alistair had been unfaithful, they could have at least done that much for her. "Why are you mad at them?" A familiar voice spoke to her, and she looked up in surprise. "…Shiloh? What are you–" "Your family. Why do you think they weren't sincere about helping you?" Biting her lip, she didn't have a good answer. "They could've told me… Why didn't they say anything when I mentioned he stopped responding to my letters? If they wanted me to know, why did they keep me from seeing him after I came back without saying a word? How was I supposed to know about anything going on in Sularia? It's too cruel…I didn't even know until the very end that I had been thrown aside."

They sat in silence, and the scholar was half-expecting for the deity to lecture her on how foolish she was for not realizing Alistair's changing feelings sooner. It would be the same thing her cousins and aunt said to her after she found out her lover had moved onto somebody else. "You know what I think?" The deity said, crossing her legs as she sat on the ground. "Your aunt and cousins probably didn't know about it until right before you came back. They could have passed by and seen something, but were at a loss on how to break it to you. If I were them, I'd worry how you'd take the news. What if you didn't believe them? If you went back to him and thought nothing was wrong, he could drop it all onto you at once without caring how it'd hurt your feelings. It's likely that they were trying to give you hints along the way to make the truth easier to swallow. Even if they really didn't like him, they would at least care about your well-being–right?"

"…They would, yes." It was something she didn't want to believe, but  she had been thinking it for a while now. When she accused them of trying to drive a wedge between her and him, they didn't try to defend themselves. Instead they kept asking her to reconsider if she truly wanted to keep seeing Alistair. They weren't angry at her…at all. "Nerine. Alistair didn't leave you because you weren't good enough. If he knew how much you loved him, he'd at least have the courtesy to tell you if he wanted to end the relationship. It's his fault for not keeping the promise you two made together. If he couldn't be satisfied with your thoughts and consideration for him, then he has a poor sense of value." Nerine pressed the palms of her hands against her eyes, holding back a sob from surfacing. Hearing these words was akin to a large needle stabbing its way into the center of her heart. But part of her hurt less after hearing them. Leaning forward, the deity said to the weeping Rosenite: "It's not you who isn't good enough, it's him. He isn't worth your tears. He doesn't deserve you. Don't forget that."

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Nerine started bawling. She cried her heart out until she couldn't feel anything anymore. All the pain, the insecurities, the self-doubt she had were poured out in the middle of the maze. The deity wrapped her arms around the woman and soon Nerine fell asleep. She had lost all sense of time during the talk, and slowly opened her eyes much later. Having passed out from stress, she now felt less exhausted. Remembering what the deity had said to her, she rose to thank her when she realized she was alone. There were no sounds of footsteps anywhere nearby, and the ground before her was undisturbed. "The person I spoke with wasn't really Shiloh, was it?" Curling her fingers around the now-dried piece of flower petal she had twisted earlier, she looked up to the sky. "…Thank you, Lady Angela."

By now distrust and suspicion went hand in hand, like two faithful hounds after their master. They had weathered through the worst of times and the best of times, they and she. When she was ready to leave and abandon the path, a raspy voice called out to her from behind. "Hoy, need a hand?" Pausing, she turned to look. Up at the very top of the wall, there was a man with greying hair and a long, unkempt, scraggly beard. He was peering out from behind the wall, his beard spilling over from the other side. Squinting her eyes, she couldn't wrap her head around how he had gotten all the way up there. "How did you…"

"You're looking a way to get over here, right? I can see where you had trouble. The thing's enchanted, so I wouldn't trust the handholds or spacing either." Ducking back down, a long, knotted rope was flung over towards her, dangling down off the face of the rock wall. The old man then reappeared, leaning over the side to see that the rope made it over. By now Shiloh had started to piece together a few things. This man was aged, and he was wearing robes along with a very particular wide-brimmed hat. The act of goodwill wasn't what threw her off though, it was…his presence. While he had been busying himself with the rope, she quietly activated her aura sight. Without a doubt, she detected a very powerful magical signature. From his visual features alone, this man could be anywhere between the sixth and seventh decade of his life. This wasn't counting other potentially long lived races such as elves. Seeing her hesitate, the robed man attempted to prove his sincerity.

"Ah, you're not thinking that this is cheating–are you? Well, from what I heard when passing by, you tried climbing the usual way once. You're not using any tricks like magic here, and there's nothing wrong against helping somebody. The other end of this is tied to a tree, I swear it." Even with those words, Shiloh found it hard to believe. Still staying where she was, she asked the man a question. "…Are you a sorcerer?" A look of confusion passed the man's face as he scratched his head. "Well, I know some magic but I'd hardly call myself the type to throw blasts of fire or lightning. Just a few cantrips and spells." A cold sweat was beginning to break out on the back of her neck as she took in his reply. "I see. I appreciate the help, but I'll find another way around." 

She ignored the shouts from the man as she turned and left, going back the way she had came. All the while her face had become as stiff as stone. His face seemed awfully familiar in a way she couldn't describe, and something about him made her hair stand on end. To others he might have seemed like a kindly old man, but to her…she only saw red.

Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a land far, far from here. The land was ruled by a council of great sages, men and women of great wisdom and power. But one day they believed misfortune would fall upon them and their kingdom, and they sought all means to change the course of fate. They knew not the form or shape of this disaster, so they wiped out anything that they saw as fearsome and terrible. Anything they couldn't understand, anything they could not directly control, anything that did not follow the ways they believed the world should follow–were called heretical. To stave off social unrest and political upheaval, they needed a great sacrifice to appease the masses. In another world this would be called a 'witch hunt', but the name they gave it was 'the holy crusade'. A conveniently-named machine designed to root out deemed heretics and dissenters.

This dogma spread and infected the minds of the upper hierarchy, and eventually trickled down to the common folk. Those who were outsiders and pariahs were excluded. When the kingdom's condition worsened, the wise men and woman became afraid. Believing it was time to end the source of disaster, they found someone to take the blame. And they couldn't have found a better sacrificial lamb than a person who had a history living on the fringes of society. It was perfect, too perfect. She had no kin, no connections, and with the crusade she was unwelcome everywhere. Only the wilds would take her, and for that they could easily see her as being inhuman. They took the moral high ground, accused her of crimes without giving her a chance to plead her case. She remembered their hateful, fear-ridden eyes all so well. Kindly faces twisted into rage and disdain as they acted on behalf of heaven. 

From there, the seed of distrust bloomed and took root. Fed by outrage at injustice and resentment, it became a force of nature in of itself. All humans were filthy, cowardly liars. From then on she never trusted anything with a human face. Especially…if they were mages. 

She spent hours looking for another way around. Each time she thought she saw a passage, the walls would close up or she would fall into a pit to find herself back again. By now she was wearing herself out, and exhaustion was taking its toll. With each heavy step, she recalled the old man's last words: "If you ever reconsider, I'll be here waiting."

"That's impossible. No one would bother to stay after the first two hours." Even if her sense of time was distorted due to the maze, nobody would be willing to wait forever. Reluctantly she returned to the same clearing where she had found the climbing wall, expecting to repeat the same thing that had happened earlier. This time, surely she would succeed. She had to if she wanted to move on. "Oh, you've come back! The search didn't go well then? It's easy to lose your sense of direction with so many winding passages." The old man was…still here? He waved to her, his smile exaggerating the crows' feet at the corners of his eyes. Staring back dumbfounded, Shiloh couldn't think of anything to say. "You've worked hard enough on your own. Why not let this old man give you hand?"

She had all the reasons to give in to her misgivings. Whether it was out of begrudging acceptance or desperation, she forced herself to take the offer. "…Alright. That rope of yours better not fall apart halfway." Grasping the rope by the knots, she slowly climbed up the wall and the man took hold of her hand to pull her over onto the other side. To her surprise, there was a tree with the other end wrapped around the trunk. She had never seen so many coils ending in a looped knot in her whole life, and the thought of untangling it almost gave her a headache. Unless you got a sharp axe to hack at it, it wasn't budging any time soon. With feet back on solid ground she felt guilty on how harshly she pushed away his offered help. Looking back to see where she had been, the impassable wall began to crumble and fell to pieces. The rope she had been holding on changed into a long and winding tendril, and the tree became a towering stalk that stretched up to the sky.

"Take care now! And don't push yourself so hard. Sometimes there's more than one way to go about things, and there might be somebody around the corner just when you need it." The man said, waving as he dissipated into mist. Watching in stunned silence, Shiloh came to the conclusion that sometimes one's greatest enemy was oneself.