The air out here felt different.
It was still thick with the smell of trampled grass, sweat, and stone dust, but the suffocating weight of the labyrinth was gone. A massive open courtyard stretched out beyond the iron exit gates, ringed by high walls and cold-eyed officials scribbling tallies into thick leather ledgers. Overhead, the open sky was a dull, bruised grey.
Around them, survivors from the first Trial stumbled out onto the flagstones.
Nobody was cheering. There was no glory in the way the candidates stumbled out of the tunnels. A boy sat against a stone pillar, clutching his ruined shoulder and staring straight ahead with blank, unblinking eyes.