The golden-orange hues of the evening sky faded into deep blues and blacks as night descended over Maze World. Subra, crouched in the shadows of a secluded patch of the park, adjusted his grip on the Wind Blade. Its ethereal edge shimmered faintly in the moonlight, an otherworldly glow that reminded him just how far he was from Earth.
"This is it," he muttered, his breath visible in the cool night air. "Phase one."
He stepped closer to the nearest tree, chosen for its relative isolation and sturdy branches. With a swift, deliberate motion, he swung the Wind Blade, its sharpness slicing cleanly through the wood. The tree groaned slightly before falling with a muffled thud. Subra froze, his eyes darting around. The park was eerily quiet, the stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.
No one heard that, he reassured himself.
He got to work quickly, carving the fallen wood into rough shapes. His hands moved awkwardly at first, but muscle memory gradually kicked in. The Wind Blade's sharp edge made the process faster than he'd expected, though its weight strained his arm with each cut.
"Ah," he said to himself, pausing for a moment as he examined his handiwork. "This brings back memories... back when I was a kid, trying my hand at woodworking." A faint smile touched his lips. He remembered the old workshop his father used to take him to, where he'd spend hours shaping bits of scrap wood into makeshift toys. Those skills, though long dormant, now served him well.
He cut and shaped three spears, their shafts uneven but functional. Each was tipped with a crude point, the wood sharpened as much as possible. Next, he worked on a small, circular shield, using a thicker piece of the tree trunk for its base. He reinforced it with extra strips of wood, tying them together with vines he'd found nearby. Finally, he crafted a pair of sickle-like tools, their curved edges designed to hook onto the maze walls for climbing.
As he finished the last tool, he stretched his aching arms and shoulders, letting out a sigh of relief. "Phase one of my plan is finished," he murmured, satisfaction mixed with exhaustion.
Subra inspected his tools critically. They were far from perfect. The spears were sturdy enough for a single use, but he doubted they'd hold up in prolonged combat. The shield felt solid in his grip but lacked proper reinforcement. The sickle tools seemed functional but untested. Still, it was better than nothing.
"These'll do," he said quietly, slipping the spears into his backpack. They stuck out awkwardly, the ends poking through the partially open flap. His shield strapped snugly onto one arm, while the sickles found a home on his belt. With one of the spears in hand, Subra stood and rolled his shoulders, feeling the weight of the tools he'd created.
The air had grown colder, and the world around him was silent except for the faint whisper of wind. In the east, the first hints of dawn appeared—a faint orange glow bleeding into the night sky. Subra stared at it for a moment, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths.
"Time for Phase 2," he said, his voice firm but quiet. With tools in hand and the night behind him, Subra prepared to face the next phase of his plan.
Subra moved swiftly through the dim light of the maze's entrance, the faint glow of dawn barely illuminating the way. The air inside was cooler, damp, and filled with a quiet hum that set his nerves on edge. He paused just beyond the threshold, glancing back at the park to ensure no one had followed him.
"All clear," he whispered, gripping his spear tightly as he stepped further into the twisting corridors.
The maze loomed around him, its high walls casting long shadows that seemed to twist endlessly. Each corridor felt more foreboding than the last. Subra hadn't ventured into the maze before, and this section looked particularly isolated—a dead end no one would bother exploring. Its silence was unnerving, but for Subra, that made it perfect.
He stopped at the base of a towering wall. Pulling the sickle-like tools from his belt, he inspected the surface for cracks and imperfections. With slow, careful movements, he jabbed the curved edges into the wall and began climbing. His muscles burned from the effort, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself upward one foothold at a time.
When he reached the top, Subra pulled himself onto the narrow ledge, crouching low to avoid being seen. The maze stretched out before him like an endless labyrinth, its paths twisting in chaotic patterns.
He adjusted his armor straps, ensuring nothing would slip or clatter, and pulled out his notebook and pen. "East side first," he murmured, flipping to a blank page. His fingers brushed the edge of the paper as he steadied himself and began sketching.
He ran carefully along the wall, noting paths, dead ends, and landmarks below. The maze remained eerily quiet, its stillness broken only by the faint scuff of his boots on the stone. By the time the sun had risen halfway to its peak, Subra was back in the park, drenched in sweat and heavy with exhaustion.

Subra stretched out his sleeping bag beneath the oak tree near his earlier chopping spot, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. He stashed his tools close to him, tucking the spears awkwardly into his bag and strapping the shield to his side. With the maze yielding no treasure chests, the day's efforts felt underwhelming, but at least he was still alive.
As he lay down, he closed his eyes almost immediately, the weight of fatigue pulling him into a dreamless sleep.

To Be Continued...