The newcomer twirled and struck a dramatic stance, looking at Ben—who was struck dumb, because he was essentially looking at himself, but completely different. The staring match dragged on as this Minotaur-ish figure posed—arms outstretched—waiting for a response.

Ben had none. His brain had stopped working.

“Well, come on. Am I hot or what?” the other being said. “I mean, yeah, the tail is a little different… oh, hooves, I forgot those. And are those human fingers?”

The false Minotaur bent down, moving closer to examine Ben’s hands. “They are—wow! You don’t see those often on beast-kin… but then, you weren’t always like this, were you?”

Ben finally found a word: “No.”

“Yeah, curses… they can do some pretty nasty things to a guy. You’re lucky I came around.”

Ben just stared. He was in shock. His mind, stunned into inactivity before, now worked in overdrive, flooded with too many questions to form a single cohesive thought.

He watched as one of the large paws jutted forward. This wasn’t an offer to shake hands. This was…

The paw came up from below and pushed Ben’s jaw closed with a soft snap.

“You’re gonna catch flies if you keep your mouth open any longer,” the creature said, its paw still holding Ben’s chin up.

“My name’s Fuku. Well… Fukuyoshi Maru Tanukihiko if you want to be technical. What’s yours?” the new person-creature-minotaur-thing asked.

It took Ben a moment to remember. When he went to speak, he felt the pressure of the paw still under his chin.

“Oops, sorry,” Fuku said, pulling his paw back.

“Benakrios… no, not anymore. My name is Ben. Ben, the Minotaur.”

“Ben! Good to meet you!” Fuku exclaimed, grabbing his hand. The paw felt small within Ben’s massive one as Fuku began to shake it. A moment later, a second paw latched onto the back of Ben’s hand, joining the first to pump his arm up and down in an exaggerated handshake.

‘When did he get so close?’ Ben thought, staring at the newcomer with equal parts fascination and awe.

“So… how long have you been stuck here?” Fuku asked, his snout curling into an excited smile—although the bovine face was less bovine now, as if it were… melting.

“I… I don’t know. What year is it?” Ben asked, genuinely intrigued for the first time in a long, long while.

“According to the people in the city, it’s 201—I think,” Fuku replied.

“201? That doesn’t make sense. It was nearly 3000 when I entered.”

Fuku only shrugged—but the shoulders that rose were no longer broad and bull-like. They belonged to a smaller frame, something altogether different.

Blinking, Ben looked again. Fuku no longer resembled a Minotaur at all. In fact, he was small—only able to meet Ben’s hand because he was propped up on his tail.

Now he looked almost like a dog, though not quite. His small, chubby, paw-like hands still gripped Ben’s, the tiny claws at the tips brushing gently against the fur of Ben’s own hand.

He had fingers and a thumb—longer than an animal's digits, yet thick and rounded, giving them a chunky look. Despite that, they moved with surprising quickness, nimble and precise, more dexterous than their pudgy shape suggested.

Fuku’s body had become mostly circular, his snout shorter, his eyes beadier—yet filled with a strange, magical light that shimmered in their dark depths. His coloring remained the same, but his fur was longer now, softer, rippling as though caught in an invisible wind.

“What… are you?” Ben heard himself ask. A sinking feeling stirred in his gut—was this another of Echidna’s children?

“Me? I’m a Tanuki!” Fuku said brightly, letting go of Ben’s hand to twirl once again, spinning on his tail. “See… this is me.”

It was too much for Ben to comprehend. His head throbbed. In a matter of minutes, his world had shifted more than it had in countless years.

He was free. Or at least, free-adjacent. He hadn’t gotten far, but he was out of the dome at the heart of the Labyrinth, and the curse wasn’t pulling at him—at least, not the way it had before. The primal rage still lingered deep inside, but for now it was quiet. 

At last, an important question rose to his lips, a desperate plea to this strange, magical creature twirling in front of him. “Can we get out? I mean… do you know how to get out?”

Fuku stopped mid-spin and looked at Ben. “Well, of course!”

Ben felt his jaw losing tension as though it were going to drop open again, but he stopped it. He also felt a tightening in his chest, a touch of hope which had been missing for so long.

“Then… can we please leave? I will give you whatever I have, whatever I can… if we can just please leave this place.”

Fuku looked at him, a mischievous smile curling across his thin, dark lips.

“You should understand… a promise given to a Tanuki, one carrying a boon as great as freedom, is not merely a simple transaction. It’s an oath. And an oath will bind you to its terms—whether you like it or not.”

The sudden change in tone caught Ben off guard. Gone was the lighthearted, playful chatter from before; this was something deeper, older, carrying a weight that made his chest tighten all over again.

He thought about what he had just said. He really had nothing to give—nothing of value, at least. Yet he would give anything he could. He would work, he would fight, he would give it all… if only he could be free.

“I understand,” Ben said, his voice steadying. “I keep my promises as well. Fuku, I vow: if you can free me from this Labyrinth, you may have whatever you wish of mine—whatever I am able to give.”

Fuku stared into Ben’s eyes, and for a long moment Ben felt as though this strange creature were peering straight into his soul.

As the gaze deepened, Fuku’s youthful face seemed to ripple and shift, replaced by a wizened, ancient visage. The twinkle in his eyes no longer mischievous, but vast, immense, brimming with power.

A new voice—older, heavier—escaped Fuku’s lips.

“Keiyaku.”

The single word resonated, echoing in the air between them, as though the walls themselves had heard it.

Ben shivered as a surge of energy passed through him—warm and cold all at once. Then, just as quickly—it was gone.

And Fuku was himself again, balanced on his tail, round face beaming with impish delight.

“Sure, no problem,” he said in his normal squeaky tone. “So—do you want to go the long way, or the fast way?”

The surreal change—the strange sensation of magic—was almost too much for Ben, especially after knowing nothing but misery and boredom for so long. But he found his voice.

“The fast way… please.”

Fear gripped him at once. What if they hesitated? What if the curse snapped him back into the heart of the Labyrinth? What if, even at the true exit, he still could not pass through?

But he had to know. He had to test it—either claim his freedom, or crush this fragile spark of hope once and for all. He could not endure another endless cycle, knowing he had come so close.

He had to leave. To escape. Or die trying.

“Okay!” Fuku chirped, dropping lightly to the ground. He bounced as though landing on a pillow of air, then reached back and plunged a paw deep into his tail. For several seconds he rummaged about, muzzle scrunching in concentration—until he withdrew… another leaf.

Ben stared at the small green leaf. It wasn’t quite the same as the one he’d crushed underhoof moments ago, but very similar.

Fuku muttered a few quick words and flicked the leaf forward.

Before Ben’s eyes, it grew. It swelled from something that could fit easily in Fuku’s paw to a massive platform, so wide that its edges curled up against the corridor walls.

“Ooooh… good leaf. This’ll definitely be big enough,” Fuku said with satisfaction, then turned to Ben. “Climb on.”

And then Fuku… bounced. He didn’t walk or even hop normally. His feet never touched the ground. Instead, he bounced on a tan-colored cushion—round, plush, and unmistakably sprouting from just below his belly.

Ben’s jaw sagged. He realized what Fuku was bouncing on.

“Come on, slowpoke,” Fuku chirped. Somehow, the command tugged at Ben’s muscles, and before he knew it, his legs had carried him onto the vast leaf.

“You might want to sit for this,” Fuku advised, patting the surface beside him. “Takeoff can be a bit rough.”

“Takeoff?” Ben echoed, but folded his large legs beneath him all the same.

“Yup!” Fuku grinned. He grabbed Ben’s arm with both paws, clinging tight as though his life depended on it. “Here we go!”

“Jōshō!” Fuku squeaked.

The word had barely left his lips when Ben’s stomach lurched into his throat.

The leaf rocketed upward. In a blink, the maze fell away beneath them, walls shrinking to a child’s toy. Another heartbeat and they were so high that Ben could see the ocean itself curve away, glinting past the city of Knossos.

Higher still—the jagged crown of Mount Olympus leveled with their ascent, its ring of storms raging at eye height. Lightning flashed, thunderheads boiling around them.

And then the leaf caught the wind. Its back curled like a sail, and with a deafening whoosh it shot forward, a pale green streak carving across the sky.

“Woohoo!” Fuku howled in delight, though his voice was nearly swallowed by the roar of the wind.

Ben clamped his eyes shut and locked his jaw tight, determined to keep his stomach where it belonged. His fingers dug into the leaf’s surface, ears whipped flat against his head by the rushing air.

The gale carried them at breakneck speed, the land below blurring into streaks of green and brown. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the fury of the wind ebbed. The leaf slowed, rocking in a steady rhythm as it drifted forward, descending with a gentle sway.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Fuku excitedly barked once the air had calmed and the violent green tinge in Ben’s fur had begun to fade.

Ben only nodded, unwilling to risk opening his mouth and spewing something far less dignified than words.

Ben had his eyes open now, watching the landscape unfurl beneath him. The great leaf swayed gently as it descended, its rocking keeping a faint queasiness alive in his gut, but also granting him the chance to truly see.

For the first time, he looked down on the world from above. He traced the hills and valleys, marking familiar ridgelines, streams, and fields. Recognition struck him—this was where he had grown up. He had run these hills as a boy, had marched across them as a soldier. This was home.

And yet, it was not.

Where villages once stood, sprawling cities had risen. Smoke belched from chimneys and smokestacks, clinging together in thick clouds that strangled the sky. Wide roads slashed through the green, straight and unyielding where cobbled paths had once wandered.

Stranger still were the vehicles crawling along them—hulking, noisy machines that spewed noxious fumes. 

As the leaf dipped lower, the reek of sulfur and ozone filled his nostrils and burned his tongue. He could taste the world’s corruption.

Ben’s head drooped. The life he had known was gone. The scene below told him just how long he had been lost, how long the maze had stolen him away.

Fuku still clung to his arm, and for that Ben was grateful. Because the further down they drifted, the more sights and smells pressed upon him—and the more his body quaked and shivered with the truth of it.

‘This is not the world I left. This is not the world I knew.’ The phrase echoed again and again through Ben’s mind as they drifted down.