Intro

"Where are you going," I inquired, raising my head up to look at Asther, buttoning his coat.

"Work," he replied with a small note of leniency in his voice, "takes some time to get to it here, you know."

I didn't answer. As a kid, I remembered vaguely my parents leaving home to work but honestly speaking, to my childhood imagination they disappeared each time after crossing the step hold.

"Try to think about… this all," Asther advised me; he had already picked up his suitcase and opened the door.

"Where'd you think I should start from," I got up from the couch although by this time it wasn't as easy as it used to be.

"I dunno," replied Asther glancing at himself in the mirror next to the door, "maybe with your brightest memory. What's the first thing you could think of after your life changed."

"It changed a lot of times," I shrugged and walked up closer to my companion, "even right now, I…"

"Anyway," Asther stopped me and looked worriedly at his watches, "I haven't been in the city for a while, not used to traffic jams and shit. Gotta leave earlier to figure out how much time I'll need."

I got his idea, sighed and closed the door behind him. As his footsteps grew silent, I lay back down, investigating the ceiling and feeling as miserable as I have ever been. I used to think that the city would make me happy and bring peace into my life. I tried persuading my beloved ones that the city was safe haven because I honestly believed in it myself. But now I felt nothing but distress and pity for those I may never see again. I lost even more friends and family than I have ever before and my only consolation was the company of Asther, who, I believe, having lost his wife to the Flare, had a slight idea of my condition. I was pretty much sure he knew what he was talking about when he advised me to search for the moment when this story began. I bet he kept coming back to the beginning of his story more often than he had mentioned it to me, to form such a philosophy he possessed by now. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on my memories, understanding how vague and unstable they were and scared to miss out some important details. Then it struck me. The first thing I would always remember was pain.

Part I.
Chapter 1.
Of allies and lords

The first thing I remembered when I gained consciousness was pain that hit me in a single moment and ran all the way down from my head to every nerve of my body. I flung my eyes open only to shut them in a second, reacting to the bright cold light that unexpectedly stroke me.
"Don't move," I heard a soft voice and felt a warm hand on my aching head, "You've got to lay still."
Actually, I felt more like throwing up. Scared, to the extent I had the strength to, I tried to open my eyes once again, not so fastly this time. At first, I saw nothing but light and a silhouette of a small head, drowning in dark curls of hair. Then the picture started to outline and I saw a woman, who was looking at me worriedly and with a great notion of curiosity.
"You hurt your head during the landing," she started to explain, her voice sounding too loud and annoying for me, "But don't worry. In a few weeks, you will be as good as new."
I squinted, trying to make out her face and clothes but the bright light blurred everything out. This irritated me and I tried to turn my face away to give my eyes some rest but the woman turned my head back straight and told me to keep calm.
I tried to remember what happened but I couldn't. I remembered only fear… and running. My brain left me emotions but I had no I idea what had happened, where I was and whether the world around me was real rather than a part of some wicked dream. I felt awful. My head ached. My feet hurt as though I ran a thousand miles. My arms hurt and I figured that they were heavily bruised. Even my face burned with what I assumed to be scratches and small wounds. I tried to open my eyes again and realized that the light has dimmed somewhat. The ability to hear was coming back to me and I became aware of the fact that I wasn't alone with the woman who spoke to me. Hundreds of voices murmured around us but I was too contused to make anything out. Despite the woman's protest, I managed to sit up and, grasping my head as the pain increased when I tried to hold it straight, I looked around.
"The ceiling of this place is remarkably tall," was the first thing I noticed to myself, "And remarkably gray." In a huge hall, surrounded by plain concrete walls, was something I could assume to be a camp or something like a stopover. Looking around, I spotted a few young people lying on stretchers, some of them seeming to be in a far worse condition than I was from what I could make out from my position. My stretcher was somewhat further away from the others, positioned right under one of the ceiling lights, hanging quite low, right above the heads of people fussing over the wounded.
"Can't say that went smoothly but in these conditions this evacuation was the best we could do," I instinctively turned my head to the right, trying to make out the source of the loud noise bombarding my head with new spasms of pain. In the very back of the hall, blended out by the lights, I noticed a few silhouettes fastly approaching the camp.
"You can't predict everything, Janson," another man's voice sounded almost near me. I felt the woman who was looking over me pushing me gently back to lay down. Exhausted, I didn't protest this time but still tried to concentrate on what was happening. As soon as I have dealt with the annoying buzz in my head, I realized I had to understand where I was, presumably, avoiding any questions in order to not start a dialogue where I could reveal any information about myself.
Not in places like this.
I got up, leaning on my elbow and trying to make out the silhouettes of people approaching me. It was a group of four men and a woman, they all were dressed the same except for one man whose clothing seemed to be somewhat more informal. Guessing he was the influential of the group, I concentrated my clouded mind on him. The man was not exactly tall but quite well built; his step was easy but somewhat too impulsive and his hands swung actively as he walked. He moved so fast that his group barely made it after him. Having reached my stretcher, he stopped abruptly and looked at me. His face appeared in the bright light that has been annoying me in the last few minutes and I managed to make out features. He seemed to be around thirty, maybe thirty-five years old. His hair was already gray in some places and his face somewhat wrinkled. Gray bags under his eyes revealed a man of a high rank and responsibility.

They say, it all begins with a look.
I looked into his eyes with no intention whatsoever. I used to do that to the newcomers just to enjoy their reaction to them being examined by their new companions. I remember fear. It was the first I would recognize. Confusion usually comes afterward. First, it's always fear.
The man's eyes were gray. When I looked into his eyes he looked straight into mine, trying me and provoking a reaction. We stared at each other for a moment and then he broke the silence.
"What did they call you?"

Despite his presumably high rank, he kneeled down to get a better view of my face.
I kept staring at him, wondering what he actually wanted to hear.
"Hayda," I answered, "They called me Hayda."
The man they called Janson chuckled softly. I didn't find his behavior appropriate for the situation and looked away, trying to escape the bright light and Janson's evil grin.
"Do you know what has happened, Hayda?" Janson inquired softly, 'What do you remember?"
I shrugged without even trying to make up an answer. I remembered everything that has been happening in the Labyrinth and I remembered every single day spent in the valley. But it was something I wasn't going to share so easily.
I didn't look at Janson, his slightly insane tone and mimics made me uneasy. I've noticed that Janson was smiling the whole time, chuckling from time to time. It was the sort of the nervous smile that I've seen on the faces of my friends at times when they just arrived and where still prone conceal their fear and confusion under an uneasy grin. Considering what his companions have been saying a few minutes ago, it was quite easy to assume that the reason for Jansons edgy behavior and anxiety was probably the fact that something he was responsible for went wrong.
Janson waited for my reaction some time and having finally accepted that I didn't want to reveal anything about myself and what I knew of the Labyrinth, stood up, shook off the dust from his pants and turned away from me.
"Where is everyone else?" I asked suddenly as Janson glanced at his watches. He obviously was about to leave
"Depends on the point to which you remember" Janson smiled softly and slyly. His intentions were too obvious. He wanted to exchange information for information.

At this point, it was crucial for me to understand what sort of reality I am in now. Having spent years in the Labyrinth, I figured that our reality is the people surrounding us. Janson has already shown me who's the lord here and I might as well keep my head down for the beginning. Second thing, I had to make sure that I had allies. The risk was worth it, my position was dangerous and I raised my head and squinting, began to talk.
"Victoria, Andrew, Valery, Alex, and Judy - they should've made it here too, if I did," I replied dully, "I suppose that no one else survived, did they?"
"Judy died during the flight, unfortunately," Janson's voice was nonchalant and cold, although he played his sympathies good, "My condolences. You know W.I.C.K.E.D. will pay for this."
He obviously wanted to say something else but one of the men in the very back of the hall called his name.
"We'll chat somewhat later… Hayda," he glanced at me and saying no more proceeded to the other survivors, his entourage marched past my stretcher raising dust and choking me on it. I started coughing, my head throbbed with pain again and I lay down, trying to reflect on what has just happened.