Chapter Two

"Edgeworth." As soon as they sprint into the waiting room lobby Phoenix's eyes pick out the Chief Prosecutor, and a confusing torrent of relief and anger surges up in his chest. "What the hell happened?"

Edgeworth flinches back a bit, his glasses dangling from his right hand, his left coming across his chest to hug his arm as he turns away from direct eye contact. "I'm still trying to figure that out, Wright. There was some kind of breach of security—"

"Clearly." Phoenix can feel his nostrils flare, the anger winning out over other, more dangerous emotions.

"Daddy!" Trucy appears at his side, tugging hard on his sleeve. "Come on. They won't tell me anything about Polly."

Phoenix allows himself to be pulled away from Edgeworth and towards the nurse behind the desk. "Don't go anywhere. We need to talk."

"Yes, we do." Edgeworth sounds tired as he settles into one of the surprisingly well-cushioned waiting chairs.

"This is my Daddy." Trucy doesn't stop tugging until they're in front of the desk. Phoenix has at least a good six inches in height on the woman standing there, but somehow he's the one who feels intimidated as she runs her eyes up and down his body. "He's the one who has medical power of attorney for Polly, so you've got to tell us what's going on."

"Phoenix Wright, ma'am. Attorney." Phoenix adjusts the lapel of his jacket that has his attorney's badge on it. "I do indeed have power of attorney for Apollo in crisis situations."

The woman's slight, disapproving frown doesn't change. "You have paperwork to prove it?"

"I..." Phoenix pats his pockets, feeling foolish. When he'd received the call from Edgeworth saying Apollo had been shot at the courthouse, finding his wallet and enough change for the bus had been a higher priority than finding the paperwork that he's fairly certain he and Apollo filled out properly following the Phantom case last year.

Trucy twirls around, her cape flaring, and when her cape falls again she's clutching a handful of papers that definitely look legal, and at least seem to have his and Apollo's signatures on them. "This is what you're looking for, right? Polly's an orphan, and Daddy's the one who's taking care of him in emergencies, and that makes me like his sister, so you have to tell me how he's doing."

(She is his sister, and Phoenix's stomach somehow ties itself into even more knots as he looks down at his furious, frightened daughter and realizes how much he's left them in the dark about. He will have to call Thalassa, to let her know that the baby she abandoned might die before they get a chance to tell him the truth, and Phoenix has to stop thinking about that right now. First he needs to deal with what's right in front of him; the future can wait for a little bit.)

The nurse's expression finally softens a bit as she flips through the papers before handing them back to Phoenix. "I wasn't refusing to answer you because I don't want you to know. There are laws about these things, and especially where this is clearly part of an ongoing criminal investigation... he was shot twice in the chest. The first bullet entered on the right-hand side and went all the way through, damaging the right lung field. The second bullet entered at an oblique angle and traveled from left to right. They performed a CT scan and are, I believe, prepping him for surgery now. I'll have a doctor come talk with you as soon as they're available."

Silence stretches out, and it takes Phoenix longer than it should to realize that everyone's waiting for him to respond. He has to take two breaths before he's actually able to make words emerge. "That would be lovely. Thank you. Did they say... do you know..."

The woman gives her head a little shake. "His condition is critical, but I promise we're doing everything we can."

Trucy's hand closes around his, and Phoenix squeezes her fingers tight, trying to give what comfort he can.

The nurse turns away from them then, a pointed but not cruel motion—dismissing them, telling them that they need to go sit down while she continues about her work. Keeping a firm grip on Trucy's hand, Phoenix turns towards the back of the waiting room, where Edgeworth is still sitting.

They haven't gone more than four steps before Trucy is surging ahead, pulling her hand free. Since her trajectory seems to be towards Edgeworth, Phoenix lets her go.

Phoenix expects her to come to attention in front of Edgeworth, put her hands on her hips and demand answers. Instead she crawls up onto Edgeworth's lap, as though she were seven rather than seventeen. (Except they didn't have her when she was seven—that is a year that will forever belong to her biological father, no matter how much Phoenix can wish it otherwise.)

Edgeworth freezes, his whole body coming to a rigid attention at the clearly unexpected intimacy. Then his right hand rises, settles on Trucy's head, and he sighs as he puts his arms around her in a loose hold.

"What happened?" From Trucy, held in Edgeworth's arms, the words aren't an accusation. They are a request for information, for explanation, nothing more, and Phoenix feels very small and tired as he watches his daughter handle this situation with more aplomb than he's managed to.

"There was a shooter." Edgeworth closes his eyes, and Phoenix wonders what he's seeing—what he's imagining. His father's death? The deaths of others he's investigated over the years? "The case that Mr. Justice and Prosecutor Gavin were working on involves a very vicious and powerful mob boss and one of said mob boss' assassins. By careful maneuvering Prosecutor Gavin was able to convict said mob boss of several smaller crimes, and the assassin had promised a plea-bargain that should have seen... will see the man imprisoned. I suspect the shooting has something to do with the conviction."

"But why shoot Apollo?" Phoenix's hands clench into fists. "Just for failing to get a not guilty verdict?"

"He didn't fail to get a not guilty verdict." Miles' right hand strokes over Trucy's hair. "Mr. Bass was found not guilty of personally committing the murder. But yes, I suspect Mr. Justice was targeted for failing to bend reality to the whims of a murderous villain."

"If they targeted Polly..." Trucy leaps abruptly off Miles' lap. "Where's Klavier? And this witness? Are they in protective custody? Does Klavier know—"

"The witness is safe. I've made sure of it—I have Detective Gumshoe guarding her until I can transfer her into the custody of a warden I trust." Miles sits up a bit straighter now that Trucy isn't pinning him down. "I'm afraid Prosecutor Gavin was also targeted. He sustained a single bullet wound to the head and is currently also in critical condition."

Trucy's face loses all color, and Phoenix steps forward, putting a hand on each of her shoulders.

Turning around, Trucy buries her head in Phoenix's waistcoat, her breath rasping harsh against unshed tears.

Miles leans toward her, though he doesn't reach out to touch her, his silver eyes dark. "I've got calls in to the best thoracic surgeons and neurologists in the state. I'll see that they're given the absolute epitome of care, Trucy. If there's any chance—"

"They'll be fine!" The words are shouted into Phoenix's jacket, Trucy's fingers clenching tight against the fabric. Pulling her head away, she gasps in a shaking breath and forces a smile. "Right, Daddy? They're alive right now, so if we just keep smiling and believing in them..."

Wrapping his arms around his daughter, Phoenix tries hard not to think about everyone else he has seen die—fierce people, determined people, people who had everything in the world to live for and loved ones rooting for them. People who had information to give, or reunions that they should have participated in, or children to protect... "Death isn't fair. It doesn't follow the laws of the courtroom or the laws of performance. But Apollo's alive right now, and we're going to do everything we can to keep him and Klavier alive. Together."

"Together." Trucy holds tight to him, and he can't tell if she's still crying or not as she repeats the word like a mantra, a defense against the worst possibilities. "Together. We're going to be together."

XXX

Apollo stops running when the pain in his chest becomes overwhelming. He's not sure where he is, but he can no longer hear the red-haired woman's voice calling after him, and he takes that as a plus.

"Impressive." A woman's voice breaks the silence, causing Apollo to jump. "There aren't too many people who can outrun the Fey here."

Apollo presses back against a dark gray wall, his eyes immediately scanning over the room. Bits of computer equipment sit side-by-side with electronic components and small collections of flowers, and in the center of it all sits a woman in a kimono. She is kneeling in front of a table, the top of which is covered with a strange conglomeration of flowers and wires and computer chips.

Pressing one hand to his chest, Apollo tries to catch his breath. "Am I... dreaming?"

"I... suppose you could think of it like that, if it makes you feel better." The woman picks up a white lily and adds it to the vase in front of her, then searches through the computer chips to find one that's a shimmering ivory color. She hesitates for a moment before pressing it into the center of the dark purple chrysanthemum already there. "You're in the Labyrinth."

"I... know you." Apollo takes a hesitant step forward. "Or, well... you're Metis Cykes."

The woman nods, draping a string of black, green, and white wires over the edge of the vase. "You're Apollo Justice. You were Mr. Terran's friend. I don't believe we ever had a chance to meet before my untimely demise."

"No." Apollo settles down slowly by the table, at a ninety degree angle to Metis. "But I know your daughter. Athena."

"I know." Metis smiles. "I've been staying close to her. That's why I'm here, really."

"Here." Apollo reaches out to touch one of the flowers, stopping when Metis narrows her eyes at him. "In this... Labyrinth?"

Metis nods. "Think of the Labyrinth as a place between. You're not quite alive anymore, but you're also not quite dead. You're on the border. Go too deeply into the Labyrinth, and you'll pass out into proper death; find your way back..."

"Wait. Wait wait wait." Apollo presses a hand harder to his chest. "You're saying I'm dying? That's a hell of a lot different from a dream!"

"It isn't, really. Or I suspect it's not if one were to look at ECG patterns, but I've never had the opportunity to test it, unfortunately." Metis adds another flower to the arrangement, her eyes questing past Apollo.

When Apollo turns to look where she's staring, he sees nothing. Including no door, though he definitely ran through the wall that is staring blankly back at him. "Um... what are you looking for?"

"Mia." Metis sighs. "She's much better at explaining all of this. It's what her family does, you know—deals with ghosts and spirits and the areas between the living and the dead."

"Mia Fey!" Apollo shouts out the name, realizing why it was familiar. "She's my boss'—she and Mr. Wright—"

"Try not to be so loud." Metis raises a warning hand to her lips. "It appears Mia was delayed. Did you meet anyone else while you've been in the Labyrinth?"

"Uh... yeah." Sitting back down at the table, Apollo finds his eyes darting left, right, up, down, not quite trusting anything to stay real and solid anymore. "There was this red-head. She was... not terribly nice."

Metis huffs out a breath, her nostrils flaring. "Dahlia. We should have expected she'd target you. The little vixen can't accept that she lost twice to a man she thought she had wrapped around her little finger."

"Dahlia..." Apollo turns the name over on his tongue, trying to figure out why it sounds faintly familiar. Something about Mr. Wright's early cases, he thinks, but—oh. Oh no. "Dahlia Hawthorne? That was Dahlia Hawthorne?"

Metis' eyebrows arch upward. "It was. I'm surprised to hear he spoke of her with you."

"He didn't. I just, uh..." Apollo shrugs, feeling a little foolish. "When I was younger I was following Mr. Wright's career pretty avidly. And when there's claims about evil ghosts potentially flitting about the courtroom... well, it made the news. But I don't get..."

"It's a long and complicated story, and not really mine to tell." Metis' shoulders move in a brief shrug as she gathers an unfamiliar flower up and carefully places it into the vase. "Suffice to say she tangled with both Mia Fey and Phoenix Wright and was beaten soundly in all instances. It's made her rather vengeful and vindictive, and at the moment you are the person who is bearing the brunt of that vindictiveness."

"Great." Apollo feels like even his hair is slumping in frustration as he watches Metis weave a thin, beautiful thread of shimmering silvery wire around the flower she just placed. "Is there any particular reason she's after me?"

"Because she can." Metis' voice is calm, her eyes fixed on her work. "For some people there is joy in simply causing pain. I don't know if Dahlia was one of those originally, but the idea of hurting Phoenix—of killing his protege, or even better killing and trapping his protege, turning you into a pawn of hers—has infinite appeal."

Apollo raises a hand to press against his chest where throbbing pain still lingers. "She can kill me?"

The nod that Metis gives is perfunctory, her eyes narrowing as she continues her work. "The Labyrinth is a place between life and death, as I said. You will either find your way back to life, or you will wander deeper until the connection between soul and body is severed. Tell me, is there something that currently pains you?"

"Uh..." Apollo looks down at his chest. "My chest hurts. Sometimes more, sometimes less, and it's weird because it doesn't seem to be related to what I'm doing?"

"Not so weird. Pain is one of the things that anchors spirit and body. Not the only thing—perhaps not even the most important one—but one of the things." Metis' eyes rake around the room again, and her shoulders seem to straighten as she jams another flower into the vase. "As the pain increases, your separation from your body decreases. As the pain decreases..."

"I'm not going to die!" Apollo slams his palms down on the table as he shouts out the word, a spike of pain running through his chest as he does. "Whatever I need to do, whatever ghosts I need to defeat to get out of here, I'm going to do it!"

Metis smiles at him, though her eyes once more scan over their surroundings. "That's very much what Mia and myself and several others would like. We've been watching you—well, not you in particular, but those we left behind. Which, for some of us, is you. Oh, dear, I'm getting distracted. The point is that you will have enemies here, Mr. Justice, because those who love you have made some rather terrible enemies, but you will also have friends. And if there's any possible way that we can help you find your back to the living, to those who need you—"

Metis stops speaking abruptly, her eyes widening as she turns to face the wall behind Apollo.

Apollo hears the footsteps a second or two later. There is an odd cadence to them, an extra sound that makes Apollo suspect the walker has a cane. They seem to echo eerily, as though the walker is moving through some ancient brick tunnel rather than through the sleek metallic corridors of GYAXA.

A door that looks like it belongs in an old science fiction show like the ones Apollo watched with Clay when they were little—a door that hadn't been there the last time Apollo looked—slides open in the wall. For a moment an old man stands back-lit in the doorway, cane in hand, body turned into silhouette by the blinding white of some unidentifiable light source.

Then the man steps forward, and the cruelest smile Apollo has ever seen on a person's face twists across his mouth. "Apollo Justice. Phoenix Wright's little protege, eh? Imagine finding you in a place like this."

"Prosecutor Manfred von Karma." Apollo breathes out the name, instinctively taking a step back, his knees colliding with the low table that Metis has been working at. He remembers seeing this man on television—remembers watching Mr. Wright take him down, a rookie defense attorney doing the impossible, exposing decades worth of corruption in one determined sweep.

"Manfred." Metis has a loop of gold wire and what looks like an electronic eyeball in hand, and she swiftly ties them both to one of the flowers in the vase. "There's no need for you to get involved in this."

"No need?" Von Karma holds up an index finger, making a tsking sound as he does. "My dear woman, you know what Phoenix Wright and that ungrateful little bastard of a ward took from me?"

"They didn't take anything from you." Apollo's hands clench into fists as he stares up at the man who killed a defense attorney for having the gall to stand up to him. "You ruined everything for yourself by being too stubborn and prideful to admit that the truth's more important than any stupid ideas about perfection."

Metis smiles. "Well spoken, Apollo."

Von Karma's hands both settle on his staff. "Spoken like I'd expect of Wright's brat. You owe me, boy. Well, your mentor owes me, but watching him suffer from your death—waiting to tell him that I was responsible for killing you, to tell him that he caused your death—will be at least a small bit of repayment on that debt."

"Neither Phoenix Wright nor Miles Edgeworth owes you anything." Metis stands, her hands folded together, the sleeves of her kimono hanging down to cover them as she faces Von Karma without fear. "And you will not hurt their family to get at them."

"Their family?" Apollo's incredulous exclamation—and he doesn't know if he's objecting more to the title of family or to the singular unit implied by the phrase—is drowned out by Von Karma smashing the butt of his cane down on the ground with a sound like thunder.

"Because your child happened to fall in with them?" Von Karma sneers down at Metis, his hands clenching on the tip of his cane. "You owe them nothing, Cykes. Walk away. Let me have a bit of my revenge."

"Or what?" Metis smiles thinly. "You'll hurt me, Manfred? Pain is something that can be overcome. Destroying me is, I think, outside your abilities. And hurting him—hurting my daughter for your petty little revenge fantasy—is not something I am going to tolerate. Run, Apollo!"

Apollo turns to face Metis, prepared to argue with her... and watches the carefully crafted flower arrangement begin shifting on its own, climbing out of its vase, the single eyeball that Metis tied in fixing unerringly on Von Karma.

Whatever's going on here, Apollo is very much out of his depth, and it's probably best for the moment that he listens to the people who know what's going on. Diving across the table, he charges at the seemingly solid wall, closing his eyes and trusting it to let him out of the room via whatever means had let him into it.

He hears the sound of thunderclaps behind him, strange rustling and beeping noises that probably indicate Metis' creation acting.

He opens his mouth and screams out a war cry of his own, arms rising to protect his face, but doesn't encounter any wall.

When he lowers his arms and opens his eyes, the room with Metis and Von Karma is gone, replaced by towering walls of brick and scuffed rock covered in graffiti. Apollo keeps running through the unfamiliar landscape, raising a hand to press against his chest where pain is once more burning.

Does is burn more if he runs one way then if he runs another? Is he supposed to use it as some sort of marker for how he moves? What does it mean to solve the Labyrinth?

He doesn't know, but he's going to find out, because the alternative is that it quite literally kills him, and despite everything that's happened over the last few years he is definitely not ready for that.

XXX

Klavier settles down on a black-sand shore, burying his head in his hands as he pants for breath.

It hurts.

Moving hurts, thinking hurts, and the pain just seems to be increasing with every step he takes.

Where is Gregory Edgeworth? When Klavier had sung himself free of the guitar strings that Daryan had wrapped him in, Gregory had told him to run, and Klavier had obeyed. Did he run the wrong way? Did he outrun the man who has the answers?

Did he leave Gregory to face Daryan alone, and was it too much for the older man to handle?

Daryan is dead. Klavier remembers that now. Daryan died in prison, in a riot where no one was quite able to determine who snapped the ex-cop's neck. Klavier suspects no one really wanted to, and given that there are far bigger problems for them to solve Klavier himself hadn't really devoted much time to it and...

Is he dead? Is this his punishment? The sand seems to shift under his feet, the waves washing against the shore a half-dozen feet away sounding like the murmurs of the gallery before a mood change. What is it going to do? Start shouting accusations? Demand answers to questions Klavier hasn't even thought of? Start shouting for blood, and who cares if it's innocent or guilty or—

A hand closes around his upper arm, swinging him around in a drunken half-circle. Klavier instinctively closes his right hand into a fist and swings at the man who's grabbed him, but the man ducks, guiding them both down to the ground when Klavier overbalances and falls.

"Easy there." The man speaks gently, patting Klavier on the shoulder as he does. His hair is a dark brown-red color, part of it tied up at the back in a silly little tail. A soft, comfortable-looking light grey shirt is covered with a dark grey business jacket, and a blue scarf with a white design on it is tied around his neck.

Wind blows off the water, damp and chill, and Klavier shivers, trying to decide what to do. Fight? Run? Ask for directions? Pray he wakes up?

"Aw, kid, you look like you're at death's door." The man cracks a smile as he says the words, giving a little chuckle as though he's said something entertaining. Taking the scarf from around his neck, he slides it gently around Klavier's, the warmth blocking at least some of the ocean breeze's cold.

"I... somehow suspect I am missing the joke." Klavier pulls away from the man, attempting to arrange himself in a semi-reasonable sitting position, and this time the man allows it, releasing him.

"Yeah, well, it's not a very funny joke." The smile fades away from the man's face and he pushes a hand back through his bangs, though none of them had swung forward to block his eyes. "I suppose introductions are in order, first. Byrne Faraday, at your service."

"Klavier Gavin." Klavier speaks slowly, watching the man in front of him with renewed interest. He does look a bit like Kay, Klavier supposes, though there is one very big problem with this being Kay's father. "And forgive me for saying this, but you've been dead for about two decades now."

"Yeah, I know." Byrne sighs. "Father of the year, that's me. Not that Kay hasn't done well for herself. I'm pretty damn proud of who she's become and the friends that she's made." Byrne's hand reaches out, slapping Klavier on the shoulder. "Friends like you, Prosecutor Gavin. Which is why even though you're at death's door, I'd really like to help you find your way back to the land of the living, despite all the unpleasant land mines that are undoubtedly littered along the way."

Klavier fingers the fabric of the scarf wrapped around his neck. "I... don't think I quite understand."

"You're in the Labyrinth. The maze between life and death." Byrne pushes himself to his feet, holding out a hand for Klavier to take.

Clasping Byrne's fingers, Klavier clambers back into a standing position, having to brace himself and stare down at the sand as the world seems to swim disconcertingly around him.

"You've actually done remarkably well on your own." A bright, somewhat silly grin creeps across Byrne's face as he reaches out to place a hand on Klavier's elbow, anchoring him in place. "When Gregory told you to go, you booked it towards the land of the living."

"You... know Gregory Edgeworth?" It's probably one of the sillier questions Klavier has asked in his life, but between the spiking shards of pain in his head and the debilitating disorientation and dizziness that is currently dogging his steps it seems reasonable enough.

"Yeah. We'd actually met a couple times while we were both alive—he was a damn good defense attorney, clean, clever, really just wanted to see justice done." Byrne shrugs. "I was a disillusioned prosecutor turned thief who respected honor and integrity when he saw it, especially given what he usually saw at the office. And, well, when you're hanging around in limbo waiting for the ones that you love to pass over... you start to get chatty with the other people hanging around, you know? The guy's got a dry sense of humor, but it grows on you, and don't ever bet against him when it comes to the length of a trial. I swear he's got some sort of sixth sense about when people will pull out a surprise twist."

"I... would never dream of doing that." He's dreaming. That has to be the answer. He's dreaming and this is all some kind of terrible nightmare, and if he could just figure out how to wake up then perhaps—

"This isn't a dream, kid." Byrne brushes some of Klavier's hair away from his eyes, his expression suddenly grave. "But if it helps you to think of it like that, then do. Just make it out. Whatever you do, make it out and live. Don't get stuck here. Don't let one of these self-righteous bastards trap you or tear you apart. I don't want my daughter to have to bury someone else she loves, and from what I've seen you deserve a better, longer life too."

"I..." Klavier shakes his head, runs his tongue along his lips as he looks away from Byrne and out over the ocean. He can taste the salt of the water on his skin, hear the crash of the waves, feel the sand sliding between the layers of his shoes and the weave of his socks to scratch against his feet, but there is still something... off about the space that they occupy.

"I forgot the birds." Byrne smacks a palm against his forehead. "Sorry about that. Probably makes it a bit disconcerting, huh? This is a place Kay and I used to come on vacation—Badd would come occasionally, too, but that guy proposed to his work long before we met and I hate asking someone to have an affair. Here, how about this?"

The call of seagulls, low and lonely, rolls in with the next set of waves. Far off in the distance, a dolphin arches its way out of the water, and the silhouette of what might be an albatross appears against the low-hung sun. Klavier blinks at the changes. "That... was very strange."

"It is, isn't it?" Byrne is smiling again, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. "The whole Labyrinth is strange, though. It's formed of fragments of memories—from those who have died and those who have just passed through, like you're going to do. This little fragment's mine."

"So the stage... the concert..." Klavier swallows. "Was that Daryan's?"

"His or yours, hard to say. He definitely took advantage of the location to mess with you. Sorry I didn't get there fast enough to help, but at least Greg did." Byrne sighs. "This whole place is like that, though—it responds to thought, to emotion, to memory. Good thing is that gives us some power over how it looks and what happens. Bad thing is that gives the bad guys some power over how it looks and what happens."

"The bad guys. Like Daryan." Klavier crosses his arms in front of his chest, shivering as the wind tugs hard at his body again. Is there a storm coming in?

"Kid, as nasty and self-serving as Daryan was—is—there're people a whole lot worse out there." Byrne actually looks apologetic as he says the words.

As though he's telling Klavier something Klavier doesn't already know, and Klavier gives his own bitter smile as he shakes his head. "I know. But my brother isn't dead quite yet, so I suspect I don't have to worry about him."

A little wince and then a small smile is Byrne's response. "Right. Yeah. You know the type of people I'm talking about, then. And there are a few who will—"

There's very little warning before the fire rains down on them. Just a slight widening of Byrne's eyes as he looks past Klavier, and Byrne's arms yanking Klavier forward so that Byrne's body is between Klavier and the beach.

A second fireball slams into Byrne's back, the heat enough to drive away any chill the ocean had imparted, and Byrne staggers forward, only Klavier's hold keeping him upright as the scent of charred meat overwhelms the smell of the sea.

"Stupid, Faraday." The man who walks towards them across the beach shakes his head, his red motorcycle leathers standing out stark against the dark sand. "I will destroy you to get to him, y'know."

Faraday laughs, a deep, resonating sound that starts out barely audible and becomes a raucous cawing as he straightens. Despite the smell of charred flesh, he is smiling as he takes a deliberate step back from Klavier and holds out his arms. "To get to him? We both know you'd destroy me if you could, DeBeste."

Faraday's face begins to change—his whole body begins to change, fingers elongating, shoulders seeming to unhinge and then reposition themselves into a different configuration. His chest swells, and the clothes he had been wearing, the skin on his face, the hair on his head all give way to sleek black feathers. His voice deepens, develops an eerie echo as the enormous three-legged bird that had mere seconds ago been Byrne Faraday turns to face their attacker. "But nothing can defeat the Yatagarasu, and right now the Yatagarasu is going to guide you to—"

Blaise DeBeste doesn't let Byrne finish speaking, summoning up another stream of fire and lobbing it at the giant crow. Catching the fire in one taloned foot, Byrne crushes it into ashes—an action that Klavier's certain isn't physically possible, but neither is pyromancy or transforming into mythical creatures, so clearly what should occur doesn't matter in the Labyrinth.

"Go." Byrne turns so that one bright crow eye fixes on Klavier. "Run."

Another fireball is launched, intercepted, and Blaise is getting far too close for comfort.

"Chase the pain until you find something better—and there will be better chords to follow. Listen for them, look for them, feel them." Byrne turns his head back towards Blaise, hopping forward to intercept an attack that had been launched directly at Klavier. "Kay and Sebastian have already had enough reasons to cry, kid. Let's not give them any more. So run."

Klavier doesn't argue with him. Though he never had the pleasure of meeting Byrne Faraday in life, Kay is one of his dearest friends, and she respects her father deeply. Given that Byrne seems to understand how the Labyrinth works, Klavier figures transferring the faith he has in Kay to her father—at least for this little bit of time—is the smartest thing he can possibly do.