The hedges were a wilted green, and instead of blooms there were thorns and briers. Dragonscale boots trod upon the dry, packed ground as he wound through the passages of the maze. It had been quiet since he first entered, and the feeling of watching eyes peering upon him just out of sight followed wherever he turned. The dusky light was nothing to the vampire lord; it was more welcome than the blinding brightness of Vada. Just a few more hours into nightfall and he would feel right at home. So far navigating the hedges had been simple. He overheard other participants of the previous mazes mention magical obstacles and surprise pitfalls, yet Sylvain had encountered none of these. Perhaps they were too basic for a being such as himself, as he could simply fly above any breaks in the footpath. The only problem here was finding one's way in this labyrinth of identical corners and corridors. But this was of little consequence; he would reach the end sooner or later.

Not a single soul had crossed his path from when he began, not a single scent of another living being. A dreary stroll through paths that looked the same and led to false ends, only to show another pathway leading deeper in the second time around. How soon would it be until he was done with this drudgery? 

"Sylvain?" A voice called out to him from behind. Had it been anyone else he wouldn't have bothered to look or give it a second thought, but there was something about it that stirred apprehension in him. "Sir Sylvain, is that you?" No, it couldn't be. The voice of an older man spoke once more and this time he froze in his tracks, not daring to turn around. It was a voice he hadn't heard in centuries. Footsteps were approaching, and before they could come closer he backed away–whirling around to face a monk with greying hair dressed in a long brown robe. "…Friar Rodri." The monk looked at him in surprise, but when he took a step forward the vampire lord flinched. For the first time in centuries, he was ashamed. "Sylvain, where have you been? The brothers at the monastery have been looking for you. When you went missing for more than two weeks, all of the friars in the parish searched everywhere. No one had seen you in a fortnight, and we feared the worst." 

"Friar Rodri, I…" His throat became dry as his hands began to sweat. "But that's all water under the bridge now. You're safe and sound, that's all that matters." The old friar then continued, with a kindly smile. A look of grave concern came over the monk's face as he studied the other closely. "Sylvain, are you alright? You look pale. I pray you are not ill–come, let us return to the others. After being lost for days, a good night of rest is surely needed." As Friar Rodri stretched out his hand, the muscles in his body locked up in fear. He breathing became ragged, his chest heaving with each pulse of anxiety coursing through him. "I can't, Friar Rodri." Sylvain choked. "–I can't go back with you." That familiar face of Friar Rodri's was stunned and confused. "What are you talking about Sylvain? Why can't you? No matter what you've done, we will always welcome you back with open arms."

With shaking hands, Sylvain's voice trembled as he spoke. "It's impossible, Friar Rodri. There isn't a monastery to go back to. No matter what you say, it's impossible for me to go with you…because I buried you." He remembered. Just before daybreak when the first rays of the sun pierced the long night, he had put Friar Rodri to rest in the monastery's graveyard. Decades, no centuries ago–the friar had died after a great battle alongside him in the darkest hours of the night. It was from then on that the wheels of fate had begun to turn and his entire life had altered its course. His right hand gripping the hilt of his sword, Sylvain stared back in terror at the monk who had passed on ages before. "You are my greatest failure, and my greatest regret. If that battle had turned out differently, you wouldn't have died. Or perhaps you would be the one standing here instead of me." 

It didn't matter where he was going, everything within him was screaming for him to run. Even though he himself was no longer in the ranks of the living, seeing the face of the man he had failed to protect filled him with unholy dread. What would the friar think if he learned that the young knight whom he had gone with to slay a witch that fed off the blood of others had become a creature of the night himself? Sylvain was afraid to hear what he would say, and just as afraid of exposing his back to flee. The lord couldn't face the man who had once been a father figure to him in his youth, and he couldn't face what kind of person he had become after five hundred years. And like a coward, he chose to run and hide from it all.

The past two mazes had been difficult on their own, especially the last. When he and Shiloh began the second maze, they found that entering together did not ensure that they would be beside one another when they arrived. Being on his own was something that made his heart fill with anxiety, and he was left alone to face the maze's challenges by himself. Somehow, he had made it through and found Shiloh waiting for him back in the Sanctum again. They both took the third combination, Death and Desire together; both unsure of what the maze had in store for them. When he came to, his fears were realized as he was standing alone again. Desperate to find his friend and calm his inner fears, he began running.

Every so often he would call out for her, hoping that she was close enough to reply. The obstacles weren't so straightforward as the past two mazes. Instead of pitfalls, he was starting to suspect that the maze itself was shifting when his gaze was drawn away. "Was that outcrop of thorns here before? No, it should've been when I made the left turn… I feel like I've been walking in circles for hours. Don't panic, calm down–what would she do if she was here?" Even in times like these, Cymbel looked to Shiloh as his guide and support. "If she were here…she would've found her way through by now." As much as he tried to avoid it, when he was by himself he was faced with a crushing reality of his own insufficiency. He had thought being able to help others had given him some sort of worth and purpose. But none of that mattered if he couldn't even help himself. Covering his ears, he recalled the harsh words his father and brothers had said to him time and time again.

Oh how he had tried to drown them out, to forget it all. He had ran away from home, taken risks he had never taken before, tried many things for the first time, and did what he could to step out of his circle of comfort. Sword training, learning to be a healer, building confidence in his skills–all of these were attempts to shed that persistent feeling of despairing helplessness. If he had a stronger heart, then perhaps one day he too could know what it was like to live without these burdens and insecurities. It was what he wanted, deep down. In truth being strong mattered little to him…all he wanted was not to be 'weak'. Just like everyone else… Wrapping his arms around himself, he felt an overwhelming desire to hide away. 

"Cymbel…" A soft, gentle voice drifted on the breeze. It reached his ears, and for a moment he was too afraid to look. Hearing the rumors of what others had seen in the mazes, what if it was some kind of apparition which lured its victims to a terrible death? Beings with a deadly thrall like the succubi paired with the life-stealing horrors of a banshee weren't unheard of from the darker reaches of Feeorin. Holding tightly to a string of prayer beads he was given in his time studying under the priests of Nisshoki, he held his breath while giving a silent prayer for protection. "Cymbel, my son…could it really be you?" 

Upon hearing the voice a second time, tears began to well up in his eyes. Turning slowly, he faced the woman who had appeared behind him. "…Mother." Her name was Aurelie Odessa Belerian, the late wife of Aloysius Severyn Belerian. A woman with a fair complexion and beautiful crystal blue eyes stood before the fey, with locks of platinum blonde hair cascading down to her waist. She was dressed in a shimmering gown like starlight, while pearls and fine lace adorned the airy fabric. Out of all of the seven sons that she had borne, it was clear that her youngest resembled her the most. It had been centuries since Cymbel had last seen her, yet she was here, just as he had remembered her as a child. "Mother…oh how I have missed you." He said, his voice quivering as the tears began rolling down his face.

Aurelie came and embraced her son, and as she did he broke into sobs. Holding her now-grown child, her arms wrapped around him as he wept. "Shh… There, there…my little evening star. I am sorry that I couldn't be with you when you needed me the most. If my health had not wavered, you wouldn't have had to endure all that pain." She soothed him, as he began to quiet down. "Please forgive your father…he wasn't always this way. When I left you and your brothers so suddenly, he was hurt the most. My greatest regret was my own weakness. But Mother is here now, don't cry." Choking back another wave of tears, he looked into his mother's eyes as she placed her hands around his face. "You've grown into a fine young man, Cymbel. I wish I could have been by your side in those years." With a gentle smile, Aurelie took her son's hands in hers. "Let us return home together; it has been so long since fate pulled us apart."

His heart ached when he saw her, even more so when he heard her speak. How he had wished for years to see her again, to feel the warmth of his mother's love. When she asked for him to come with her, he would have accepted in a heartbeat. But then a small voice in the back of his mind tugged at him, and his joy from their reunion turned to sorrow. "Mother…I can't go back. I'm sorry Mother, but I can't go home." There was pain in his voice as he said these words. It hurt him deeply to refuse her and see the sadness in her eyes. "Why, my child? Why can't you return home? Is it because of your father? I will speak with him on your behalf, if that worries you."

Letting go of her hands, he took a step back and covered his mouth as he swallowed hard. "No…it's not like that. Mother, after you passed away I stayed behind. Every year when the primroses bloomed, I would sneak out while my brothers had their lessons and hide in the garden. I would sit in that little hideaway in the hedges where you read stories with me, and showed me the different colors of butterflies. Not a single day went by where I didn't miss you and wish that you were still with me. I left my father and brothers years ago. Without you, it was like the moons had turned dark. But…I don't feel that way anymore. Even though I wished with all my heart that you could have stayed with me, I've come to understand that maybe it was for the best." 

"I was able to meet someone. Someone as wonderful as my mother, in a different way. If Mother is like Canelux when waxing full, then she is like the sun that shines bright at noon. I am grateful for your love, and thankful for allowing me to meet so many wonderful people outside of Feeorin." Drying his eyes, he took a deep breath before giving a bow to the illusion of his mother. "Mother, I must leave you now. Thank you for granting me this chance to see you once again…but I have someone waiting for me on the other side." He then made the second most difficult choice in his entire life. He turned his back to the first person he had ever loved and walked away. With each step tears silently fell, and no matter how hard he tried to hold back they kept on coming.

"Cymbel…" That familiar voice called out to him again. Gathering his resolve to continue moving forward, as he walked further and further away he heard his mother's last words: "…I'm so happy to see you have someone you love. Now you'll never have to be afraid of being alone."