The Son of the Stars

Lys bounded through the olive groves, the warm breeze of the late summer evening kissed her bare skin. Sunlight leaked through the silver-green leaves—deepening the golden-brown of her tan. She knew the trees like she knew her own body, she swung from the branches instinctively always knowing which ones would hold her. The wind whipped her hair, spinning her long curls into a halo of frizz— the odd tree branch lodged like a hairpin.

A gruff chuckle drifted up through the branches. She looked down to see Argo laughing at the state of her.

“You look like a wild thing, like a dryad—birthed from the trees themselves,” had anyone else said that Lys would have taken it as admonishment, her father always scolding her for her unladylike nature.

Lys rolled her eyes at him, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He liked to tease her— the mess of curls, the scratches that littered her arms, but there was never criticism in his gaze. Argo admired Lys. Ever since they met—her father having taken work as his family’s groundskeeper— he had been captivated by her fearlessness. He had loved her since they were children, but he never dared to admit the truth to her—his careful, noble demeanor was always at odds with her wildness. He was meant for polished halls and fine marriage contracts; she belonged to the groves, the trees, the earth. He would never be as brave as she was, yet he loved every wild and untamed piece of her.

Argo reached up for her, he wanted her close— to look into the vivid green of her eyes, breathe in her familiar scent of damp earth, feel her warm breath on his skin. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, only the tips of her wild hair brushing his fingers.

“If you want me, you’ll have to catch me!” She yelled down as she scrambled even higher into the trees.

Argo laughed, breathless but happy, chasing after her. For a moment the world was nothing but sunlight and freedom.

Then the wind shifted.

The precious memory melted away.

Lys’s eyes snapped open as a gust of hot air brushed against the back of her neck. Damp. Heavy. Animalic. The way it skimmed her skin was no longer playful, it was alive and primal. Fear prickled in the back of her throat.

The grove faded, the silver leaves became frigid stone. Sunlight turned to suffocating darkness.

She swept her hands out in front of her, blindly searching for anything familiar. Only cold stone pressed against her palms. The comforting scent of warm earth was gone, replaced with something acrid.

The breeze returned, this time brushing the hair off her shoulders. Not just a breeze, but a breath.

Her body went cold— every instinct screamed to stay still, but she had to turn.

The darkness was blinding, but there in the gloom she saw it. Two glowing eyes reflected back at her. She scrambled back in terror, expecting the creature to explode in rage, but the eyes did not move—instead they carefully watched her in the dark.

Lys tried to stand, to steady herself, but her head spinning with confusion and fear—why was she here?

Then, all at once a glaring light enveloped the room, candles flickered alive casting dancing shadows along the walls. The sudden flash blinded her. Slowly shapes emerged from the glare and the scene flooded back into focus.

Curled at the other end of the chamber was a figure, hunched into a ball, their head pressed against the stone floor— as if refusing to see could make it all disappear.

Her breath hitched in her lungs. Lys recognized the figure as a man, slight of build, clothes clean except for streaks of dirt across his knees. The candlelight caught the tawny blond of his hair, flickering and shimmering in the dim glow. Lys’s body felt encased in flame. She would recognize that shade of blond anywhere— even here in this unforgiving light. Even when the cold of the chamber had drained all the warmth from him, he was unmistakable— Argo.

Argo shuddered, sobs wracking his body. His fear was so palpable Lys felt she could touch it. The instinct to comfort him overwhelmed her, but when she ran to him she was violently jerked back. A shackle encased her ankle in a vice grip. A gasp of shock slipped through her lips, the sound exaggerated in the deathly silence.

Argo lifted his head—his eyes rimmed red, wide with fear—and shock. “Lys, Lys,” his voice raw, drenched in panic. He crawled toward her, but his own chain cut him short. She scrambled forward desperately, they reached out their hands, fingertips almost brushing—but it felt like miles. The gravity of the situation sunk like a rock in Lys’s stomach. Something terrible was happening.

A piercing screech filled the chamber. The sound was head-splitting. And just as suddenly, it stopped.

A tinny, unnatural voice echoed in the chamber.

“Welcome to the labyrinth,” the voice said, cold and smooth, impossible to locate. “Your fate here is determined by a choice. One of you may leave here alive…if you betray the other. If you refuse, you will face the Minotaur together…Two people have never left this labyrinth together. Choose wisely.” The voice disappeared with a click.

Lys’s breath stilled, an eerie calm washed over her. She was going to die. Her gaze flicked up to the Minotaur, noticing for the first time the creature watching from the shadows, too focused on Argo to see it before.

Its massive frame was unmistakable even in the harsh candlelight. She studied it, fear overtaken by her reckless curiosity. It was thin, its skin pulled taut against rolling muscle. Its ragged, labored breathing filled her chest with pity rather than terror—it sounded as if it was in pain. Slowly, she raised her gaze to meet the creature’s. Its eyes were enormous, wet, sorrowful—far from the bloodlust she had imagined.

Argo’s voice broke her concentration. “Lys…” his voice trembled with tears. The sound punctured her heart. He had always been gentle, too kind for all the cruelty of the world—he didn’t deserve this.

“We’ll get out here, we will. The two of us.” She whispered, forcing false courage into her words. She was the strong one, she had to protect him.

A harsh metallic clink rang through the chamber, and they both froze.

“Make your choice.” The voice said, louder this time.

Lys took a shuddering breath and turned to Argo. “We stay together,” her voice low, but steady.

Argo’s fingers twitched in the air, reaching towards hers as far as the chains would allow. He nodded decisively, his jaw hardening in determination. “Together,” he echoed. Their hands hovered, just a fingertip apart— the closeness filled them both with defiant strength.

A pause. Then the voice returned, calm and with an almost approving edge. “Very well, then.”

All at once the candles went out, plunging the chamber into oppressive darkness. Lys’s pulse hammered in her ears, Argo was trying desperately to reach out to her, his ragged breath matching her thundering heartbeat .

The lights flared back on. Argo’s hand grabbed hers, his grip bone-crushing, but grounding. She looked down—the chains were gone.

In the darkness the Minotaur and the chains that had bound him vanished without a trace. But somewhere far away, a low, guttural roar reverberated through the stone—a sound tinged with hunger and remorse. The creature was somewhere deep in the labyrinth… waiting for them.

The wall before them groaned. Once solid, it now began to slide open. Argo and Lys' eyes widened, beyond the door stretched the maze, jagged stone walls twisting and disappearing into darkness. Lys’ shoulders slumped; the strength she had mustered moments ago drained away. Not only did they have to face the Minotaur— they had to escape the labyrinth.

At their feet weapons appeared: a short sword for Lys, a spear for Argo. Lys had always loved to play warrior as a child, wielding tree branches as swords—but now the way the light glinted off the sharp edge of the blade made her stomach churn.

The labyrinth waited, its energy pulsed— alive, patient, watching. Together, they stepped forward, hands finally entwined and they entered the belly of the beast. Deep within its stone corridors, the Minotaur’s mournful presence lingered.

…

The labyrinth was cold, the air thick with the scent of iron and rot. Lys’ head rolled, she was disoriented and sick from the smell. Each passage looked the same, walls all slick with condensation, torches sputtering to stay lit in the damp air.

They moved silently, Argo gripped his spear so tightly his knuckles whitened. Lys walked a few paces ahead, her blade drawn— every muscle in her body taut. A low groan shook the walls of the maze, a sound like bones grating against each other. Argo flinched, but Lys only clenched her jaw and tightened her grip.

“We kill it, we’re free,” Argo said steelily, as though saying it aloud would make it true.

“Yeah,” Lys replied, though the word tasted like blood on her tongue.

They pressed on deeper into the labyrinth. The deeper they got the stranger the labyrinth appeared. Unusual markings marred the walls—scratches, deep grooves—but also something else. Drawings, childlike figures carved into stone. A circle and stars, a crude depiction of the night sky. A bull-headed figure reaching upwards.

Lys stopped, her fingers trailing the etchings, “Argo,” she gestured to the wall. The figures arms were outstretched, not in attack— but in yearning, reaching for something just out of reach.

Argo frowned. “You think it made them?” His voice low, “the beast?”

Lys ignored his question. “Why stars?”

“Maybe he’s counting his kills.” Argo replied, though he seemed unconvinced.

As they turned the corner, Lys kept thinking of the drawing. There was something so human about it.

The air grew thicker, warmer—tinged with copper. Then came the sound of breathing, not the steady rhythm of a predator waiting to strike. No, this was labored, uneven, laced with pain.

Lys raised her sword, her heart hammered in her throat, but her grip stayed steady. Argo followed behind her, his spear raised, but trembling. The corridor opened into a wide chamber, the air thick with humidity. The floor was slick, Argo pitched forward into Lys sending her sword skittering across the stone. Lys threw her hands up in front of her face, her knees so weak they barely held her weight. This was it. The end. The Minotaur had them. She waited, for the screams, the blood, the pain. When nothing happened she opened her eyes.

There half-hidden from the dim light sat the Minotaur, it hadn’t even looked up. It was crouched in the corner, head bowed, its massive shoulders heaved with every labored breath. Shackles still encircled its wrists, so tight they tore open its skin. Lys hesitated, her eyes darted from her sword on the ground to the pitiful creature before her. This wasn’t the creature she’d imagined— the merciless monster of the legends. There was something so heartbreakingly human about the way he cowered there in the corner, its head pressed to the stone as if in prayer. She thought… Maybe we weren’t the only ones trapped here.

“Argo,” she whispered.

He lifted his spear to her. “Do it now while he’s weak.”

She grabbed the spear, it felt like lead in her hands—Argo turned away, as much as he wanted to survive he knew in his heart that killing the creature was a cruelty—she couldn’t take it. The Minotaur raised his head, his gaze met Lys’, its eyes weren’t wild with rage or hunger. They were wet, shining with something she hadn’t expected—tears.

Its voice pricked at her skin like broken glass.

“Please… don’t run, Alyse.”

Lys froze, she couldn’t breathe, her whole body turned to stone. Nobody had called her Alyse since she was a child, not since her mother died.

Her throat tightened, “How do you—?”

The Minotaur lifted its head higher, its horns scraping the wall as it moved. She saw it clearly then, the bull’s snout split with old scars, eyes that didn’t belong to a beast at all—golden, and human. They were beautiful, swirled with age and grief.

“You looked at me,” its voice rasped. “You looked at me and I saw the olive trees. You were laughing.” Lys remembered then, her eyes meeting the creature’s in the dark—the chill she felt in her spine when it held her gaze.

Lys stepped forward, overcome with grief—for herself, for the creature before her. Argo gripped her arm. “Lys— don’t.”

The Minotaur didn’t move to attack— no, he was a man. There was a man trapped inside. “I was not always this way.” He placed his hand over his bloodied chest—as if to quell the ache inside.

Lys inched closer, crouching down to look into his eyes. “What did they do to you?”

He shifted, and flinched as the chains encircling his wrists chafed. “I was born from a curse, a punishment for my mother’s sins. The son of a king, yet his disgrace. They built the labyrinth and buried me in its heart. They send new souls in here to feed me. I don’t want to kill them, I don’t, but I’m so hungry. This labyrinth is a tomb for me and every soul who passes through.”

Lys’ stomach lurched. “They made you into a monster.”

He gave a bitter smile. “No, they made me into their myth.”

Argo’s voice cracked, his determination faltering. “If we don't kill you we’ll never leave, that’s what the voice said.” Tears slipped down his cheeks.

The Minotaur bowed his head again, his shoulder slumped as if all life had gone out of him. “I know, that’s what it always says.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Tears filled Lys’ eyes, as she thought about the stars on the walls—the figures outstretched arms.

“You drew the sky,” she whispered.

The man, the Minotaur he looked up then, and his eyes were full of tears. “I haven’t seen them since I was a boy. They named me for the stars—Asterion— and then they took them from me.”

Something in Lys broke, tears streamed down her face. “Well then, we’ll bring you back to them,” she said, her voice shaking.

Asterion smiled—it was a terrible, gentle thing—his eyes still wet with tears. “You can’t. The labyrinth is bound to me. As long as I live you cannot leave. End this.” He picked up Lys’ sword that still lay on the floor before him, and held it out to her. “Free me from this, free yourselves.”

Argo’s breath hitched and his spear fell to his side. Lys shook her head, refusing to grab the sword.

Asterion looked at Lys— deep into her eyes like he did the first time. His voice was stronger now. “End it. Let me see the sky again.”

Lys’ whole body trembled as she reached for the blade. This was wrong. Asterion didn’t deserve to die. She took the sword from his grasp, the hilt slick with his blood. She wanted to drop it and run, leave this place, wake up back in the grove. With the olive leaves brushing her cheeks, Argo’s laughter in her ears. But the labyrinth pulsed— its patience growing thin— it demanded a sacrifice.

Argo stepped forward, his arms wrapped around Lys, steadying her. His voice barely above a whisper. “Lys…if we don’t.”

She knew. This was the only way. The words scraped her throat raw. “I know.”

They both turned to face Asterion again, there was no pleading in his expression —no grief. Just relief. His head bowed in peaceful acceptance.

“Thank you” he whispered. “Thank you, Alyse.”

A sob wracked Lys’ body. She held the blade toward Asterion, the tip just grazing his chest. Her hands were shaking, tears blurred her vision. Asterion wrapped his hand around hers, his touch so gentle. Together they drove the blade into his heart.

The only sound that escaped his body was a sigh—finally at peace. His massive frame slumped forward, Lys and Argo lunged forward to catch him. They held him tight as the golden light in his eyes faded.

A rumble awakened beneath them, the walls of the labyrinth shook as cracks tore through them.

“Lys!” Argo shouted, grabbing her as dust cascaded around them. “We have to go!”

Together they pulled Asterion’s body toward the widening fissure in the wall. It took every ounce of strength left in them to drag his body out. The maze that had once seemed infinite was now collapsing in on them.

Golden light poured in through the cracks, guiding their way towards the outside world. When they finally emerged, gasping, the night air hit like a wave. It was cool and sharp— alive with the scent of the sea. The stars above blazed— bright and endless.

Lys fell to her knees in the sand. Her body gave out in exhaustion and grief. Argo helped her lay Asterion down, arranging his arms gently across his chest, brushing the rubble from his body. The labyrinth behind them quietly crumbled into dust.

For a long time neither of them spoke. They just sat there looking up at the stars shimmering, reflecting off the tears that strained Lys’ face.

“He’s free now.” Argo whisperered, his voice breaking.

Lys looked up at the sky—endless, glittering, eternal—the ache in her chest left her hollow. “He was never a monster.” She said softly.

Argo reached for her hand and pulled her close to him. For the first time she let herself break and be comforted by him. Together they sat by Asterion, the stars gleaming like thousands of watchful eyes.

When the dawn came. The tide rose and the waves crashed over his body. Gently they enveloped him, and carried the son of the stars home.