The Next Step

Tristan stirred the sickly green tea in his mug, watching the bag bob up and down in murky suspension. He took a sip, cringed, and grunted in disgust. Far from being satisfying, he thought it tasted like wet grass and regret. 

He sighed and left the break room, entering the office corridor and pressing the elevator button with the same tired resignation he’d applied to his third cup that morning. The mirrored elevator doors reflected a man worn thin - tired eyes, and a mouth set in a permanent downturn. He tried not to look at the strands of premature grey creeping over his ears. He took another sip of his matcha, forcing himself to swallow, trying not to think of how closely the drink resembled something he once scraped off the wheels of his lawnmower.

Sighing heavily, Tristan glanced at his watch. He’d had back-to-back meetings all morning and hadn't felt needed for any of them, having so far only sat silently, taking notes, and nodding as higher-ups talked in circles for an hour while ultimately saying nothing.

Just a few more years, he reminded himself for the millionth time. A few more years proving yourself, then you’ll be promoted to manager, then director… then you’ll have made it.

He took another sip of matcha and grimaced, struggling between forcing himself to swallow or spitting it out. 

It was a few moments before he noticed the old man who had come to stand beside him, waiting for the elevator. 

The old man looked sideways at Tristan and grinned. “Just switched to tea, eh?”

Tristan forced himself to finally swallow and nodded. “Uh, yeah.”

The old man chuckled and said, “That look on your face – oof! You’re a coffee guy, am I right?”

Tristan examined the old man’s face. He was ancient, likely pushing 90. But he wasn’t a senior executive or even on the Board – Tristan had memorised all their faces. Not really in the mood to make small talk with some random old guy, Tristan just nodded. 

“Thought so,” the old man continued conversationally. “Lemme guess… it wasn’t your idea.”

Tristan frowned down at the tea in his hand and said, “My girlfriend suggested it.”

“Ah, another young pup just doing as he’s told,” the old man chuckled again. “It’s a shame you don’t know how to think for yourself.”

Tristan bristled slightly at the remark, but didn’t want to cause a scene at work by telling this guy off. So he forced himself to remain silent by drinking more matcha. 

The old man looked sideways at him and shook his head in disappointment. “Nothing? Pity. I hoped you had more spine than that.”

Tristan turned to face the man, his brows pressing together as he clenched a fist. 

“What’s your problem?” Tristan demanded angrily. 

The old man laughed. “That’s more like it! I knew there was still someone alive in there.” The old man poked Tristan in the chest and laughed again. 

Tristan sneered and turned back to the elevator, wondering just what the hell was taking the damn thing so long. 

“You’ll be waiting a long time if you just stand here,” the old man said. 

“Feel free to take the stairs,” Tristan snapped. 

“I don’t mean the elevator, kid,” the old man said, suddenly serious. “Your goals, your dreams… I assume you have some. Lemme tell you, no one ever got anywhere by just waiting. You gotta find it yourself.”

“Yeah, well, no one’s told me where else to look yet, so…” Tristan replied coldly.

“And you’re just waiting to be told, eh? Want the world to just hand you everything you want? That’s the problem with you kids. You think your dreams just come true on their own.”

Tristan exhaled sharply, having had enough of being lectured by a stranger of no importance. He opened his mouth, ready to tell the old guy exactly what he thought.

Then something was pressed into his chest.

A folded sheet of paper, bronzed by time. “Lucky for you, kid,” the old man whispered conspiratorially, “that’s exactly how your world works today.”

“Uh, what is this?” Tristan asked suspiciously, his anger suddenly replaced with confusion. He carefully peeled back a corner of the folded paper. It looked like trash to him. He wondered if the old man was simply crazy.

“That, young blood, is a map,” the old man said, pointing at the paper. “A map to a priceless reward. I can tell by looking at you that you’re not where you want to be in life. You follow that map, and your life will be forever changed.”

“This is a joke, right?” Tristan asked. “You’re giving me a treasure map? What is this, Uncharted?”

“It’s okay, young blood,” the old man grinned. “I didn’t believe at first either, when a stranger handed me that thing. Took me 37 years to take it seriously. Wasted a lot of time. But if I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have hesitated for a second.”

The intense sincerity with which the man spoke made Tristan uneasy, but at the same time he had felt a rush of excitement course through him. Even if the man was crazy, this was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him, so why not play along?

“Okay then,” Tristan began, slowly unfolding the supposed map, deciding to humour the man for now. “What’s this reward? And why didn’t you take it yourself?”

“No, boy, I did take it!” the old man insisted. “Everyone gets their own reward. That map you’re holding will guide you to a place that exists on no other map. From there, it will show you the way through the maze.”

“Maze?” Tristan repeated, still not sure if he should be taking this seriously or not.

“Yes, or a labyrinth more like. The map will lead you to the centre, where you can claim your personal reward, but there’s a condition to claim it; you have to pay it forward.”

Tristan stared down at the map in his hands. It was so fragile, worn thin, and creased with countless folds, it felt like it was going to crumble to dust in his hands.

The old man turned and began walking away just as the elevator dinged to announce its arrival. “What you do next is up to you, but take some free advice… don’t waste half your life wondering about it.”

Over the following days, Tristan kept telling himself the old man was crazy. A treasure map? Ridiculous. 

But a part of him was intrigued. Even more so when he asked around the office for the old man and no one seemed to have ever seen him.

He couldn’t really explain why he decided to listen to the old man in the end, but Tristan left his home and began his search. He didn’t tell anyone where he was going. He took all the vacation days he had, then took off. After weeks of travel, all doubts about the map vanished as he found the place it led to.

Tristan stood in a forgotten valley as the sun began to fall behind the horizon, looking in awe at the towering, dark walls before him. They stretched infinitely to the left and right of where he stood, fading into the dwindling light in the distance and even stretching into the darkening sky.

An archway towered over Tristan, a gaping mouth that marked the entrance to this place. Tristan almost expected lightning to split the sky. How could this monolith go undiscovered? Who had built it and why?

These questions and countless more swirled around Tristan’s mind like a hurricane, but they didn’t matter. Not when he was this close. He had doubted that this whole adventure would lead to anything, but there was no denying it now. 

Tristan turned the map over in his hands, searching the back and the corners for what to do next, but there was nothing. The old man had told him the map would also guide him to the centre of the labyrinth, but Tristan saw nothing that would help him the rest of the way.

“Find me,” a voice suddenly whispered in the wind.

Tristan jumped so much he nearly tore the map in half. He turned on the spot and searched for whoever had spoken, but he was in an empty field. There wasn’t another person in sight.

“Find me,” the voice whispered again, more urgently this time.

Tristan turned again as he realised where the voice was coming from. It was speaking from within the labyrinth. A voice borne on the wind that breathed out of the labyrinth’s depths.

Swallowing his nerves, Tristan took a hesitant step into the labyrinth.

The world exhaled… Everything fell silent. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Tristan’s face paled in an instant. The massive archway he had just stepped through had vanished.

Instead, he was staring at a section of wall made of flat dark stones that towered overhead, disappearing into the sky. Tristan stumbled forward and pressed his hand against the wall, pressing hard and breathing fast. 

“No-no-no-no,” Tristan muttered in a panic as he felt all around the wall, looking for a way to get back out, but to no avail.

After a few minutes of fruitless efforts, Tristan sat down in the dirt with his back against the wall, wondering what he should do now. He took several slow, deep breaths and managed to ease his sense of panic. As he calmed down, he began to examine the area around him.

There were three paths: leading left, right, and directly ahead of him. Each one stretched into shadows. 

Tristan looked down at the useless map in his hands. To his shock, the map had changed. The instructions that had been there, that had led him to the labyrinth’s entrance, had gone. Now there was a detailed drawing of the labyrinth itself. As Tristan watched, he saw that the illustration was still growing, the black lines spreading as though sketched by numerous invisible hands. As Tristan watched in awe, the black ink filled the page until the full labyrinth was drawn out, an intricate spider’s web, with a large empty square at its centre. 

“Find me,” the voice whispered once more. It sounded familiar, but he couldn’t place it. 

Tristan swallowed hard as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening, then nodded once as if he just convinced himself to continue. The map clearly marked the centre of the labyrinth, and Tristan noticed tiny dots following the path to his left. Without another moment of hesitation, Tristan turned and followed the directions, moving quickly, but cautiously, into the hidden depths.

As Tristan followed the map’s instructions, he heard the grinding of stones frequently and could swear that whenever he looked at the map, it had changed slightly. There was no way of knowing what the other halls contained, but he could hear… things. Lurking in darkness, stomping, and slithering out of sight. He was certain they could hear him too. Maybe even smell him. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he wandered down the wrong path.

There came a point, after hours of wandering, where Tristan’s path split into two corridors. The map clearly told him to go right, but Tristan felt a strong pull to go left instead. He had no idea what was down that path, he had no reason to veer off the safe route and pursue whatever was down that way, but the desire was almost overwhelming. He took a single step to the left, staring wistfully into the darkness. 

There’s something incredible down there, he thought. 

Whatever strange force was calling to him felt as familiar as going home after a long time away. It called to him. Not in words, but in a way he could feel, like a thought he didn’t remember having. A memory he’d never lived. But it was as dark as any other path, and utterly, deathly, silent. Despite this, Tristan could almost swear the air felt warmer down that path. Tristan took another step forward, dreaming of what wonders might be that way.

“Find me,” the voice whispered again, louder. Tristan snapped out of his dreamlike state. He turned and hurried along the path the map told him to go, already forgetting about the alluring alternative route that had called to him. 

Tristan lost track of how long he had been walking, though it felt like days. He rounded another bend and saw the infinitely large hall widen, revealing a bright silver light. Tristan gasped slightly as he realised this was the centre of the labyrinth.

He’d made it.

Stumbling forward, Tristan fell to his knees on the grass before a raised platform that marked the centre of the maze. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Tristan glanced around, taking in his unremarkable surroundings. The only thing in the courtyard to see was the platform in front of him and the tall shining object standing atop it.

The light seemed to emanate from the object itself. It had an ornate frame made of silver, which twinkled enticingly. The frame held a simple full-length mirror.

Tristan stared up at the mirror with growing confusion. Was this it? This was the prize?

“Find me,” the voice whispered again suddenly, this time with much more insistence. Tristan flinched at the sound, as it was louder than ever before. And it sounded as if it came from the mirror. This time, now he was so close, Tristan recognized the voice. 

It was his own. Speaking out of the mirror with urgency.

The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end as Tristan stared with wide eyes at the mirror. The surface seemed to shimmer like a small pond reflecting the light of a full moon.

Tristan slowly moved closer, unblinking as he climbed onto the stone platform and stepped in front of the mirror. When he looked at his reflection, Tristan gasped.

Where his reflection should have been, there was instead a strange yet familiar face. The old man from the office, who had encouraged Tristan on this adventure, stood in the mirror, looking out at Tristan with a hard and hungry gaze.

“Hey young blood. You found me,” the old man said with a grin. He spoke with Tristan’s voice.

“What… How?” Tristan stammered. “W-what’s happening?”

Tristan suddenly felt an ice-cold sensation grip his chest. He gasped from the shock of it and clutched a hand to his heart as he stumbled, almost falling to his knees.

Glancing up, he saw the old man in the mirror begin to change. His white hair began to fill with colour, becoming light brown and thick. The wrinkles on his face began to fade and his skin became smooth.

Tristan looked down at his hands and his breath caught in his throat. His skin was shriveling before his eyes, the colour draining fast, his fingers curling like brittle twigs. His veins pressed against thin and papery skin, his hands weak and trembling.

“Help…” Tristan croaked, looking up at the old man in the mirror.

But the old man didn’t look old anymore. As Tristan stared, finally falling to his knees as his legs suddenly became too frail, he saw that the old man had become more youthful in only moments, becoming decades younger. What truly horrified Tristan, though, was the old man’s new youthful face.

It was his own. Tristan reached up and touched his face with trembling fingers. He felt his cheeks had hollowed out and the skin around his neck and jawline seemed to hang loose from his bones.

“Sorry, young blood,” the man in the mirror said with Tristan’s voice, now wearing Tristan’s face. “You should have looked for yourself. ‘The road not taken’, am I right?”

Tristan felt a sudden invisible force begin to pull him towards the mirror. He screamed and clawed at the stone platform beneath him, trying desperately to find something to grab hold of. Tristan felt himself being dragged towards the mirror and he screamed even louder, his eyes bulging out of his suddenly ancient face. He tried to crawl away, but the invisible force was too strong and his now-aged body too weak.

Looking back, Tristan stared in horror as his feet touched the mirror, but instead of hitting glass, they simply vanished inside, as if he had sunk his feet into a dark ocean.

Screaming even louder, Tristan thrashed and tried to pull himself free. He desperately tried to grab hold of something. He dug his fingers into any crack in the stones he could find. His fingernails snapped off as he was dragged with irresistible force, leaving thin trails of blood on the stone as he continued to claw for help. 

The man in the mirror, who now looked exactly like Tristan had, watched as Tristan slowly sank into the mirror. Tristan screamed the whole while, thrashing and clawing at the ground as first he sank into the mirror up to his knees. Then his waist. Tristan still screamed and flailed when he was in up to his chest. Finally, the screaming stopped as Tristan’s head vanished into the mirror, though one hand still protruded through the mirror, bloody and frail, searching wildly for something to grab onto, until even that had gone.

Once the labyrinth’s courtyard was silent once more, the man who had taken Tristan’s visage pressed his hands on his side of the mirror and pushed, emerging easily from the mirror and stepping out into the cool air.

He turned around and looked back into the mirror, admiring his reflection. With a smirk, the man smoothed out his new hair. He then looked down at the ground and saw the ancient map. With a grin, the man reached down and picked it up and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Then he turned and walked away, whistling casually as he vanished into the darkness.