The Maze That Remembers Lina — Story 03

The day had started with a chase. A flutter-moth, with wings like stained glass and a flight path like a drunken giggle, had led Lina away from the familiar paths of Vaelinya. She’d been hoping it might lead her to a song-fruit, a rare, bell-shaped gourd that chimed with a secret melody when the wind was just right. She followed it through a grove of whisper grass, whose tall, silvery stalks hissed with gentle secrets as she passed. But then, as quickly as it had appeared, the moth dissolved into a flicker of light and vanished. The whisper grass parted, and Lina found herself standing somewhere new.

She stood before a wall. It wasn’t a wall of brick or wood, but one woven from living vines, thick as her arm and shimmering with a faint, dewy light. Interspersed among the vines were large, smooth stones of a pale silver that seemed to absorb the daylight and hold it within. It was a maze. It hadn’t been there yesterday. Lina was sure of it. It probably hadn’t even been there an hour ago. It felt as if it had pushed its way up from the sleeping earth while she was busy with the moth. The entrance was a perfect archway, and the air within it pulsed with a soft, inviting glow. An invitation.

Lina hesitated; her boots rooted to the spot. A part of her, the sensible part that listened to adults, tugged at her sleeve. Mazes were for getting lost in.

“Not today,” she whispered to the entrance, more to convince herself than the maze.

As if in reply, the vines rustled gently, a sound like a soft, collective sigh. But you already began, they seemed to say. The moment you chose to follow.

And she knew it was true. The journey hadn’t started here, at this archway. It had started with that restless feeling, the gentle pull toward something unknown that had made her follow the moth in the first place. Her feet, seemingly with a mind of their own, moved forward, carrying her over the threshold and into the labyrinth.

Inside, the maze was quiet. Not an empty, lonely quiet, but a deep, listening silence. The air was still and cool, and the light from the silver stones cast soft, shadowless patterns on the ground. She turned left, then right, following an instinct she couldn’t name. There were no signs, no tricks, no dead ends. It felt less like a puzzle and more like a pilgrimage.

Every turn brought a memory, so vivid it was almost real. Around one corner, lying perfectly in the centre of the path, was a single, iridescent blue feather. Her breath caught in her throat. It was from Flicker, her little pet bird who had flown away one spring morning two years ago. She picked it up, and for a heart-stopping moment, she could feel his tiny weight in her palm and hear his cheerful, chirping song. It was a memory tinged with the sweet ache of loss, and the maze held the feeling gently, without judgment.

She continued, and a new sensation drifted towards her. It was a tune, a simple, looping melody her dad used to hum under his breath when he was fixing things around the house. It was the sound of safety, of quiet, capable love, a tune that meant everything was going to be alright.

Another turn brought a smell so powerful it made her stop and close her eyes. It was the scent of her own home on a rainy Sunday afternoon—the rich aroma of her mum’s cinnamon-apple cake baking in the oven, mingled with the earthy smell of rain tapping against the windowpanes. It was the smell of warmth, of comfort, of belonging.

This place remembers, Lina thought, her hand resting on one of the cool, silver stones. It wasn’t just remembering the history of Vaelinya, the ancient trees or the forgotten rivers. It was remembering her.

She felt a pull toward the centre, a certainty that her path was leading her to the heart of it all. The winding corridors opened into a still, perfect circle. The air here was utterly silent, filled with a sense of profound peace and importance. And in the middle of the circle stood a figure.

It was her size, her shape, but it was hazy and indistinct, like a reflection seen through deep water, or a memory blurred by time. The figure slowly turned, and Lina gasped. It was her. But it was a version of her she hadn’t seen in a long time. It was the Lina from her first year at the big school in the valley, the Lina who had tried so hard to be smaller, quieter, less… much. The Lina who had stopped talking about the songs she heard in the wind so the other kids wouldn’t stare. The Lina who had copied the way others dressed, the way they spoke, the way they laughed, until she had forgotten the shape and sound of her own being.

The figure smiled—a tired, kind smile, full of a gentle sadness for all the effort it took to be someone else.

Lina’s heart ached with a sudden, overwhelming empathy. She wasn’t afraid of this ghost of her past. She felt a deep, protective love for her. She stepped forward and reached out her hand. The figure mirrored the movement, its own hazy hand rising to meet hers.

They touched palms.

And in that moment, a current of pure understanding flowed between them. All the years of pretending, all the quiet apologies for being herself, all the fear of being seen—it all melted away like mist in the morning sun. The hazy figure didn’t vanish or fight. It simply stepped forward and merged back into her, a soft, weightless homecoming. It was not gone, not erased, but held. The strength it had taken to survive that time was now hers. The memory of the pain was not a wound anymore, but a scar that told a story of resilience.

She was whole.

She turned, and the maze behind her had changed. The winding, confusing paths had shifted. The woven vines had rearranged themselves to form one single, clear, gently curving path leading directly back to the entrance. Because now, the maze knew her. And more importantly, she knew herself.

Later that night, her mum noticed the new stillness in Lina’s eyes as she sat by the window.

“Are you okay, my love?” she asked softly.

Lina nodded, a slow, certain movement. “I found a piece of me I forgot I’d lost.”

Her mum came closer. “Here in Vaelinya?”

Lina smiled, a genuine, untroubled smile that reached all the way to her eyes. “No. In a mirror made of paths.”

Her mum didn’t ask any more questions. She simply placed a hand on Lina’s shoulder, a silent gesture of complete acceptance. Sometimes, the truest things, the most important journeys, didn’t need explaining. They just needed to be seen.