Major Abbot and the Obsidian Labyrinth

Major Thorne Abbot wasn’t a man easily rattled. Decorated war hero, archeologist, and reluctant legend, he had stared down mercenaries, outwitted smugglers, and once fought a jaguar with nothing but a flare gun. But standing at the edge of the Yucatan jungle, staring into the maw of a collapsed temple entrance, he felt something he hadn’t in years—hesitation.

“Last chance to turn back,” said Professor Elias Stone, his bespectacled companion and longtime friend.

Abbot grinned. “You say that every time we nearly die.”

“Exactly my point.”

With a final check of their gear, they descended into the ruins. The locals called it “Xan Tepek”—The Place Where Shadows Breathe. It was said to house the Obsidian Labyrinth, a shifting maze forged by an ancient civilization that predated the Maya. Inside lay the Eye of Itzamna, a relic said to grant visions of the past—or drive men mad.

Their boots echoed as they stepped into the stone corridors. Strange glyphs lined the walls—depictions of human-animal hybrids, star maps, and ominous figures cloaked in flame.

Hours passed. The deeper they ventured, the more the temple seemed to move around them. Tunnels closed. New ones opened. Light behaved strangely, bending at angles that defied reason.

“We’re not just in a ruin,” Elias whispered. “We’re inside a mechanism.”

Then came the whispers—soft, unintelligible voices curling out of the shadows like smoke. Abbot drew his revolver. Elias raised his lantern.

They were not alone.

The first guardian emerged without a sound. Seven feet tall, obsidian-black skin like polished glass, and eyes glowing with a cold, white light. It moved like liquid stone, its limbs reshaping to block their path.

“Run,” Abbot barked.

They sprinted through the maze as traps snapped and walls shifted. Stone blades slashed the air, and pits opened beneath their feet. Somehow, Abbot navigated the chaos, relying on instinct and a battered notebook passed down from his grandfather—another explorer who vanished seeking this place.

Finally, they reached the heart of the labyrinth: a domed chamber where starlight shone through a single shaft from above. In the center stood the Eye of Itzamna—an obsidian sphere floating above a stone pedestal, humming with ancient energy.

As Elias approached, the sphere reacted—projecting visions in the air: ancient wars, rituals, and a city swallowed by time. Then it shifted—showing Elias himself, older, alone, lost.

“Put it down,” Abbot warned. “This thing doesn’t show truth. It shows temptation.”

But it was too late. The moment Elias touched the sphere, the temple groaned as if awakened. The maze roared back to life. Guardians emerged from every corridor.

“Go!” Elias shouted. “I’ll hold them!”

Abbot hesitated. “You won’t make it.”

“I have to know what it means. Go, Thorne. The world needs someone to remember.”

Abbot turned and ran, journal clutched tight. He barely made it out as the temple collapsed behind him in a cloud of dust and fury.

Days later, he stood before a university board, presenting Elias’s findings—and his sacrifice. They dismissed him as delusional, a romantic obsessed with ghosts. The journal was confiscated, sealed away.

But Abbot knew the truth.

Elias hadn’t died in the temple. The Eye had shown him a path beyond time—a way to exist within the Labyrinth forever, guarding its secrets.

And one day, Thorne Abbot would return—not to find treasure, but to bring his friend home.