They descended into heat.
Not fire.
Not even warmth.
Weight.
Floor B3 wasn't made of stone, but something like compressed obsidian and black glass. The corridor sloped gradually downward and pulsed with a deep vibration—soft enough not to be heard, but strong enough that every step throbbed behind the sternum.
Thane felt it first.
Then Seren.
Then the rest.
"Is it just me," Sova muttered, adjusting the strap across her chest, "or does it feel like the floor's... breathing?"
"No echo," Mira said. "Again."
"Don't trust the light either," Seren added. "Those crystals flicker like they're alive."
They moved carefully. The pressure never lessened. If anything, it intensified—like walking deeper into a lake.
Thane, as always, brought up the rear.
He said nothing.
But he saw the girls begin to slow.
The first enemy didn't ambush them.
It simply... emerged.
A Wailing Plinth, rising from the floor like a monument, except it screamed. The pitch hit their heads like daggers—Mira clutched her ears and staggered. Sova dropped to one knee, arrows spilling. Seren cursed and drove her sword into the ground to keep her balance.
The plinth didn't attack.
It just... crushed.
With sound.
With pressure.
Thane didn't move.
He raised one hand and cast Flame Arc in silence.
The arc bisected the plinth horizontally—and for a moment, it screamed in reverse before crumbling into black powder.
The girls gasped for air.
"You alright?" Seren asked, wiping sweat from her brow.
"Fine," Mira said, though her nose was bleeding.
Sova just nodded, silent, shaken.
None of them asked how the plinth fell.
None of them saw Thane raise his hand.
But all three looked at him a little longer this time.
They found a side tunnel—half-collapsed, covered in fungal growths. The air was thicker here, almost syrupy. The heat clawed at their lungs. Tiny spores floated through the light, clinging to cloth and skin.
"Hold your breath," Seren said.
Too late.
Mira sneezed.
Then again.
Then she dropped.
Thane caught her before her head hit the ground.
Sova whipped around. "What—?"
"Spore-borne paralysis," Thane said quietly. "Weak. Temporary."
They stared at him.
"How do you know that?" Seren asked.
He didn't answer.
He just cast Flame Ward in a ring around them, burning the floating spores to ash before they could reach the others.
Mira came to ten minutes later, groggy, eyes unfocused.
"You—" she started.
"You're fine," Thane said.
"Don't speak."
She obeyed.
They reached the stairwell to B4 three hours later—limping, low on mana, soaked with sweat and grime.
The sigil glowed in the air, waiting.
Another safe zone.
They collapsed there without words.
But Seren watched Thane again as he stood just outside the radius, fire in his eyes, his body untouched by exhaustion.
"Why aren't you tired?" she asked.
"I am," he said.
It wasn't true.
Not really.
That night, he didn't sleep.
He stood watch.
Not because he had to.
Because he couldn't.
The pressure in the walls was familiar now.
Not like the dungeon.
Like the Archive.
Only rougher.
Wilder.
Raw.
Like something was testing him from below.
Something wanted him to come deeper.
Status check:
📈 Level: 3
🧪 EXP: 73 / 140
📜 Meteor Blueprint Progress: 1.9%
He pulled the flame from his fingertips, molded it into a whip, then a spear, then a ring.
Held it there.
Let it burn.
Then let it fade.
He whispered to himself again.
"Soon."