Weeks passed.
Not days. Not a handful of restless nights.
Weeks.
In that time, Arya learned one absolute truth.
This world had no dungeons.
At least, none that existed the way they should.
At first, he thought he simply had not found them yet. Dungeons did not always appear openly. Some were hidden beneath ruins, some beneath cities, some masked behind illusions. He searched carefully, patiently, using every scrap of instinct left behind from his previous life.
Nothing.
No distortions in space.
No abnormal mana currents.
No pressure in the air.
No sense of hunger from the earth itself.
This world was clean.
Too clean.
Arya walked through abandoned buildings, empty fields, old roads that no one used anymore. He climbed hills and descended into narrow valleys. He stayed out longer than he should have, returned home later than normal, all while maintaining the careful balance of normalcy the world demanded.
Still nothing.
