I had made it halfway across the second floor before the dread finally dulled enough for me to feel the weight of my own limbs again. Something had shifted within me—some invisible enhancement I was slowly adjusting to. My balance had sharpened. Each breath came easier. The sword no longer resisted me; it flowed like an extension of my will, obedient and alive.
It felt good.
No—more than good.
It felt powerful.
Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe something deeper. Whatever it was, the silence no longer paralyzed me. I could hear my footsteps echoing across the chamber. Each step reverberated through the vast, glowing space. The air was cold, the stone beneath me solid, and the ceiling stretched far above. But the monsters were gone. No tendrils slid from the walls. No horrors crept from behind columns. It was empty—eerily so.
Only one thing remained ahead.
The third-floor entrance.
It loomed in the distance like a wound cut into the world, a wide archway faintly pulsing with inner light. Unlike the previous exits, this one was not hidden behind riddles or misdirection. It stood bare. Waiting.
That made it worse.
I stared too long. The sight crawled across my nerves like ants. This space offered no cover. No hiding places. The ceiling arched so high it might have touched the sky. The walls were too far apart to offer safety. It was all exposure. Vulnerability. I was prey in open land, and something was watching.
I had been creeping carefully—pillar to pillar, breath by breath. But the longer I lingered in that silence, the more it gnawed at the edge of my sanity. The emptiness was not passive. It was hostile in its quiet. Purposeful.
What if that was the test? What if this floor did not kill with claws or fangs—but with pressure? With the mounting weight of stillness and paranoia?
I looked down at the glowing potion still tucked in my pocket. I had found it earlier—had no idea what it did. One last trick, if it came to that.
But I could not go on like this.
My mind was splintering.
Madness was death too.
So I made the most reckless decision I could think of.
I ran.
Straight toward the archway. Toward whatever lay beyond. Toward escape, or death, or both.
The sword was clenched tightly in my hand. My feet pounded against the stone. No more creeping. No more pausing between breaths. I sprinted.
That was when the floor began to move.
At first, I thought it was a hallucination. A phantom tremor from my panicked mind. But it was real. The ground shifted beneath me. It groaned. It swelled and buckled as if breathing.
Cracks split the floor. Columns shuddered.
Pillars dragged across the stone, groaning like the bones of giants. The sound—no, the sensation—of stone grinding against stone roared through the chamber. It was not a sound. It was a scream.
The floor was not just stone.
It was alive.
And it had been waiting for me.
It responded to my movement. My speed. My decision to act. As if it had always been watching—waiting for the precise moment to strike.
I ran faster. My lungs burned. My heart pounded against my ribs like it wanted out.
The archway drew near. Twenty feet. Then ten—
I slammed into something invisible.
A wall.
Solid, cold, and unmoving. One that had not been there a heartbeat ago. I bounced off it and crashed to the ground, ribs aching with sudden pain.
"What is this?" I gasped, struggling to breathe.
I forced myself up and pressed my hands to the barrier. No shimmer. No distortion. Just resistance. Pure, unyielding force.
A wall that existed only because it wanted to.
Behind me, the room continued to shift. Groan. Compress.
The columns twisted inward.
The ceiling sank.
The entire chamber was shrinking.
I pounded my fists against the invisible barrier. "Let me through!"
Nothing happened.
I drew my sword and slashed at the air. Sparks flew as steel struck the unseen surface, but the wall did not budge. There was no damage. No feedback. Just the futility of desperation.
I screamed. "Come on!"
The air dropped in temperature. My breath misted. Each inhale stabbed my lungs like cold needles.
Panic surged.
I was going to die here.
Trapped. Alone. Buried in a tomb that called itself a test.
I turned, scanning the chamber for something—anything.
Then I saw it.
Carved above the archway, almost invisible against the stone, was a face.
It was not human. Not truly. Smooth. Featureless. No eyes. No mouth. Just the faint impression of a watcher, buried in the rock like it had always been there. Always observing.
There were no symbols. No inscriptions. No instructions.
Just that face.
That quiet watcher.
It was not enough.
I turned back to the barrier, hands trembling, rage burning in my chest. Behind me, the ceiling groaned. The walls hissed. Dust fell in soft clouds as the structure prepared to collapse.
"It is going to crush me," I whispered.
I raised my sword with shaking hands and backed against the invisible wall, teeth clenched in helplessness.
"I do not want to die like this!" I cried. "Send me back! Back to the fire! Back to my world! I do not care!"
A loud crack split the ceiling above. Pebbles rained down.
I closed my eyes.
Tight.
I braced for the end.
But instead—
Nothing.
No sound. No collapse. No crushing stone.
I opened one eye, slowly.
The barrier was gone.
Vanished without a trace.
The archway stood open.
The room was still.
The pressure had lifted.
I turned toward the face again.
Unchanged.
Blank.
My mind raced, tangled in confusion.
It had disappeared… only when I closed my eyes?
"You have got to be kidding me," I muttered.
The test had never been about strength.
It had been about surrender.
I had faced every challenge with force. Every wall as an enemy. But this place—this floor—had demanded something else.
Trust.
I gave the chamber one last glance. The stillness. The illusion. The quiet manipulation.
"I despise this place," I whispered.
Then, sword in hand, I stepped through the archway.
And the darkness swallowed me whole.