The corridor sloped downward.
Not sharply, but enough that gravity became noticeable after several dozen steps. Arios adjusted his gait to compensate, placing his feet with deliberate care. The stone beneath him had changed texture again—less smooth, more granular—offering better traction but also suggesting instability if weight was applied incorrectly.
The dungeon was not finished altering parameters.
The air grew warmer the deeper he went. Not humid, not suffocating, but dense, carrying a faint metallic scent that lingered at the back of his throat. It reminded him of overheated training halls and overused mana circuits—places where repeated strain had left residue.
His limiter pulsed once.
Then again.
Not loosening.
Not tightening.
Just reminding him that it was still there.
Arios ignored it and continued.
