The stairs descended without rhythm.
Each step was uneven, not in height but in intent—some shallow, some steep, forcing the body to constantly readjust. It made pacing impossible. Breathing fell out of sync. Muscle memory became unreliable.
Eiran counted steps anyway.
Twenty-seven.
At the twenty-eighth, Dax stumbled.
It was subtle. A half-missed footing, corrected too late. His boot scraped stone that should not have been there, and the sound echoed far longer than it should have.
Everyone froze.
Nothing attacked.
That was worse.
"Status," Eiran said.
"All good," Dax replied too quickly. "Just—bad angle."
Eiran did not answer. He watched the steps ahead, eyes narrowing.
The red glow along the walls dimmed further as they descended, thinning until it resembled veins seen through skin. The air grew heavier—not thicker, but resistant, as if movement itself required permission.
Lyra whispered, "I don't feel a floor."
"There isn't one," Rook said. "Not yet."
They reached a landing.
A wide, circular platform suspended in darkness. No railings. No walls. The staircase ended abruptly at its edge.
Opposite them stood a single structure: a stone frame shaped like a doorway, empty at its center. No light passed through it. No darkness either. Just absence.
Eiran's interface flickered.
FLOOR ONE: UNINITIALIZED.
ENGAGEMENT TYPE: PROBABILISTIC.
"Leader," Kael said quietly, "what does that mean?"
"It means the floor hasn't decided how to kill us yet."
They spread out cautiously. Maelin's healing field activated on instinct, faint light brushing against the red glow and being swallowed immediately.
Dax moved toward the doorway.
"Hold," Eiran said.
Dax stopped—but the air around him did not.
Something shifted.
There was no roar, no summoning circle, no visual cue.
Dax's body jerked backward.
Not pulled—reassigned.
One moment he stood three meters from the doorway. The next, he was inside it.
Half of him.
The rest fell.
The cut was perfect. Not burned. Not torn. Simply removed, as if the world had rejected his continued existence past a certain boundary.
Blood did not spray.
It flowed downward in a thin, obedient line, vanishing before it reached the floor.
Lyra screamed.
Maelin rushed forward, hands glowing, spells forming out of reflex and denial.
"Stop," Eiran said.
Too late.
Maelin crossed the same invisible line.
Her spell collapsed instantly. Her body froze mid-step, expression locked in confusion rather than pain. For half a second, nothing happened.
Then she shattered.
Not into flesh.
Into light.
Her healing energy dispersed violently, ripping itself apart as if the system had deemed it invalid. The fragments flickered once, twice, then went dark.
Silence returned.
Rook lowered his rifle slowly.
Kael stared at the doorway, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth creaked.
Eiran felt it then—the familiar tightening in his chest, the weight settling into place. The moment when shock faded and responsibility took its seat.
Two casualties.
No monsters.
No warning.
The interface updated.
FLOOR ONE INITIALIZED.
CASUALTIES CONFIRMED: 2.
LEADERSHIP RESPONSE: RECORDED.
Eiran stepped forward, stopping just short of the boundary.
"Do not move unless I say so," he said evenly.
Lyra was shaking. "What… what was that?"
Eiran did not answer immediately.
Because he already knew.
NULL was not testing strength.
It was testing obedience.
And it had decided who would learn first.