By the time they reached Level 3, the rift had stopped resembling a dungeon.
It felt more like a world that had forgotten it was supposed to be survivable.
The transition was almost imperceptible.
There was no flash of light, no violent displacement. One moment they were walking through the remains of the previous chamber, and the next the black stone beneath their feet had become something softer.
Ash.
It covered the ground in a thin grey layer, disturbed only by their footsteps. Far ahead, enormous structures rose through a haze that obscured their upper reaches. They looked like trees at first, but there was something wrong with them. Their trunks were pale and twisted, their branches bare, stretching upward into a ceiling that could not be seen.
The air was cold.
Not naturally cold.
Still.
The kind of cold that seemed to exist because the place had decided warmth was no longer necessary.
Tasero stopped.
Nahara's eyes moved across the surroundings.
Gharun said nothing.
