The next floor greeted them with silence.
Not the peaceful kind. The waiting kind. The kind that pressed against the ears and made every breath sound too loud.
Arthur and Ilya stood at the entrance of a vast underground chamber. The ceiling was lost in shadow. The walls were carved with ancient symbols that seemed to shift when they looked away. Pillars of black stone rose in irregular rows, stretching into the gloom like the ribs of some dead giant.
But the floor itself was the strangest part. It was a mosaic. Thousands of tiles in shades of grey and white. Each one perfectly square. Each one identical to the next. They formed patterns that led in every direction, looping back on themselves, creating a maze of visual deception.
"A labyrinth," Ilya said. Her voice echoed. Then echoed again. Then again. The sound bounced off unseen walls, multiplying until it faded into a whisper.
Arthur knelt. Touched a tile. It was cold. Smooth. Unyielding.
