Lucavion rolled his shoulders once as he stepped beneath the archway into Zone B. It wasn't marked by much—just a faint shimmer of glyphs strung across the upper gate, like the world had been drawn on rice paper and someone had begun to burn the corners.
The hallway curved inward, not downward, and the light dimmed unnaturally as he walked. No instructors lining the path. No fellow students whispering in corners. Just the quiet. Cold and complete.
This doesn't feel like an arena.
And that was the first clue.
He slowed his pace slightly, adjusting the rhythm of his stride—not hesitating, just... shifting. Letting the soles of his boots land softer, breathing narrower, shallower. The kind of walking one did when the air felt wrong.
He passed a mirror.
Or something like one.
The reflection didn't move with him.
He kept walking.
At the end of the hall was a single door. Plain. No glyphs. Just a latch.
He opened it.
And stepped directly into—
Nothing.
