The corridor ahead trembled like a mirage. Blue‑green light seeped through cracks in the stone, painting rippling reflections across mildew‑stained walls. Rodion pivoted his torso, scanning progressively: ten meters—clear; twenty meters—ghost readings; thirty meters—abnormal mana saturation spiking off chart.
He stepped across the threshold and the dungeon changed.
Before him stretched a subterranean lake—if water could glow like comet ice. Liquid mana sloshed in lazy eddies, its surface so clear it mirrored stalactites above. At the shoreline, luminescent foam fizzed in slow braids.
Suspended over the lake, a chain of sigil platforms drifted like stepping‑stones carved from solid light. Each tile flickered, pulsing with swirling glyphs that morphed every few seconds—letters dissolving into notes, notes into spectral arithmetic. The path threaded into darkness on the far shore, where pillars of quartz rose like organ pipes, humming deep chords that vibrated Rodion's ribs.
