The cold hit first.
Not the ordinary chill of stone tunnels or underground air, but something sharper, cleaner. It felt as if the dungeon had stripped warmth out of the space itself. Riven stepped fully through the gate and let his eyes adjust.
The corridor ahead gleamed from floor to ceiling.
Walls of translucent crystal rose on both sides, layered with faint lines that ran deep into the structure like frozen veins. Light moved through them without any visible source, scattering across the narrow path in shifting reflections. Every few seconds, the brightness changed just enough to make distances feel wrong.
The floor was smooth, almost polished, but not perfectly level. Slight ridges crossed it at uneven intervals, enough to catch an unwary foot.
Around him, the other scavengers slowed instinctively.
No one rushed here.
Ten people had entered together, but already they were spreading out, each choosing their own pace. Some preferred to trail others and watch for mistakes. Others wanted first pick of anything left behind.
Riven did neither.
He moved forward at a measured speed, eyes scanning the corridor rather than the people. Broken shards lay scattered near the entrance, some no larger than coins, others long enough to serve as knives. The first teams had already fought here.
A man ahead crouched to inspect a cracked stone lodged near the wall.
"Empty," he muttered in disgust before tossing it aside.
Another scavenger immediately picked it up anyway.
Riven kept walking.
The air carried distant sounds strangely. A shout from somewhere deeper ahead stretched thin and warped before fading. Metal striking stone echoed from one direction, then seemed to come from another.
The old man from the line caught up beside him.
"Told you," he said quietly. "Blink long enough and you forget where you are."
Riven glanced at him. "You know the layout?"
"No one does. It shifts."
That was enough explanation.
They continued together for several minutes, passing the remains of earlier combat. Splintered crystal creatures lay broken across the floor, their bodies already losing shape into dull fragments. One dead hunter had been dragged to the side and covered with a cloak.
No one stopped.
The old man clicked his tongue. "Fresh gate greed. Always costs blood."
Riven's eyes moved to a smear of red near the wall, then away. He had seen worse.
The corridor ahead split into three narrow passages. With no difference between them whatsoever.
Only reflections moving across identical walls.
Several scavengers hesitated. One chose the left path immediately and hurried in before anyone else could follow. Two others argued briefly, then took the center.
The old man looked at Riven. "Rule here is simple. If someone chooses fast, they're either confident or stupid."
"And if they wait?"
"They're hoping someone else proves it first."
Riven studied the openings.
A faint draft touched his cheek from the right passage. Cooler than the rest.
He stepped that way.
The old man raised a brow. "You trust wind?"
"I trust movement."
That earned a rough laugh.
"Maybe you'll last."
They entered the right corridor together.
The path narrowed quickly, forcing them into single file. The crystal walls rose higher here, bending inward overhead until the ceiling almost closed. Reflections multiplied with every step. Riven caught glimpses of himself in distorted angles—ten versions walking at once, each half a second out of sync.
Then one of them moved wrong. He stopped instantly.
The reflection three paces ahead turned its head after he had already stopped.
"Down!" he snapped.
The old man dropped without question.
A shard of glass screamed through the air where his neck had been.
It struck the opposite wall and embedded itself deep enough that only the tail end remained visible.
Riven stepped sideways, activating Burst Step for a split second. Speed flooded his legs, carrying him clear as another shard cut through where he had stood.
Something peeled itself away from the wall ahead.
Humanoid in outline, made entirely of translucent layers, face smooth and featureless except for a hollow where a mouth should be. Its arms tapered into long blades of crystal.
A Wraith.
Not the undead kind from old stories. A dungeon mimic shaped from reflected light.
The old man swore. "Those weren't in the reports."
The creature lunged.
Riven moved first.
Burst Step flared again, draining stamina in a sharp pulse as he crossed the narrow corridor. One blade passed close enough to slice fabric from his sleeve. He drove a knife into the creature's side.
The blade sank halfway, then jammed. No blood. No resistance like flesh.
The Wraith twisted violently and flung him into the wall.
Pain burst through his shoulder.
The old man rushed from behind with a hooked tool, slamming it into the creature's knee joint. Crystal cracked. The Wraith staggered.
"Eyes!" the old man shouted.
Riven saw it then.
At the center of its smooth face, beneath the shifting surface, a darker core pulsed whenever it moved.
He pushed off the wall, ignoring the pain, and triggered Shadow Veil.
His outline blurred.
The Wraith turned toward the old man instead, senses tracking visible movement.
That instant was enough.
Riven used Burst Step one final time and drove his knife straight into the dark point beneath its face.
The corridor rang like a struck bell.
Cracks raced through the creature's body in branching lines. It froze, arms half-raised, then shattered into a storm of glittering fragments.
Silence followed.
Riven bent slightly, catching his breath. His stamina reserve felt thin already.
The old man stared at the remains. "You always move like that?"
"Only when something's trying to kill me."
The old man barked a laugh, then winced and held his side. A shallow cut bled through his jacket.
Riven looked down.
Among the fading fragments, something remained intact.
A skill stone.
Unlike the dull gray stones common in markets, this one was clear as polished glass. Light swirled inside it in thin geometric patterns.
The system responded immediately.
[Skill Detected: Prism Shift]
[Tier: C]
[Status: Unclaimed]
Riven's pulse kicked once.
C-rank.
The old man saw his expression. "That good?"
Riven closed his hand around the stone before answering.
"Better than scraps."
From deeper in the corridor, footsteps were approaching fast.