CHAPTER 308: CHAPTER 307: THREE DOORS

The others crowd behind him. At the end of the tunnel stands a massive door—broken clean down the middle, its edges melted like wax. Intricate sigils trace its frame, their glow long extinguished.

Bragg’s voice comes out breathless, trembling with excitement. "Guys... do you see what this is?"

Verrin steps closer, running a cautious hand near the melted surface. "If I’m not wrong, this matches the old records. Hidden sanctums—ruins left behind by beings of Tier 7 or beyond." His tone turns reverent, almost awed. "Places where they sealed their legacies... or their corpses."

Mave whistles under his breath. "Too bad it’s broken. Means someone beat us to it."

Bragg waves him off, grin spreading wide. "Doesn’t matter! Even a crumb of a Tier 7’s junk could set us up for life. Weapons, artifacts, even residue crystals—we’d never have to fight another day!"

Kyra crosses her arms, gaze sharp. "You’re assuming whoever came here before didn’t take everything."

Bragg just laughs, eyes glittering with greed. "Then we’ll take what they left behind. Junk or not, it’s still from a god’s doorstep."

Verrin frowns faintly. "Careful. If this was really shaped by a being of law, the remnants could still hold traces of their will. Even broken, it could—"

Bragg slaps his shoulder with a grin. "Relax, if there was anything left alive in here, we’d be dead already."

After a few minutes of tense silence, they decide to continue. Bragg pushes the halves of the door aside with a grunt, and the group steps into the darkness beyond.

The faint light from Alix’s orb stretches forward, revealing a long, narrow corridor lined with black stone. The walls are unnaturally smooth, almost glass-like, and the air feels heavier the farther they go.

Mave whistles softly, his voice echoing down the passage. "Don’t tell me this thing’s a labyrinth."

Verrin studies the carvings faintly etched along the wall—lines that twist and fold into impossible shapes. "It’s possible. The architecture looks ancient. Back in the ancient ages, those at the top loved constructing labyrinths to guard their treasures—or their secrets."

Bragg groans, his earlier excitement dimming slightly. "Great. Just what we needed. A damn maze." He kicks at a loose pebble, watching it skip ahead before vanishing into the dark. "If only we are the first to find this place."

Kyra moves up beside Alix, her tone practical but edged with unease. "Can your perception still reach ahead? Mine’s useless in here. It’s like the air eats the signal before it goes anywhere."

Alix shakes his head with practiced calm. "Not at all," he lies.

In truth, he can still feel it—the faint vibration of the labyrinth’s structure resonating with the same fire law as before. His perception stretches far through the hall, reading the layered turns and chambers beyond. The design is deliberate—alive in some strange, quiet way.

"But," Alix says, lowering his voice slightly, "we should be careful. If this is a labyrinth, then there’ll be traps. Maybe even remnants of old constructs."

Verrin nods gravely. "He’s right. Ancient formations sometimes react to intrusion, especially if the source law is still active. One wrong step could trigger an elemental backlash."

Toren scoffs, though his grip tightens on his sword. "Then let’s just make sure we don’t step wrong."

Kyra glances back at Bragg. "You heard him. Keep your steps light for once."

Bragg smirks. "You saying I’m heavy?"

"Loud," Kyra corrects. "If this place collapses, I’m blaming you first."

Verrin takes the lead this time, moving with the slow, deliberate caution of a man disarming an invisible enemy. His fingertips hover just above the floor and walls as faint strands of golden light flicker between them—his mana sight still working in flashes despite the drained air.

"Stay behind me," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll check for traps. Even a dead formation can leave behind a trigger."

The others follow in single file. Their boots echo softly against the polished black stone, each step swallowed by the heavy silence pressing in from all sides. The air is stale, thick with the metallic scent of something long sealed away.

Every so often, Verrin crouches, tracing his hand over the ground where faint lines cross the stone—old rune patterns, shattered beyond recognition. "Destroyed," he mutters. "Most of these traps are already broken. Whoever came here before us cleared the way."

Bragg snorts. "Lucky for us, then."

"Or unlucky," Kyra counters quietly.

They move deeper, the corridor bending and stretching in strange angles that make no sense—turns that seem to loop but don’t, paths that slope upward even when the ceiling stays the same height. Every sense feels subtly off, like the labyrinth itself shifts around them.

At last, the passage widens. The light from Alix’s orb spills out into a circular chamber. The air changes immediately—colder, sharper, carrying the faint scent of ash and something metallic beneath it.

They all stop.

In front of them stand three doors, evenly spaced along the curved wall. Each one towers over them—massive, ancient, and carved from different materials.

The first door on the left is made of solid black stone, its surface etched with melted symbols that still pulse faintly red, like dying embers. The middle one is metallic—silver-gray, smooth and seamless, reflecting their lights like a mirror warped by time. The last, on the right, looks almost alive—crafted from some kind of dark wood that glistens wetly, as if it still breathes.

Mave breaks the silence first. "The classic three doors."

Bragg clicks his tongue. "Classic labyrinth setup. One leads to treasure, one to death, one to—"

"Stop guessing," Kyra cuts in sharply. "We don’t know anything yet." She turns to Verrin. "Can you sense what’s behind them?"

Verrin frowns deeply, raising his hand. A faint shimmer of mana extends from his palm—but the moment it brushes near the doors, it scatters, like dust blown away by unseen wind. "No. The moment my mana touches them, it’s gone. I probably need to get closer."

"Figures," Toren mutters. "This place really doesn’t want us seeing ahead."

Kyra sighs through her nose. "Alix, what about you? Anything?"

Alix steps closer, his faint orb light spilling over the three doors. He studies them quietly, gaze lingering on the rightmost one—the battered, scarred wooden door that looks like it’s been through a hundred battles. Deep gouges mar its surface, and the edges seem half-burnt, half-rotted, as though it’s been both frozen and scorched over time.

The others wait for his answer. Kyra watches him with measured curiosity, Bragg with mild impatience.

After a moment, Alix says simply, "The right side looks promising."

The words hang in the air.

Everyone turns to look at him. Even Verrin blinks.

Bragg frowns and gestures at the door. "You mean that one? The one that looks like it’s been chewed on for a century?"

Kyra arches an eyebrow. "You sure about that, Alix? Because if I were guessing, that thing screams ’death trap.’"

Mave chuckles nervously. "Yeah, right door’s definitely got... personality. I’d have gone with the shiny one, maybe even the left if I was drunk."

But Alix doesn’t waver. "The right one’s safer," he says quietly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Verrin doesn’t move right away. He steps forward instead, the faint gold light gathering in his palm again as he examines the three doors more closely.

"Hold up," he says, crouching near the first door on the left—the one of black stone. "Let me check each one before we start guessing. These things weren’t made to be picked at random."

He starts with the left door—the one forged from solid black stone, its surface cracked and glowing faintly red. "This one’s... volatile," he murmurs. "The runes are fire-based. Old-style formation glyphs, but the patterns are erratic. I think it’s half-dead, half-active."

Kyra peers over his shoulder, careful not to get too close. "Meaning?"

Verrin tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he studies the faint red glow. "Meaning if I try to open it with mana, it might trigger a reaction. Not an explosion, exactly—more like a feedback surge. Could burn anyone within a few meters."

Bragg grunts. "So... fiery death door. Got it."

"More or less," Verrin says dryly, standing and brushing the dust from his gloves. He moves to the middle one—the metallic door that mirrors the light. "This one’s different. The mana’s smooth, steady. Feels like a mechanical lock reinforced by a formation rather than powered by it."

He presses his palm against the cool surface. The reflection warps around his hand, rippling like liquid metal. "See that? It’s still responding. This one’s intact—probably meant to open through a sequence, maybe a puzzle or key inscription."