They passed through the sigil in silence.
No one said a word.
Not after B10.
Not after the Heart That Hunts.
There were no congratulations. No cheers. Just breath. Burnt leather. Quiet pain.
And the sound of the stone beneath their boots—clicking, deliberate, like the floor itself was counting every step.
The air on Floor B11 was cold again.
But not naturally.
It was sterile.
The dungeon no longer felt organic. Gone were the bleeding walls, the whispering roots, the illusion-fueled flowers.
This was something different.
Something… preserved.
"Smells like formaldehyde," Sova muttered, her voice raw.
"Smells like a tomb," Seren said, adjusting her grip on her sword.
Mira didn't speak.
She looked pale.
Not injured—emptied.
Thane walked beside her.
His presence quiet but anchoring.
The vault was vast. A series of long, open corridors flanked by thick glass panels, each holding a specimen.
Frozen.
Preserved.
Some humanoid.
Some not.
All dead.
One display held a massive insect with a human face.
Another held a half-dissolved slime still twitching inside the glass.
A third—
Mira looked away.
She'd seen too much death for one day.
Sova stared a little longer than the others.
"These aren't monsters."
Seren nodded grimly.
"They're studies."
"Someone's been down here before us," Mira said. "A long time ago."
"No," Thane said.
"They still are."
The first real sign of movement came thirty minutes in.
A footstep behind them.
Not echo.
Not misheard.
A real step.
They turned instantly—blades drawn, arrows ready, spells at the edge of lips.
Nothing.
But the corridor behind them… had changed.
Mira spoke first.
"There was a glass panel here."
"It's gone," Sova confirmed.
"And the floor's wrong," Seren said.
It was.
Smooth black tile had turned gray.
Slicker.
Like it had been wiped.
The vault was watching.
Not passively.
Actively.
Every step forward triggered a change behind them—walls resetting, panels shifting, even doors disappearing the moment they passed through.
And once, they looked back and saw a second group in the distance.
Marching.
Same formation.
Same height.
Same gear.
Same—
Faces.
"That's us," Mira whispered.
Thane stepped forward.
The mirrored party did the same.
He raised a hand.
So did the copy.
He clenched his fist.
The copy cast Firebolt.
He dodged. Barely.
The corridor erupted.
The wall to his left shattered, glass raining down in silver shards.
The mirrored party stepped through the smoke.
Still silent.
Still perfect.
But now, armed.
And hostile.
Seren met her copy head-on.
The clash of blades rang through the hall, metal against metal—identical strikes, mirrored footwork.
Too mirrored.
Every move Seren made, her copy matched—until she changed stance mid-swing, shifting left instead of right.
The copy hesitated.
And lost an eye.
Mira fared worse.
Her reflection anticipated every spell—because it thought them first.
Sova covered her, landing three shots in quick succession into the copy's thigh, then shoulder, then chest.
The mirror shattered.
Sova looked stunned.
Then lowered her bow.
"One shot wouldn't have worked," she murmured. "I had to fire before I knew if it would."
Thane faced his copy in silence.
They didn't move.
Not right away.
Both stood, hands at their sides, mana humming faintly around them.
Then, together—
They cast Magma Sword.
The blades were identical.
Until Thane whispered something.
Something the copy could not hear.
Lava Geyser.
It surged from beneath the mirrored Thane, catching him off guard.
Not because he cast it—but because he layered it.
The copy had no concept of instinctual chaining.
It wasn't built for growth.
Only for reflection.
That was its weakness.
The mirrored Thane collapsed.
Shattered.
Gone.
And the hallway went still.
"They're getting smarter," Seren muttered, cleaning blood from her blade.
Mira nodded, hands shaking. "They're learning us."
"No," Thane said.
"They're recording us."
The rest of the floor was quiet.
Too quiet.
At the final chamber, they found no sigil.
Just a console of glass and crystal. Ancient, humming.
And one word, in runes none of them could read—except Thane.
He walked up to it.
Laid a hand against the surface.
And the rune pulsed.
"VERIFICATION: SUBJECT RECOGNIZED."
The wall ahead split open.
Revealing the sigil.
And behind it—something glowing.
A pedestal.
A sphere.
Alive.
Mira stepped toward it.
But the room dimmed.
The glass shimmered.
And Thane whispered:
"Don't touch it."
He stared at the light.
It didn't speak.
But it remembered him.
And that was worse.
📈 Level: 7
🧪 EXP: 108 / 220
🎯 Stat Points: 1
📜 Meteor Blueprint Progress: 4.7%