Vergil put his hands in his pockets and began to walk calmly.
Without haste.
Without hesitation.
The corridor before him seemed like all the others—dark stone, massive blocks perfectly fitted together, joints marked by runes as thin as veins beneath the surface. The illumination didn't come from torches or visible crystals; the structure itself emitted a diffuse, bluish glow that made the shadows too dense to be natural.
The sound of his footsteps echoed in a controlled manner.
There was no long reverberation.
The labyrinth absorbed sound.
Just as it absorbed energy.
Just as it absorbed intention.
He turned right.
The corridor stretched for dozens of meters before opening into a circular chamber. The ceiling was vaulted, supported by stone ribs that intertwined like ribs. In the center, there was an empty pedestal—too smooth, too purposeful.
Vergil didn't approach.
He walked along the edge of the room, observing.
