The underground forest did not behave like a battlefield.
That was the first thing Arios understood as the hours stretched on and the light—if it could still be called that—never shifted in a way that suggested time. The bioluminescent growths maintained a steady glow, bright enough to see without ever becoming comforting. Shadows pooled beneath roots thicker than towers, and the sound of water was constant, never loud enough to pinpoint, never quiet enough to ignore.
It was a place designed to erode certainty.
Arios moved at the front, his pace measured, his posture relaxed without being careless. Every few steps, he adjusted his route slightly—not because he sensed danger, but because the forest itself suggested paths that felt too convenient. Smooth stretches of moss gave way to uneven ground at just the wrong intervals, as if the terrain wanted to see how easily one would trade safety for speed.
