Adam flew low over the blood-dark surface, the faint pulse of Ouroboros's Fang against his back syncing with his heartbeat. The cavern stretched on endlessly, the jagged walls occasionally reflecting the dim light from his compass. The needle remained steady, pointing forward.
Then the path ended.
A wall of solid darkness rose before him, smooth and featureless, stretching from the water's surface to the lost ceiling above. It wasn't stone—it was something denser, more absolute, as if the void itself had condensed into a barrier.
Adam landed on a small outcropping of rock, his boots splashing lightly in the blood. He stared at the wall, then down at the compass, then back at the wall. His brow furrowed.
"Where's the path?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness. He took a few steps forward, reaching out to touch the barrier. His fingers met cold, unyielding darkness—solid, yet somehow not solid. Like pressing against the surface of still water.
