The heat reached them before the sound.
It crept along the stone in slow waves, subtle enough at first to be mistaken for residual warmth from the door behind them. Only when Caelum felt sweat begin to gather at the base of his neck did he realize the temperature was rising steadily, deliberately, as though the floor itself were drawing breath and exhaling it back into the chamber.
The arena revealed itself gradually, not all at once.
They stood on the outermost ring of a vast circular structure carved downward into the stone, each tier sloping gently toward a central pit that vanished into shadow. The stone here was darker than anything they had encountered so far, streaked with blackened scars and deep gouges that looked less like erosion and more like damage. Massive chains hung from the ceiling at irregular intervals, thick enough that Caelum doubted he could wrap both arms around a single link. They swayed faintly, not from wind, but from something moving far below.
"This place has history," Ysara murmured, eyes tracing the claw marks carved deep into the inner rings. "And not the kind anyone survives long enough to talk about."
Aurelian rolled his shoulders slowly, armor shifting and settling with a low metallic groan. "Good," he said. "I was worried it might be empty."
Seraphine ignored him, her attention fixed on the arena's geometry. "It's not a single fight space," she said. "It's layered. Movement matters here."
As if in response, the floor pulsed beneath their feet, a slow, powerful vibration that traveled upward through bone and muscle before fading. Not a threat. A confirmation.
They began their descent along the outer ring, steps measured, spacing deliberate. No one rushed ahead. No one lagged. Floor Two had punished separation. Floor Three felt like it would punish ignorance.
Caelum tested Red Amendment as they walked, thumb brushing the seam where the hidden daggers lay folded along the blade's edge. The weapon felt different here—tenser, as though responding to pressure he couldn't yet see. When he shifted his grip, the metal warmed slightly beneath his palm, not in warning, but in anticipation.
Mireya noticed.
"Don't open it yet," she said quietly, eyes still scanning the arena. "Not until you know what kind of cuts this place wants."
That made Caelum pause. "You think it cares?"
"I think everything down here cares," she replied. "Just not about us."
They reached the second ring without incident, though Caelum noticed the way sound changed as they moved deeper. Footsteps echoed longer here, lingering just enough to make it difficult to tell where they originated. Voices carried strangely, sometimes sounding closer than they were, sometimes vanishing entirely if spoken too softly.
Aurelian tested it, clapping once.
The sound rolled outward, bounced, then returned distorted, stretched thin and warped.
"Good to know," he muttered. "No shouting."
Iscahrel lingered near the inner edge of the ring, peering down into the pit. Heat radiated upward from below, strong enough now to make his eyes water. "There's movement," he said. "Slow. Heavy."
No one asked how he knew. They could all feel it.
They continued downward, passing remnants that confirmed Ysara's earlier assessment. Broken weapons lay fused into the stone, blades melted and twisted into useless shapes. Shattered armor was embedded in the walls at impossible angles, as if bodies had been thrown hard enough to become part of the structure. In places, the stone itself was glassed smooth, warped by intense heat.
This was not a place for a single clash.
It was a place designed to endure one.
Seraphine stopped near the third ring, raising a hand. The group halted instantly.
She crouched, pressing her palm flat against the stone. The heat there was stronger, almost uncomfortable. Her expression tightened slightly, not in pain, but concentration. "This floor responds to positioning," she said after a moment. "If we cluster too tightly, it compresses. If we spread too far, it isolates."
Aurelian grunted. "So it wants us balanced."
"No," she replied. "It wants us adjustable."
The floor pulsed again, stronger this time, and somewhere below them came the unmistakable sound of stone grinding against scale.
The noise was distant, but massive. Heavy enough that Caelum felt it in his chest more than his ears.
Ysara exhaled slowly. "That's not the boss," she said. "That's it turning over."
They found a recessed alcove along the ring's inner wall, shallow but intact enough to provide partial cover. Seraphine gestured for them to stop there, and for the first time since entering Floor Three, they allowed themselves to rest without sitting.
Caelum leaned against the stone, closing his eyes briefly to steady his breathing. The heat pressed against his skin, constant and unyielding, but not aggressive. It reminded him uncomfortably of standing too close to a forge—dangerous not because it moved, but because it didn't need to.
Nearby, Mireya adjusted her grip on her blade, practicing short, precise movements in the limited space. Each cut was minimal, controlled, stopping well short of overextension. She was teaching her body restraint, not power.
Ysara crouched near the edge of the alcove, peering outward, eyes flicking constantly as she mapped possible routes across the rings. "Plenty of places to get pinned," she said softly. "Plenty of places to disappear."
Iscahrel knelt, hands resting on his thighs, lips moving silently as he murmured a prayer he no longer believed would protect him. Caelum watched him closely, noticing the way his hands trembled despite the calm in his posture.
Aurelian remained standing, staring down into the pit, jaw set. "It's big," he said eventually.
"Yes," Seraphine agreed. "And old."
The floor answered them again, this time with a deeper vibration that rattled loose stones from the walls. Dust drifted downward in slow, lazy spirals, catching the red light as it fell. From below came a low rumble, not a roar, but something closer to a growl restrained by distance and patience.
Caelum felt Red Amendment tighten in his grip, the hidden daggers along its edge shifting slightly beneath the metal as if eager to deploy.
Not yet, he told it silently.
Something moved far below, large enough that the shadows themselves seemed to recoil.
Then, faintly, a voice rolled through the arena—not loud, not amplified, but unmistakably present.
"DON'T GET COMFORTABLE, YOU STUPID LITTLE BITCHES."
The Warden's laughter followed, low and pleased, echoing along the rings before fading into the heat.
"IT'S BEEN HUNGRY A LONG TIME."
The presence withdrew as abruptly as it had arrived, leaving the arena unchanged and infinitely worse for it.
No one spoke for several seconds.
Ysara broke the silence first. "I hate him."
Aurelian snorted. "You'll grow fond."
Seraphine stood, straightening slowly. "We move again," she said. "But carefully. This floor isn't about the fight yet. It's about learning how it wants us to move."
They left the alcove and continued their descent, slower now, eyes sharp, senses tuned. The arena shifted subtly as they moved, pathways opening and closing just enough to test awareness without fully committing to a trap.
They reached the fourth ring when the shadow passed beneath them.
It wasn't a full reveal. Not even close.
Just a massive shape sliding beneath the stone, heat spiking suddenly as something enormous repositioned itself. The sound that accompanied it was deep and resonant, vibrating through the arena until Caelum felt his teeth rattle.
Mireya froze, eyes locked on the stone beneath her feet. "It knows where we are," she said.
"Yes," Seraphine replied calmly. "But not how we intend to move."
That, Caelum realized, was the rule here.
Not strength.
Not speed.
Intent.
They stopped again at the edge of the fifth ring, staring down into the pit where heat shimmered visibly now, distorting the air. Scales—massive, dark, ridged—were embedded into the stone along the inner wall, remnants of something that had brushed past too closely or too often.
The dragon was not waiting.
It was circling.
Caelum tightened his grip on Red Amendment, feeling the weapon respond, the metal warming as though eager for what was to come. He glanced at the others, taking in the set of their shoulders, the tension in their stances.
They were ready.
Not for the fight.
For what came before it.
Floor Three pulsed again, slower this time, as if satisfied.
The arena held its breath.
And far below, something ancient shifted its weight, preparing for the moment it would finally rise.