The stone door loomed before them like the last page of a cursed book—one you should never turn.
It stood twice the height of a man, built from blackened slabs fitted so seamlessly together that no natural tool could have carved them. Thin veins of pale blue light ran through the surface like cracks in ice, glowing faintly, pulsing… almost as if the door were breathing.
The dungeon's air was already stale, but here, in front of this ancient threshold, it became heavy. Each inhale scraped against the throat like sand. The flicker of their torch flames bent toward the door, drawn in by some invisible pull.
Rayan swallowed, eyes narrowing at the faint symbols carved into the arch. They were jagged, asymmetrical — letters from no modern language. Yet as he stared, his mind whispered shapes and meanings he shouldn't have understood.
Those who enter shall be judged.Those who fail shall be offered to the statues.
The words weren't complete — some symbols had been worn away by centuries — but the intent was clear enough.
"Hell no," muttered Darim, the party's scout, stepping back with a hand on his dagger. "We came here for an E-rank subjugation, not some ancient crypt. This reeks of a trap."
"But traps mean treasure," replied Kahl, the burly shieldbearer. His grin was strained, but greed glittered in his eyes. "And you see that glow? That's not just decoration. There's mana leaking through here. Probably something rare."
A ripple of unease moved through the group. Half of them were leaning forward, drawn by the promise of loot; the other half lingered back, their instincts screaming to leave.
Rayan kept quiet, scanning the scene. Every hunter in the room had their eyes on the door — every hunter except the statues.
Two massive stone guardians flanked the threshold, their bodies armored in sculpted plates, their hands resting on greatswords that reached the floor. Their eyes were empty hollows, yet… Rayan swore he saw something shimmer in the depths, like faint embers.
A cold thought crept into his mind: They're not just decorations.
He blinked, and for a heartbeat, he saw Serin standing beside him — warm eyes, faint smile, the way she used to look at him before a raid, pretending not to worry.
She'd tell me to walk away right now.
But walking away wasn't an option — not with how this dungeon was behaving. The gate back was sealed until they cleared it, and if this was the only path forward, then forward was all they had.
"Look," said Captain Mareth, stepping up to the door with his staff. "If this is a hidden room, there's no telling how much it's worth. But we open it together. No one steps in alone."
He pressed a hand to the stone. Blue light rippled outward from his touch, and the veins of light brightened, casting the chamber in an eerie glow. The runes flared, each one igniting like a match until the entire arch blazed with cold fire.
The grinding began.
Deep, resonant, like a mountain shifting in its sleep. The slabs parted slowly, reluctantly, as though something on the other side was resisting. The space between them widened, spilling out a thin shaft of white-gold light that didn't flicker like torchlight — it was steady, pure… and cold.
Beyond the threshold, a vast chamber stretched into shadow.
Rows of towering statues lined the walls — not the crude, blocky guardians they'd seen outside, but lifelike figures, carved with agonizing precision. Warriors, mages, archers — each frozen in the moment of some long-forgotten battle, their faces twisted with fury, grief, or triumph.
At the far end, upon a raised dais, sat an altar. It was simple stone, but something about it made the air shimmer, as if the world itself bent around it. Above the altar, a strange symbol floated in midair — a ring of light, rotating slowly, humming with restrained energy.
The hunters stepped inside, boots echoing against the polished black floor. The temperature dropped instantly. Rayan's breath misted in the air, and each exhale felt too loud in the perfect, suffocating silence.
His gaze swept the chamber. The geometric patterns on the floor seemed… wrong. They weren't random — the lines were too sharp, the circles too perfect, like they'd been drawn by a hand that understood both magic and mathematics.
And then there was the feeling.
Not fear — not yet.
But attention.
Like they'd walked onto a stage and the audience was holding its breath.
"Careful," Mareth murmured. "We don't touch anything until we know what it does."
Kahl snorted, already edging toward one of the statues. "Relax, old man. They're stone." He reached up, brushing his fingers over the hilt of the statue's sword.
The sound was soft — almost too soft to notice.
A faint click.
The torch flames bent backward, as if something had just inhaled.
The massive stone door behind them slammed shut with a thunderous finality that shook dust from the ceiling. The hunters whirled around, weapons drawn.
Rayan's stomach dropped.
There were no handles. No seams. The light from the runes faded until the door was just another wall of black stone.
The silence that followed was no longer neutral — it was hungry.
And somewhere in that silence, Rayan thought he heard it:
A heartbeat.
Slow. Patient. Coming from all around them.
The others hadn't noticed yet, but Rayan's eyes were locked on the statues. He could swear their heads had shifted… just slightly, as though tracking the intruders.
For the first time since they'd entered the dungeon, Rayan wished with every fiber of his being that Serin was here — not to fight beside him, but to take his hand, to pull him back before the point of no return.
Because something told him… they'd already crossed it.
To be continued…