Atlas stepped through the rune-sealed door like a diver slipping beneath black water. The temperature dropped by several degrees, thick and damp, like the breath of something ancient. Each step echoed, quiet but heavy, boots tapping against polished obsidian stone. His 'Truth Eyes' remained active—lenses flickering faintly gold beneath his disguise—and yet, despite the clarity they provided, the deeper they walked, the more wrong everything felt.
It was an ache in the soul, like an old scar pulling at the edge of his instincts. The very walls hummed—not with magic, but with something older, more corrupted. A dense lattice of energy, faintly mechanical, faintly biological, and absolutely unnatural.
