The passage sealed behind them with a thunderous boom that reverberated through their bones.

Dust swirled around the squad like a ghostly mist, settling on shoulder plates and hair, clinging to the edges of the archaeologists' notebooks.

For a long moment, silence reigned as stale air pressed close, thick with the scent of stone, oil, and something ancient that had lain undisturbed for centuries.

"Front wedge," Arthur instructed in a low, steady voice. "Two up, two back. Archaeologists in the middle. Helmets on blackout until I say so. Torches high."

Gunner echoed the command with a gruff bark, and boots shuffled into formation. Stone took his position on the left flank while Holt moved to the right.

Marek and Rask advanced ahead, weapons raised and lights fixed to their muzzles. Lyra fell in closely behind them with Vos at her side, scanning the ceiling seams for any signs of danger.

Mireille walked alongside Arthur, her visor dimmed and rifle held tightly against her chest.

The group of scholars huddled together behind them, clutching journals and mini-lamps along with a single camera that ticked softly with an internal whine.

Ethan brought up the rear with two more riflemen trailing him. "I swear these walls are getting narrower just to spite me," he muttered under his breath.

"If an ancient empire wanted privacy, they could've just put up a 'Do Not Enter' sign...would've saved everyone a lot of trouble."

"Less noise," Gunner replied without turning around.

And then they moved.

This corridor was different from the rough outer tunnels; it had been cut with precision and care.

The walls were smooth and cool beneath their gloves, notched with thin grooves that ran in intricate patterns from floor to ceiling, breaking apart and rejoining like rivers winding through a delta.

Symbols marched along these grooves, sharp characters that Professor Kaelen Rhys couldn't resist tracing lightly with the end of his pencil.

"These cuts aren't decorative," Kaelen remarked quietly but animatedly.

"Channel lines… load paths! See how they split and feed into these nodes? You'd drive weight here to trigger… something."

"Grooves like this are common in Azurian load-regulators," Josef Brandt chimed in as he ran his thumb over a square recess in one wall.

"Only heavier! Whoever built this wanted movement not water,stone."

"Don't poke the walls," Mireille cautioned softly but firmly.

Dr. Helena Moritz lifted her camera and snapped two quick shots before wincing when her screen fuzzed out again due to magnetic interference. "I'll keep it off unless we need stills."

"Keep it off," Ethan said dryly, "unless you want this tomb taking pictures of us!"

Clara clung closely to Professor Adrian, scribbling furiously in her well-worn notebook as if the very act of writing could anchor them in this strange place.

Lukas lingered near the camera case, whispering numbers under his breath like a mantra.

Marta Sorel, her brow knit in concentration, read glyphs on the move, her lips forming silent words.

Dr. Ren remained at the center of their scholarly group, field kit slung across his body, eyes keenly assessing everyone's breathing patterns.

Arthur said nothing. He walked with a map rolled and clipped to his forearm, flipping through its stiff pages every dozen steps.

Most marks looked like frantic scrawls from madmen's memoirs or thieves' ledgers,yet some lines aligned perfectly with grooves etched into stone. That was enough.

The corridor seemed to breathe around them: small sighs from overhead joints and a faint hiss that could have been trapped air escaping along a seam.

Twice, the floor inexplicably rose by a finger's height; twice it sank again.

"This is taking forever," Ethan whispered, unable to contain himself. "I've seen glaciers move faster."

"Glaciers are quieter," Vos replied dryly.

They pressed onward..ten minutes turned into fifteen and the groove patterns thickened, narrowing their "safe" spaces for walking.

Arthur slowed his pace now; he was counting not steps but distances between repeated marks: a diamond here, a split-triangle there,a straight dash always hovering just above knee height.

Gunner slid up beside him. "You reading it?"

"Trying." Arthur gestured with his chin toward the ceiling seam parallel to an archway ahead.

"This corridor narrows for a reason. Prepare for a kill zone."

"Understood," Gunner replied grimly.

Ethan exhaled sharply through clenched teeth. "I hate that phrase."

As they moved forward, the corridor opened into a longer stretch where vertical slits lined the walls in tall pairs,mouth-like gaps starting six feet up and reaching all the way to the ceiling.

The floor here was unnaturally clean; no dust gathered in corners, and the air tasted metallic like an old coin held too long in a closed fist.

Arthur raised his hand abruptly; everyone froze.

He crouched down and placed his palm flat against the floor,it felt smooth and slightly warm beneath him not from air but from something below.

"No one touches the walls," he commanded firmly. "Hands on gear only! Keep your feet within my marks."

"What marks?" Ethan asked incredulously.

Arthur stepped forward cautiously, dragging his heel lightly over white dust that sketched an exact line along the corridor's center. "These."

Professor Adrian leaned past Gunner, excitement battling fear in his eyes. "Is this...the blade corridor? Is in the map..."

"Yes," Arthur confirmed grimly.

A sharp click pierced the air overhead, a sound that reverberated like a warning bell. Metal met metal with a crisp, eager ring, sending shivers down the spine.

Then...movement.

From an unseen slot in the ceiling, a pendulum blade swung out on silent hinges, a bright crescent slicing through the air like a whisper.

It fell swiftly and surely, ready to bite into the floor before arcing back up with a hiss.

A second blade mirrored its motion on the opposite side, followed by a third and then a fourth.

A deadly lattice of timing began to weave down the passageway.

"Back," Marek breathed instinctively, his body urging him away from danger.

"Hold," Arthur snapped back sharply. He lifted his forearm and traced patterns on his map, eyes darting between paper and steel.

"They operate on weight and counter-swing. No full stops,they'll keep their tempo."

"Tempo?" Ethan muttered sarcastically. "Fantastic! Anyone pack a metronome?"

"Shut it," Gunner retorted, though even he felt the urge to step back when the fifth blade slammed down hard enough to send sparks flying into the gloom.

Two archaeologists flinched so violently they stumbled into each other.

One of them thin with sweat pooling at his temples,threw out a hand for balance and slapped against the wall.

A faint rumble echoed from within the stone, reminiscent of an ancient throat clearing.

"Hands in!" Mireille barked as she grabbed Purchases by the elbow and yanked him away from danger. "You move when I tell you got it?"

"Sorry," he gasped, panic evident in his voice.

Josef raised his hands in surrender towards the wall itself while Lukas slipped between them to snatch Clara notes before they could fall.

Arthur didn't look back; he was focused on counting under his breath as he blinked down his visor for precise timing strobe effects before raising his hand decisively.

"We cross in pairs," he instructed firmly. "Me and Gunner first; Mireille and Stone next; then Adrian and Marta; Kaelen and Josef; Ren and Helena; Lukas and Clara; finally squads by twos: Rask and Vos will anchor midline while Ethan brings up the rear."

"What about me?" Marek asked anxiously.

"You anchor at front once we're across," Arthur replied without hesitation.

Marek nodded tightly, jaw clenched in determination.

Ethan sucked air through clenched teeth. "No pressure there."

Arthur lifted his hand again. "On my mark… Go!"

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