Blackwater Glass

The stairs to B7 were wet.

The first few steps felt normal—slick stone, pooled condensation, a drop of water now and again. But the air grew colder fast. By the time they crossed the floor's sigil threshold, every breath clouded in front of their faces, and the light around them had dimmed to a sickly gray.

It wasn't fog.

It was refraction.

The floor opened into a cavern not made of stone or roots—but glass.

Or something that looked like it.

Blackwater glass stretched across the floor like obsidian poured and hardened mid-motion. Smooth and rippling, yet unnervingly perfect—like walking across a frozen lake without knowing how thick the ice was.

Above them: endless darkness.

Below them: reflections.

Of themselves.

But wrong.

Each of them had a mirrored version moving beneath the glass. Thane's was the most obvious—his reflection moved half a second behind, its eyes glowing just slightly too bright.

No one spoke at first.

Then Sova whispered, "I don't like this."

Mira looked down. "It's like we're being followed from underneath."

Seren frowned. "Stay close. Don't trust your shadow."

They made it ten minutes before the floor betrayed them.

Sova's foot hit a barely visible line in the glass—and the ground beneath her rippled.

She screamed and dropped straight down, swallowed whole by a black pane that shouldn't have been hollow.

Thane moved first.

Magma Sword.

He didn't swing it. He stabbed the floor at the impact point—sending a pulse of energy through the glass.

But the ripples didn't respond.

They mimicked.

Beneath the glass, they saw Sova fall—but she didn't fall far.

She dropped into a chamber beneath them, one they hadn't seen before.

It was mirrored perfectly, only flipped.

As if Floor B7 had a second layer—not underneath, but reflected and inverted.

She was alive.

Surrounded by… herself.

Dozens of reflections walked around her.

None of them attacked.

They just watched.

Mira gasped. "There's no opening! No stairs, no cracks, no portals—how did she get down there?"

"She didn't fall," Thane said quietly. "She was swallowed."

He cast Flame Arc across the floor. The light shot through the air, curved low—and disappeared mid-cast.

Like the air itself had bent it away.

He tried again.

Firebolt.

Same result.

The spell landed beneath the glass—in the inverted reflection chamber.

Seren stepped forward.

"You're saying this whole floor… is two?"

"Yes."

"One real?"

"No."

"Then which one are we in?"

Thane didn't answer.

They had no way to reach Sova directly.

But they could see her.

And more importantly—so could the dungeon.

Her reflections began to move.

Not fast.

Not sudden.

Just one by one.

Mimicking her every step.

Until one broke off from the group.

It stared directly up through the glass.

And smiled.

Thane slammed his palm to the floor.

Scorch Zone.

The fire flared upward—then rippled downward, reflecting back and forth between the two mirrored planes.

The creature below screeched—its reflection twisted, and for the first time, the dungeon cracked.

Mira pointed.

"A seam—!"

Thane nodded and cast Burning Chain—aimed downward. It struck, locked, and pulled the floor open like tearing through silk.

Sova was yanked up by sheer force, just as one of the reflections lunged for her leg.

It missed.

The hole closed.

And the dungeon was whole again.

Sova collapsed into Seren's arms, gasping.

"I couldn't speak," she said. "Not down there. I tried. The copies were just… standing there. And one of them was me. Not just a copy. She knew things."

"She was you," Mira whispered.

"No," Thane corrected.

"She was what the dungeon thought you were."

They moved cautiously now.

Every step a risk.

The floor shimmered as they walked. Sometimes their reflections followed. Sometimes they didn't. Thane watched every mirrored motion like a hawk.

He let the others lead.

Let them make decisions.

But every now and then, he would tap Mira's staff, or shift Seren's angle, or grasp Sova's shoulder before her foot touched a false spot.

He said little.

He did much.

They passed through the center chamber—a circular space surrounded by six mirrored columns.

Inside the center: a floating core of light.

The floor pulsed beneath it.

They approached slowly.

Thane raised a hand.

Dispel Veil.

The spell revealed the truth.

The core wasn't real.

The columns were.

Each one held a creature frozen in mirrored glass.

A reflection of each party member.

Five of them.

Five statues.

Waiting.

As soon as they entered the ring, the light dimmed.

And the reflections shattered.

The fight was brutal.

Seren vs. Seren.

Sova vs. a faster, sharper Sova.

Mira's reflection stole her spell mid-cast, flinging it back at her with perfect timing.

Thane didn't engage his directly.

He just stood.

And waited.

His reflection stood too.

Watching.

Mirroring.

Silent.

Then Thane whispered.

"Magma Sword."

No words.

No motion.

Just thought.

The blade flared to life.

The reflection flickered.

Couldn't copy it.

Couldn't read it.

Because there was nothing to see.

No cast.

No chant.

Just Thane.

He stepped forward and bisected his reflection cleanly.

The others followed.

One by one, the mirrored versions cracked and fell.

When it ended, they were panting.

Shaken.

But whole.

At the floor's exit, the sigil glowed black—not white.

Not warm.

But cold.

A warning.

That night, as the others rested, Thane sat alone again.

And opened his screen.

📈 Level: 5

🧪 EXP: 94 / 180

🎯 Stat Points: 1

📜 Meteor Blueprint Progress: 2.9%

He didn't allocate the point.

Not yet.

He stared into the reflection of the flame dancing in his palm.

And saw nothing beneath it.

No shadow.

No self.

Just fire.