Marvin returned to the corridor without looking back.
The door faded into the dim light behind him, its presence still clear in his mind. The runes. The partial response. The word imprint. Not a barrier. A threshold.
He moved forward.
The corridor did not return to its previous state. The runes along the walls no longer pulsed in simple patterns. Now they shifted slower, deeper, as if acknowledging a change. The House had registered his choice.
Good.
That meant it was still paying attention.
The wisp drifted ahead, but not as confidently as before. Its glow dimmed near certain sections of the wall, brightened near others. Marvin noticed the difference immediately.
Restriction.
Not every path was open anymore.
He slowed his steps and studied the floor. The previous sequence had taught him how the House communicated. It never blocked directly. It redirected. Subtly.
A section of the wall ahead appeared seamless.
Too seamless.
Marvin stopped in front of it.
The crystal rose in his hand. He angled it slightly—not directly at the wall, but across it.
A faint line appeared.
Not a carving. A boundary.
Hidden door.
Marvin shifted his position and let the crystal's glow move across the surface. The line extended downward, then curved slightly. Not a straight cut. Intentional design.
He stepped back.
"No reaction before," he said quietly. "Now it shows."
Choice mattered.
He pressed his palm against the wall.
Nothing.
Then he adjusted his stance, aligning himself the same way he had during the floor sequence—weight balanced, breath steady, attention fixed.
The line brightened.
The wall split open without sound.
A narrow passage revealed itself.
No runes. No glow. No guiding pulse.
Marvin didn't hesitate.
He stepped inside.
The wall sealed behind him.
Silence.
The air felt different here. Still, but not empty. The House's pulse was distant, like something heard through layers of stone.
This was not a guided path.
This was space the House did not assist with.
Marvin adjusted his grip on the crystal. Its light stretched forward, revealing a tight corridor, uneven walls, no carvings. The ground was rough, unpolished.
Unmaintained.
He moved carefully.
After a few steps, he noticed something.
Marks.
Not runes.
Scratches.
They lined the wall at irregular intervals, some deep, others faint. Patterns without symmetry. Not natural.
Made.
Marvin crouched near one.
The edges were worn, but not ancient. Recent compared to the rest of the Wing.
He followed the marks forward.
They continued.
Then they stopped.
Marvin straightened.
The corridor widened slightly ahead. The crystal's light reached further this time, revealing a small chamber.
And someone inside it.
Not the same figure as before.
This one sat against the wall, one knee raised, head slightly lowered. Still. Not moving.
Marvin didn't step in immediately.
He observed.
The figure's clothing was torn in places. Not damaged by attack—worn down. Time. Repetition.
The scratches on the wall.
Marvin stepped into the chamber.
The figure looked up.
Their eyes were clear.
Focused.
"You took the side path," they said.
Their voice was steady.
Not surprised.
Marvin stopped a few steps away.
"You've been here a while."
The figure gave a small nod. "Long enough to see others pass the door."
Marvin's gaze shifted briefly to the scratches. "And stay here instead."
"Some of us don't like the price."
Marvin considered that.
"You tried the door?"
"Yes."
"And?"
The figure leaned back slightly against the wall.
"It works exactly as promised."
No bitterness in the tone.
Only certainty.
Marvin studied them for a moment longer.
Then he stepped further into the chamber.
The passage behind him remained closed.