Time stretched inside the remaining barriers.
What had begun as focused effort slowly turned into something heavier, more personal. The spatial constructs did not tire. They simply continued existing—layered, recursive, indifferent to the people sealed inside them. Every failed attempt cost essence. Every repeated mistake cost more. The dense script ground far below glowed with the same dull, constant light as before, and the successful survivors standing on it looked smaller and more distant with every passing stretch of time.
Inside one mid-level cage a young man from a mid-tier clan pressed both hands against the inner wall and pushed for what felt like the hundredth time. The spatial fold he had been trying to pry open simply shifted under his palms, redirecting the force into a harmless loop that left his arms shaking and his spirit aching. Sweat ran down his temples in thin tracks. His breathing had gone ragged hours ago, or what felt like hours.
