Your palm meets the chosen symbol. The stone is warm, as if someone else pressed their hand there not long ago. Lines of light race out from under your skin, tracing paths across the floor.
The archway flares. For a brief, vertigo‑heavy moment you see yourself walking half a dozen different corridors at once, making the same choice with slightly different expressions.
A voice you have not heard before and might be your own says, "All right. One more round. See what you do this time."
The light surges forward. The chamber collapses into a knot of brightness, then unravels into cold, humming dark.
Concrete against your back. The air, the smell, the buzzing lights all exactly where they were. Or where they always are.
You wake up naked on the slab.