You follow the right-hand tunnel, guided by the sound of water. The passage opens into a wide cavern, and you stop in surprise. This place is alive. Rows of pale mushrooms rise from carefully tended beds. Broad, leafy plants—shaped like underground lettuce—grow in neat clusters along the stone floor. Thin pipes run overhead, releasing a gentle mist that falls like rain, watering the plants in steady rhythms. It appears to be a sprinkler system. You crouch and examine it. The pipes are fitted together with care, adjusted so the water reaches every corner without flooding the cave. This wasn't built quickly—or carelessly. Whoever made this knew exactly what they were doing. You look around for movement. You don't see anyone, and don't hear any voices. It looks like you need to take the other tunnel.