The battlefield was silent.
Only the hiss of dying embers and the crackle of torches filled the hollow where chaos had reigned moments before. The air reeked of scorched flesh and monster carcasses lay twisted among shattered roots. The last echoes of battle faded into uneasy quiet.
Altheron stood amid the carnage, his breath misting in the cool air. His armor was dented, the edge of his blade dulled by black ichor. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, but he didn't move. He simply stared into the darkness below, where the pit gaped like an open wound in the earth.
Behind him, soldiers were already regrouping. Torches passed hand to hand. Clerics moved through the wounded, chanting faint hymns. Adventurers, bruised but alive, slumped against the cavern wall, some whispering prayers, others simply staring blankly ahead.
The casualties… were few.
A rare mercy in the dungeon's maw.
The Guildmaster strode through the ranks, his heavy boots leaving dark prints in the blood-streaked dust. He nodded once to Kaelmourn, who stood near the vanguard — steel-clad, steady as a pillar of iron amid ruin.
For a moment, Kaelmourn's gaze softened when it fell on Altheron.
He approached, resting a gauntleted hand on his son's shoulder. "Don't get too confident, boy," he said quietly, voice low enough that only Altheron and Emi could hear. "What you saw just now was the dungeon's breath — not its bite."
Altheron met his father's eyes, trying to read something behind that stern exterior — pride, maybe. Fear. Anything. But Kaelmourn's face was a soldier's mask again.
"Protect the princess," he continued, glancing at Emi. "Always stay with her."
Altheron swallowed, the words weighing heavier than any armor. "I will," he said, though something deep inside whispered doubt.
Kaelmourn gave a single nod and turned back to his men. "Form up! We move deeper in ten."
The torches flared again, casting long shadows over the fallen. The victory felt hollow — fragile, like glass. Beneath their boots, the ground pulsed once, faint and rhythmic. None of them noticed.
Not yet.
The descent resumed.
The air changed first — damp, metallic, laced with something almost sweet, like rotting fruit. The walls closed in around them, dark stone slick with moisture. What light the torches gave flickered against surfaces that looked… wrong. Not carved. Not natural.
Alive.
Altheron ran his hand along the wall once, and it quivered faintly beneath his touch, pulsing with slow, steady rhythm. He drew back instantly, heart racing.
Emi noticed. "What's wrong?"
"It's breathing," he muttered.
They walked in silence after that.
The further they went, the more the air twisted sound. Footsteps echoed too long, too deep. Voices warped, whispering back things that no one had said. Once, a scream echoed from far behind them — but when they turned, nothing followed.
Casualties began to rise. A loose stone crushed a soldier's leg. Another vanished into a split in the wall — gone without a sound, only his torchlight swallowed whole. Still, Kaelmourn pressed forward. Retreat wasn't in his nature.
Altheron's mind drifted as they advanced. Every step felt… remembered. Familiar, like he'd walked these halls before in dreams he could no longer recall. The same pulse thrummed beneath his boots, syncing with his heartbeat.
It was watching them.
He could feel it.
Hours passed. Or minutes. It was impossible to tell — the dungeon warped time along with space.
By the time they reached the great hollow chamber, half their force was gone. The Guildmaster ordered a small group to escort the wounded back to the surface. The rest — Altheron, Emi, Kaelmourn, and a handful of Sentinels and adventurers — pressed on.
The chamber's ceiling stretched high into shadow. Twisting roots hung like chains from the dark. At the center, a pit of swirling black mist pulsed in rhythm with that familiar heartbeat.
Then the ground… moved.
The stone beneath them rippled like water, and the roots retracted into the walls. The very structure of the dungeon began to breathe — slow, deliberate, hungry.
"Everyone, fall back!" the Guildmaster roared, drawing his axe.
But it was too late.
The floor split open with a thunderous crack, and from its depths rose something colossal — a Werm, a monstrous worm the size of a cathedral. Its hide was armored with glistening black scales, its maw lined with rows of teeth that churned the air like blades. It screamed, the sound shaking the chamber to its core.
Kaelmourn's voice cut through the chaos.
"Sentinels! Form the line!"
The soldiers braced shields, locking formation. Arrows rained from the adventurers above only to be swallowed by the darkness it exhaled.
Altheron and Emi darted to the front, moving with trained precision. "Keep its attention!" he shouted, slashing at one of the smaller tendrils bursting from the creature's body.
Emi's arrows struck glowing weak spots along its hide, each impact searing into the beast's flesh. But it wasn't enough. The Werm reared back and slammed into the ground, the shockwave shattering shields and throwing men aside like ragdolls.
"Hold the line!" Kaelmourn's roar thundered. "Don't let it breach!"
Then, amid the chaos, new figures descended from the tunnel above — ropes snapping taut as more adventurers dropped into the fray.
Kaelen and Lyra and others reinforcements send but the guild
Kaelen's blade gleamed like polished obsidian, cutting through the tendrils in a flash of precision. Lyra's hands glowed with runic light, her chants weaving barriers that shimmered against the Werm's crushing blows.
"You're late," Emi shouted over the noise.
"Fashionably," Kaelen grinned, slicing through another limb.
"Focus!" Kaelmourn barked.
The battle raged on. Every strike, every roar, every breath was a contest of will against the abyss itself. Then — in a blink — the Werm turned toward Emi. Its maw opened wide, darkness swirling like a storm within.
Altheron's instincts screamed.
He moved before thought.
"Emi!"
He leapt, slamming into her and driving her aside as the creature's breath erupted — a torrent of corrosive shadow tearing through the air.
For a heartbeat, Altheron thought he was dead.
But someone had stepped between them.
Eldric — the old veteran of the Guild, who had always mocked them for their inexperience — stood in the blast's path, his shield braced, body trembling against the force. The darkness ate through steel, flesh, bone — yet he stood, forcing one last defiant roar.
"Protecting children…" he gasped, voice breaking. "Is the duty of the damned adults. Now—survive, you fools!"
The wave consumed him, and his light vanished.
Emi's scream cut through the chamber. Altheron's rage burned white-hot. He rose, eyes blazing. "Now!" he shouted, voice raw. "Kaelmourn — now!"
Kaelmourn's order came sharp and final. "All units — strike!"
The Guildmaster's axe cleaved through the creature's neck as Kaelmourn's greatsword pierced its heart. Altheron drove his blade through the creature's gaping maw, and Emi's final arrow sank deep into its eye.
The Werm convulsed once — then fell, its massive form collapsing into dust and ichor.
For a long moment, no one spoke. The silence felt deafening.
Then came the cheers — weak, disbelieving, but real.
They had won.
Kaelen laughed breathlessly, resting his blade against his shoulder. "Now that was a fight."
Lyra managed a small smile. "For now."
Altheron looked down at Eldric's shattered shield lying beside him. The cheers didn't reach his heart. Not this victory.
The air trembled again — a low, endless rumble rising from the depths.
Kaelmourn's voice was grim. "Don't celebrate yet."
The dungeon… was waking.
The cheers died too soon.
The air thickened — the same pulse that had haunted them since they entered now beat like a thunderous drum beneath their feet.
The ground trembled. Once. Twice. Then the entire chamber lurched.
"Formation!" the Guildmaster shouted, his voice echoing across the widening cracks.
The dungeon groaned like a living beast — roots tore free of the walls, tendrils of darkness spilling out as if the earth itself was bleeding. From above, stalactites shattered and rained down in deadly hail.
"Move! Everyone out!" Kaelmourn roared, rallying his soldiers as chaos erupted.
Emi grabbed Altheron's wrist. "This way!"
They ran — the tunnel ahead splintering like broken glass. Altheron could feel the earth twisting under his boots, the floor shifting like a serpent's spine. Behind them, a Sentinel screamed as he fell through a collapsing bridge of stone, swallowed whole by the void.
Kaelmourn led the rear, deflecting falling debris with one arm while pulling wounded men with the other. Every motion of his greatsword was brutal, efficient — a soldier's rhythm forged through decades of battle. Even as dust choked the air and the walls screamed, his eyes burned steady.
"Keep moving! Don't stop!" he barked, voice hoarse.
The deeper they fled, the more distorted everything became. The dungeon's corridors twisted into impossible shapes — a maze that folded upon itself. Runes flickered to life across the walls, bleeding red light.
Then came the sound — a deep, guttural crack.
The floor gave way.
"Emi!"
Altheron's shout tore through the darkness as the ground crumbled beneath them. He reached for her hand — just out of reach. Her eyes widened as she fell, her scream lost in the roar of collapsing stone.
A massive boulder sheared free from the ceiling, falling straight toward them.
Kaelmourn saw it first. He didn't hesitate.
He threw his sword aside and leapt — the world slowed to a heartbeat. With a roar, he slammed into Altheron and Emi, shoving them clear just as the boulder smashed down where they'd stood.
The impact sent shockwaves through the cavern. Dust and light exploded everywhere.
Altheron hit the ground hard, vision spinning. He barely registered Kaelmourn's bloodied form standing amid the wreckage, holding the weight of the shattered ceiling with both arms. His armor cracked, his face set in grim determination.
"Go!" Kaelmourn bellowed. "Get her out of here!"
"Father—!"
"Now!"
The ceiling collapsed fully then, and Altheron felt something slam into his head — cold, blinding pain — then blackness swallowed everything.
His last thought before fading was Emi's terrified voice calling his name.
Silence.
No sound. No heartbeat.
Then — a drip. Water. Slow, steady.
Altheron's eyes fluttered open. He lay flat on cold stone, every limb heavy as lead. For a moment he thought he was still dreaming. The world around him shimmered faintly — not with light, but memory.
He sat up, groaning, rubbing blood and dust from his eyes. His torch was gone. His sword lay broken a few feet away.
The chamber he found himself in wasn't like the others. It wasn't part of the dungeon. It felt older. Purer.
The walls were carved with murals — vast, intricate reliefs etched into ivory-colored stone. They told stories — wars of light and shadow, winged figures standing against tides of darkness, and at the center of it all, a great shrine that radiated light carved so finely it almost seemed to glow.
Altheron rose shakily, every step echoing in the cavern. His fingers traced the shrine's outline on the wall — a spire crowned with a floating crystal. Beneath it, symbols he couldn't read spiraled out like roots.
He felt it again — that pulse. Not from the dungeon this time. From the mural itself.
"What… is this place?" he whispered.
The silence answered only with the faint whisper of wind. He realized he could smell something — old incense, faintly sweet, and beneath it the metallic tang of dried blood.
He took a torch from a fallen sconce and lit it. The flames flickered, reflecting across the chamber. At the far end, the mural of the shrine seemed to shimmer — just for an instant — as if reacting to his presence.
Then came a sound.
A voice.
Soft. Trembling.
"Althy… are you there…?"
He froze.
The torchlight quivered.
"Emi?" he whispered.
No answer — only the echo of her voice, faint and far away, as though spoken through water.
He turned, scanning the room. "Emi!"
The walls pulsed once — the light on the mural shifting, almost breathing.
"Althy… hurry…"
Her voice again. Closer this time.
He stepped back, heart hammering. The light from the mural flickered — then split open down the center, revealing a hidden passage. Cold air rushed out, carrying the scent of earth and something ancient.
Altheron gripped the torch tighter, staring into the darkness beyond.
For the first time since entering the dungeon, he was truly alone. Yet he could feel it — something calling to him, deeper than instinct.
Not the dungeon.
Not the shrine.
Something else.
He took one last look back at the ruined chamber, the murals glowing faintly in his torchlight — stories frozen in time — then stepped into the passage.
As the door sealed shut behind him, the mural's light dimmed… except for one tiny carving that still shimmered faintly — a depiction of three figures standing together beneath the shrine's light.
A warrior.
A girl with a bow.
And a man with a greatsword.