The silence in the dungeon had a peculiar quality, as if it were not true stillness, but the held breath of a waiting place. Eryon Vale advanced slowly into the hidden corridor that the Tired Stone had revealed to him. Each step was accompanied by a soft echo, amplified by the smooth walls, and the light of the stone, more like an inner glow than true illumination, reflected on the surfaces in shifting shapes.
The digging creature—which Eryon was now beginning to consider an involuntary guide—moved ahead of him with the agility of one who has always known this place. The small iridescent feathers trembled with every step, emitting a slight rustling sound. Every so often, the small creature looked back, as if checking that Eryon was indeed following.
"You know something, don't you?" he murmured.
The animal replied with a sound somewhere between curious and offended, as if accusing him of insinuating that such an elegant guide could be unreliable.
Eryon sighed. "Maybe I should give you a name…"
The animal stared at him critically.
"…Fine, fine. Not now."
The Tired Stone vibrated lightly, as if approving or perhaps as if enjoying hearing Eryon talk to himself. It was impossible to tell.
The corridor suddenly widened into an oval antechamber. The walls were covered with etchings and symbols similar to those in the previous room, but these seemed more recent, less worn by time. Some glowed slightly in the stone's light, as if recognizing it. More unsettlingly, some areas seemed to shift slightly, as if the dungeon itself were breathing.
Eryon ran a hand through his hair. He was no stranger to the dungeons of the Floating Hills, but he had never encountered one that felt alive.
The Tired Stone vibrated more intensely. The luminescent veins within it spiraled, indicating a spot to the left. Eryon followed the direction suggested by the stone: a small niche between two walls, seemingly insignificant.
As he approached, a sound suddenly changed. The walls behind him moved, closing off the space he had just traversed.
"Um... well, that's fantastic."
The dull thud echoed in the corridor like a suppressed laugh.
Eryon turned to the digging animal.
"I swear, that wasn't me."
An indignant sound replied, as if to say: 'I know perfectly well, clumsy human.'
The stone vibrated again, this time louder. Eryon understood that it wanted him to approach the niche. When he bent down to look closer, he saw a small triangle etched next to a vertical slit. It looked like part of a mechanism.
"Is there a passage?"
The stone responded with a warm pulse.
Eryon slipped his hand into the slit. Something hooked onto his fingers—a hidden lever.
With a sharp click, the wall in front of him slid aside, revealing a new corridor.
"I know I shouldn't say it…" Eryon murmured, "but I'm starting to like this."
As if it had heard him, the pouch at his hip stirred. It didn't vibrate, it didn't light up: it moved as if something inside had struck the fabric from within.
Eryon froze.
"…That wasn't the stone, was it?"
No. It was definitely not the stone.
The pouch moved again, harder.
Then it made a sound.
A muffled poof.
Eryon was startled. "Um… should I open you?"
The pouch remained still. Too still, as if it was waiting.
Cautiously, Eryon opened it. From the dark void of the pouch, a second object slowly emerged, as if floating from a spaceless emptiness: a small sphere of opaque metal, with tiny spiraling lines etched into it.
Eryon took it and observed it in the stone's light. The metal was icy cold to the touch and, surprisingly, heavy. When he tried to shake it lightly, the sphere emitted a small… huff. An irritated huff. As if it had been disturbed in its sleep.
"…Okay. This is new."
The digging creature approached, sniffed it, and immediately jumped back. Its feathers stood up like quills. A bad sign.
Eryon carefully placed it on the ground. Immediately, the sphere trembled and rolled on its own. Slowly, almost timidly, it stopped in front of a wall. Suddenly, it split into two halves, emitting a metallic sound and a sharp snap. The wall in front cracked.
"Sphere… Path-Opener?" Eryon suggested.
The sphere emitted another irritated huff.
It probably disagreed.
Then, without warning, the sphere exploded—NOT in a burst of flame, NOT in a blinding light—but in a cloud of glittering dust that filled the room in less than a second.
Eryon found himself coughing desperately.
The digging creature rolled on the ground like a ball of feathers.
The Tired Stone seemed to vibrate as if complaining.
"WHY?" Eryon coughed. "WHAT ARE YOU, A PORTABLE TRAP?!"
The dust slowly settled. When the room was finally visible again, Eryon saw that the cracked wall had slid aside. A passage had opened.
Eryon sighed in relief.
"Thank you, I think."
The sphere huffed again, irritated, as always.
They advanced a few more steps. The corridor opened into a small circular hall. In the center, a stone pedestal held a crystal the size of a fist. It was perfectly transparent, but tiny streaks of light floated within it.
The heart of the dungeon?
No. Too weak.
Perhaps a minor node, a control point.
The young man approached cautiously. The Tired Stone vibrated steadily, almost reassuringly, and the Grumpy Sphere rolled behind him, resigned.
When he placed his hand on the crystal, a surge of energy flowed through him. It didn't show him an object to take, nor hidden treasure. Instead, a more subtle image exploded in his mind: the awareness of growing, of facing obstacles, of preparing for the gift the pouch would decide to give him.
The Inventory of a Thousand Reflections trembled slightly, as if breathing in unison with the dungeon walls. It wasn't telling him where to find an object: that would only emerge from the pouch when the time was right.
No, what the Tired Stone was revealing to him was something else: it was showing him the way to become worthy of the next gift.
Every step, every obstacle, every vibration of the Stone was an invitation:
Advance. Grow. Understand. Prepare.
Eryon stood still for a few seconds, letting the feeling wash over him. This was not a power to be used randomly. It was not a simple "magic bag." It was an ancient artifact with a will of its own, and he was on the threshold of his first true dialogue with it.
A breath of warm air descended from the ceiling, carrying the scent of damp earth and deep roots. The dungeon seemed to observe the young man, as if waiting for his decision.
Eryon tightened his hand around the Tired Stone, took a step forward, and murmured:
"Alright. Show me who I need to become."
The corridor in front of him responded with a slight glow.
And the path opened.