The Dungeon breathed.
Bell Cranell had always felt it—its slow pulse, its cold exhale, the faint tremor beneath the soles of his boots—but today it felt closer, heavier, as if the stone around him leaned inward to watch. He stepped carefully over the uneven floor, the pale-blue glow of the walls guiding his way through the shadows of the 5th Floor. His grip tightened around his dagger. Sweat clung to his neck despite the cool air.
Focus, Bell. Just focus.
He repeated the words like a prayer. He was alone today, chasing the same dream that had ignited him ever since he arrived in Orario: to be stronger, to become a hero like the ones from his grandfather's stories. But the Dungeon didn't care about dreams. It cared only about hunger.
He crept forward, listening. Dripping water. Distant echoes. The faint whisper of something dragging along stone.
Then—
A roar.
Low, guttural, far too large.
Bell froze. His heart stuttered. That sound wasn't supposed to exist here—not on this floor, not this deep, not for someone like him.
No… no, that can't be—
A tremor rolled beneath his feet. Dust fell from the ceiling.
Then it appeared.
A Minotaur burst from around the corner, its massive frame scraping the walls, its crimson eyes burning with bloody instinct. Thick breath puffed in clouds from its nostrils. The sound of its hooves slamming stone cracked through the tunnel.
Bell's body locked.
Impossible. This shouldn't be here—this shouldn't be here—this shouldn't—
The creature roared again, lifting its great iron-stained arm, and Bell's instincts shattered. He ran.
No plan. No courage. Just panic.
His boots pounded the stone. Claws scraped behind him. Hot breath washed over his back. He didn't have to look to know it was too close—far too close. His lungs burned, and tears blurred his vision.
I'm going to die—I'm actually going to die—
The tunnel narrowed. His foot slipped; he caught himself. The Minotaur slammed into the wall behind him with enough force to crack stone. Dust and pebbles showered down. Bell stumbled forward, gasping, heart seizing in terror.
Goddess… Hestia… I'm sorry—
He sprinted around a bend, nearly tripping—
And the world flashed white.
A blur moved past him like lightning, so fast he barely saw her shape. Steel whistled. Air cracked. The smell of fresh blood burst into the air.
Bell skidded to a halt.
Behind him, the Minotaur fell in two separate pieces. A spray of red decorated his cheeks, warm and sticky. Bell trembled as the monster's death cry faded.
Ais Wallenstein stood at the center of it all—golden hair flowing like soft silk, armor shining faintly in the Dungeon's dim glow. She lowered her sword with quiet grace, her expression unreadable and calm.
Bell's breath hitched. He stared at her with wide eyes, face burning, heart pounding for reasons far different from fear.
Beautiful… she's…
He felt small. Pathetic. Weak. But also inspired—lifted by something beyond words.
His Falna pulsed.
A faint, warm tingle spread across his back—Hestia's blessing reacting to the surge of emotion inside him. It wasn't painful. It wasn't even uncomfortable. It just was—quiet, soft, alive.
Ais glanced at him. "Are you injured?"
Bell opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His voice had decided that, like his legs, it would no longer cooperate.
She took a step closer, eyes gentle. "You're safe now."
Those words nearly broke him.
"I—I'm s-sorry—" he managed to stutter, voice cracking. "Thank you—I— I'm sorry—!"
Her expression softened slightly, but before she could speak again, Bell fled. Not from fear this time—but from embarrassment, from shame boiling through his chest. He sprinted down the tunnel toward the Dungeon exit, heart hammering.
Idiot! I looked like such an idiot! She must think I'm a child— a coward— I can't—
His face felt hot. The blood on his skin dried in streaks. He just kept running, desperate to leave before she saw his tears.
He reached the last chamber before the exit. Light filtered from the staircase upward. Freedom. Air. Orario.
But as he stepped toward the tunnel—
The air cracked.
A thin golden fracture sliced through the atmosphere like someone had split reality with a blade. It glowed, humming with a deep, impossible resonance. Bell froze mid-step.
"What… what is that?"
His Falna pulsed again—but this time violently. Not a gentle thrum, but a deep, resonant surge. His back tightened. Warmth flooded his spine. His heartbeat synced with something unseen.
The golden crack widened.
Wind erupted from nowhere, whipping his cloak backward. Pebbles lifted from the ground and spiraled toward the light. Bell staggered.
"Stop—! Wh-What's happening?!"
The Dungeon walls began to waver, as if melting into liquid gold. The floor beneath him rippled like disturbed water. The crack pulsed. And then—
A pull.
A harsh, magnetic force latched onto him, dragging him forward. Bell dug his boots into the stone, but there was nothing to grip. He slid toward the light.
"No—! No no no no—!"
The world around him dissolved entirely, turning into swirling gold and white. His body was weightless. His ears rang. His fingers reached out blindly for something to hold—but found nothing.
Then a flash.
A blinding, divine brilliance consumed everything.
And when Bell blinked again—
He was standing on a stone platform suspended in a void of endless dark sky.
Wind howled from nowhere. Golden sparks drifted like dust motes. A faint echo thrummed in the distance. Bell turned slowly, breath shaking. The platform stretched outward like an altar atop eternity.
"What… is this place…?"
Then the voice spoke.
Deep. Ancient. Commanding.
"Rise now, ye Tarnished."
Bell whipped around. The voice didn't come from a person—there was no one on the platform. Only vision-like figures flickered into existence, golden silhouettes moving across the empty sky.
"Chieftain of the Badlands…"
Images shimmered—ghostly shapes of warriors long dead.
"The ever-brilliant Goldmask…"
The sky flashed gold with each spoken name.
Bell froze. He didn't understand. He wasn't part of this. He wasn't supposed to be here. Yet the voice felt like it vibrated through his bones.
Was he dreaming?
Dead?
Caught in divine magic?
He backed away, eyes wide, as the final words echoed through the abyss:
"Rise, Tarnished… and become Elden Lord."
The golden figures vanished.
Silence.
Then—
The platform cracked beneath his feet.
A force yanked him downward, dragging him into darkness, faster and faster until the air tore past his ears—
And then everything stopped.
Cold stone touched his cheek.
Bell gasped and pushed himself upright. The air smelled thick—damp, metallic, filled with dust and something like lingering ash. The light was dim, almost nonexistent, broken only by faint glimmers clinging to the mossy stone walls.
A cave.
A tomb.
Not Orario.
Not the Dungeon.
Not anywhere he knew.
Bell stood slowly, legs shaking. His dagger was still in his hand. His heart raced in his chest like a caged animal trying to escape.
"…Where am I?"
No answer. Only dripping water. Distant wind. The faint brush of something moving deeper within the shadows.
And strange golden particles drifting in the air like tiny stars.
Bell swallowed.
He wasn't back home.
He wasn't safe.
And whatever world he had fallen into…
He could feel it:
It wanted him to die.
End of Chapter 1.