The polished steel of Eryx's armor clinked softly as he fastened the last strap across his chest. The breastplate gleamed in the morning light, thick and reinforced, a marked difference from the worn gear he'd remembered—dreamed?—wearing before.

  He flexed his fingers in gauntlets etched with faint, arcane filigree. They fit perfectly, like they were made for him. No creaking leather, no ill-balanced weight.

  The room was unfamiliar, though it should’ve felt like home. He could see some of his personal belongings scattered about the room, so he knew he had been staying there for at least a little while. The most notable was a gigantic longsword, about a foot taller than himself.

  The room was standard inn fare: low wooden beams, a narrow bed barely big enough for a grown man, and a single shuttered window filtering in light and noise from the street below. The floorboards creaked beneath his boots as he crossed to the door. He hesitated with his hand on the handle.

  Something gnawed at the back of his mind—an unease he couldn’t place. Like a memory caught behind fog. He thought he saw something, just before waking. Something about an evaluation cycle?

  He shook it off.

  Downstairs, the others were already waiting. He could hear their voices—teasing, arguing, the soft clink of metal and glass.

  “There he is!” Kett called. “Sleep through the godsdamn decade, did you?”

  After a bit of banter back and forth, they finished their morning meal. Standing, Eryx led the group to the inn door. Taking a deep breath, unsure of what awaited him, he opened it.

  The scent of fried onions, dust, and horses hit him as he stepped out onto the wide street. The inn opened directly into the bustle of Varnstead’s outer quarter—Resonant territory. Mercenary banners fluttered overhead. Caravans rattled past on the cobblestone, their wheels groaning under the weight of full crates and alchemic barrels.

  To his right, his team stood in a loose circle.

  Yara, her shoulder-length hair tied in messy twin braids, grinned as she argued with Kellen over something likely meaningless. The metallic glyphs around her—six of them now—orbited her slowly, each pulsing with a dull, rhythmic hum. They glinted like butterfly wings in the sun.

  “Tell him, Eryx,” she called when she saw him. “Kellen thinks he can out-drink a Forgeborn.”

  “I can definitely out-drink a Forgeborn,” Kellen said, flashing his too-sharp grin. He was lithe, armored in layered leathers over chainmail, a duelist’s saber sheathed at his hip. His movements always had that edge—like he could slip into a fight with a laugh and a pirouette.

  “You tried that once. You cried.” Eryx said with a smile.

  “I wept,” Kellen corrected. “For the beauty of the ale.”

  The others chuckled. Derin, the heavyset shieldman who used fire magic, simply grunted and adjusted the haft of his poleaxe. Beside him stood Nialla, the group’s quiet archer—her runed bow already strung, eyes constantly scanning the street. She nodded a greeting toward Eryx but said nothing.

  He joined the other six to make the group seven in total, falling into place like he’d always belonged there. And yet… that fog lingered. He did belong. Right?

  Then he saw them.

  A cart, not far down the road. Militia in dust-streaked tunics loading crates with strained grunts and tired curses. The same kind of supplies they’d brought through the Unstable Zone before—rations, alchemic reagents, survival packs. One of the men—broad-shouldered, with sweat-soaked hair plastered to his brow—paused to glare up at their group.

  Eryx’s heart skipped as déjà vu slammed into him

  He knew that face.

  It was like looking through water at himself—just a little off, a little younger, and a lot more angry.

  He blinked, and the feeling passed.

  “Hey, you good?” Yara stepped closer, one of her glyphs drifting between them like a curious insect.

  “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Just a weird feeling.” He glanced back at the man by the cart, but he had turned and started talking to another militia man.

  Before she could ask more, a scream rang out from up the road.

  Everyone turned.

  A horse bolted through the main gate, galloping full-tilt toward the group, nearly bowling over a pair of merchants. Someone shouted. People dove out of the way.

  The animal reared, skidding to a stop, and the rider—no, corpse—slumped sideways in the saddle and tumbled to the stones.

  Eryx was already moving.

  He knelt beside the body. The armor was shattered—punched through in multiple places. Blood poured from open gashes, steaming in the sun. The man’s face was barely recognizable, caved in on one side, jaw broken and lolling.

  But he was alive. Barely.

  The Resonant coughed blood and locked eyes with Eryx.

  “Dungeon… break…” he gasped. “It’s open. They’re… loose.”

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  He coughed, convulsed once and went still.

  All around them, the noise died. Whispers spread like fire through dry brush.

  Dungeon break. The words were a curse.

  Eryx stood slowly, dread heavy in his stomach. The rest of his team was with him, weapons out, faces pale.

  Then the bells rang—three sharp rings, echoing through the city’s stone and metal work like the toll of judgment.

  “Here we go,” Kellen whispered, and for once, he wasn’t smiling.

  ———

  The last of the beasts collapsed in a heap, its body splitting open with a wet crack as Eryx’s blade cleaved through its torso. Steam hissed from the wound like some perverse sigh. Around him, the battlefield was quiet—except for the crackle of lingering spells and the wheezing of the dying. Blood ran in streams through the cracks in the stone, pooling beneath mangled limbs and broken weapons. The once-mighty line of defenders had been reduced to scattered corpses.

  Most of the militia was gone. Of the Resonants who’d answered the call, fewer than ten still stood. Of Eryx’s team, only four remained. He counted them without meaning to—just shapes through the smoke and chaos.

  Yara, the Glyphwrite, her hair plastered to her forehead, stood with one hand raised. Her metallic glyphs hung in the air around her like a constellation of razors, each one twitching in anticipation.

  Tarn, the Duelist, leaned on a cracked spear, his left arm limp. Somewhere during the fight he had lost his iconic dueling saber, probably when his arm was ruined.

  Mira, the Glaciarch, with frost etched into her skin, whispered something under her breath as she cradled her bloodied focus crystal.

  And Kellen—Kellen was grinning, of course,though it was more grimace than humor, his curved daggers dripping something black. He was a Fadefox, a class of trickster assassin.

  Eryx exhaled, gripping his sword tight. His arm trembled from overuse.

  “Eryx,” Yara called, wiping a smear of blood from her brow. Her metallic glyphs hovered protectively near her shoulders, shifting in tight, watchful orbits. “That was the last one."

  He nodded grimly. “Then we don’t wait. If that breach isn’t sealed, this’ll just happen again. Worse next time."

  Tarn coughed blood and spat. “You sure we’re sealing it and not walking into the pit?”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” Eryx admitted. “But if we don’t, no one’s left to stop it. See if any of the other Resonants will join us”

  No one did.

  They moved fast, down the dirt road to the Unstable Zone, smoke curling from shattered buildings and scorched cobblestones. East they followed the path, deeper and deeper into the Unstable Zone until they came to it. The strange shimmer of the dungeon threshold waited ahead—an invisible curtain warped with flickers of colored mana.

  Crossing the boundary felt like plunging into ice water, a feeling despised by everyone in the group, except Mira. The change was immediate as they stepped through. Not some nightmarish shift, no sudden monstrous presence—just... stillness.

  The forest was intact. Quiet. Too quiet.

  Tall trees rose like sentinels, their bark a deep iron-gray, their leaves shimmering a dusty green. Bio-luminescent moss carpeted the earth, giving off an eerie glow. It looked untouched by chaos, like a place outside of time. The only thing missing was the sound—no birds, no wind. Just the crunch of their boots on soft soil.

  The stillness had weight. Not absence of noise, but the presence of attention.

  Eryx scanned the trees, then the canopy overhead. No birds. No insects. No rustling leaves. No sky, even—just a high dome of diffuse light that didn’t seem to come from anywhere. His pulse slowed. The silence was so total it became a sound in itself—a humming pressure in the ears, the kind that made your own heartbeat feel intrusive.

  "Anyone else feel like this place is watching us?” Eryx clarified, “Not the usual ‘dungeon’s alive’ thing. Something else. Like it already knows how this ends.”

  Mira grimaced. “I hate that I know exactly what you mean.” She glanced at the others. “Whatever’s in here—it doesn’t feel like a place. It feels like a thing. Alive. Listening.”

  "Well if it's judging us, I suggest the part leader reconsider the free food for party members perk." Kelln quited with a grin

  Erix forced a chuckle. "I don't think this particular thing cares about that particular thing. Sorry Kellen."

  "But I do! Come on guys, er, girls, back me up here. Free. Fooood."

  Yara shook her head as the group continued walking, willing a glyphs to fly out and leave a mark on the trees as they pass. "Just in case." She said.

  Eryx frowned. He could swear he saw something from the corner of his eye. A small box with an eye, but when he looked, there was nothing there.

  Following the path, they crested a rise, and there it was, the dungeon rupture. Like glass breaking in slow motion, cracks expanded from the break . Beyond it, dark stone spikes twisted into impossible angles, forming a large cave opening, lit by an internal red glow. The dungeon had been open—and bleeding.

  Suddenly the horrors came.

  The first one lunged from a crack in the earth—a quadruped thing made of mirrors, its surface shifting with reflected versions of the team, each twisted. Tarn stepped forward.

  “Got this one,” he said, voice grim.

  His spear lit with red-orange at the tip, his duelist’s brand activating. He moved fast, slashing across its reflective limbs in wide sweeping arcs. The creature reacted instantly, mimicking his moves a heartbeat behind. But Tarn anticipated it, dancing closer with each feint, inching forward with every dodge, until he planted his foot and drove the spear clean through its chest.

  The beast exploded in shards.

  He grinned—just for a second—then the shards twisted midair, converging back toward him.

  Eryx shouted, but there was no time. Another beast charged at him, knocking him down and the words out of his mouth.

  They hit like bullets. Tarn screamed as mirrored spikes drove through his armor and into his body. He staggered backward, mouth opening to say something—then fell, twitching, dead.

  He looked at Tarn’s broken body, the mirrored shards still embedded like accusations. Had he seen this before? Felt this guilt before? It gnawed at the edges of his thoughts like something alive.

  Another horror was already moving—this one a formless cloak of black smoke, teeth and tendrils swirling beneath its edges. Mira stepped up before anyone else could react.

  “I can freeze it,” she said, voice calm. “Keep it still. Go for the heart, if it has one.”

  “Wait—” Eryx began.

  Too late.

  She stepped forward, the ground icing over as she walked, her hands glowing pale blue, frost cascading in spirals around her arms. Her focus crystal pulsed as a wall of cold erupted forward, slamming into the creature.

  It shrieked, knocked back by the sudden force. The ice held for a moment—and in that moment, Mira smiled, just faintly.

  Then the smoke moved. It phased through the ice wall and rushed to her. Quickly she danced in a small circle, glyphs of ice surrounding her, an auto of protection. But it simply coiled up her arms, bypassing her protective aura entirely, and slipped into her nose, mouth, ears and eyes.

  Mira’s eyes widened in shock.

  She opened her mouth to scream, but only smoke came out. Her veins blackened. Her skin cracked like over-frozen glass.

  Then she shattered, collapsing into chunks of ice, the smoke escaping and reforming. Eryx gazed at the shadow creature, trying to figure out how to take it down before it killed anyone else. But it turned and fled into the forest before he could act.

  A spray of frost hit Eryx in the face. It was disgustingly refreshing in his hot thick armor. He froze for a heartbeat.

  Then rage hit like fire in his veins.

  “No—Mira!” he snarled, swinging hard at the next creature lunging toward him. The blade cleaved clean, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

  She’d been just behind him. Just there.

  His jaw clenched, and he pushed forward, slamming a beast into a tree with his shoulder. The bark cracked. Something in him cracked with it.

  He didn’t have time to mourn. Not now. But the promise of vengeance burned hot behind his eyes.

  Kellen swore. “Shit. Shit. We’re down three!”

  Yara stepped forward, eyes narrowed. Her glyphs pulsed, then expanded outward like blooming metal wings.

  “I’ve got the next one,” she said.

  A crawling thing emerged next—low, centipede-like, with human hands instead of legs and mouths along its back. It hissed, dozens of voices layered into a single unnatural chorus.

  Yara didn’t flinch.

  The glyphs spun outward, arranging into orbitals. She raised her hand—and they snapped inward, forming a shining serrated spear. With a sharp motion, she hurled it.

  The spear struck the creature in its center. The glyphs detonated outward, each one slicing in a perfect arc. The beast was flayed into twitching pieces, still shrieking as it died.

  “Okay,” said Yara, kneeling to check her satchel. “I’ve got three anchor stones. We just need to—”

  A low growl cut her off.

  They turned just in time to see the beast emerge.

  It was massive—easily 15 feet tall, its body a lattice of shadow and muscle. Antlers spiraled like twisted rebar from a skull that was too long and too thin. It moved like a marionette pulled by strings.

  Eryx stared, heart hammering.

  Kellen looked at him. “We running?”

  “No,” Eryx said. “We finish it.”

  He led the charge, sword raised high. Yara flanked left, glyphs humming. Calen moved like a ghost, daggers flashing. The monster met them with a roar and the final fight began.

  They fought like fury.

  Yaras glyphs flared, transforming into jagged, whirling blades. With a flick of her wrist, they shot forward like angry wasps, carving glowing lines through the creature’s side. It screamed—a sound like metal tearing over concrete—and turned toward her.

  “Come on, ugly,” she hissed, pulling more glyphs into orbit.

  Kellen sliced into joints and weak points, but the creature seemed immune to pain. Eryx focused everything into each strike, drawing its attention again and again to give his allies a chance.

  It wasn’t enough.

  Dashing in with a cry, a second Kellen appeared, daggers in hand, mirroring his exact moves as he sliced through the creatures legs from underneath.

  Kellens yell was cut short as the beast simply dropped on him, crushing him under its mass.

  Standing again, bits of kellen sticking to it's underside, it turned its elongated head toward Yara. Angry flames lit in its eye sockets as it opened its mouth, a torrent of flames shooting from it.

  Yara cried out, her glyphs melting as the creature roared flame down on her.

  Eryx rushed in, striking with everything he had. The abomination batted him away like a nuisance fly buzzing in its ear.

  He hit the ground so hard his armor crumpled around his stomach and chest, ribs shattering.

  Eryx looked up just in time to see it bring a fist down on his head—

  And everything went black. A system message appeared in the darkness.

  "You have died."