Drip. Drip. Drip.
Water echoed through the cavern, each drop falling like the ticking of a clock. The dungeon was dim, lit only by the faint glow of moss clinging to jagged stone.
The air reeked of damp earth and blood. In the far corner, the twisted bodies of goblins lay discarded, their green flesh pale and lifeless.
Altheron stood alone, chest heaving, his small hands tight around his sword. His arms trembled, his tunic clung to him with sweat, and his heart pounded like a war drum. He had slain them—five goblins. His first battle. But there was no time to rest.
From the shadows came the sound of heavy, dragging footsteps. A hobgoblin emerged—towering, broad-shouldered, with jagged tusks glinting in the dim glow. Its blood-red eyes fixed on him like a starving predator.
Behind Altheron, his father's calm voice broke the silence.
"You've done well, Altheron. But this is only the beginning. Each dungeon is a world of its own, and with every step forward, the creatures grow fiercer. This—" he gestured toward the hobgoblin "—is but a fragment of what lies within."
The hobgoblin snarled, raising its cleaver.
"Defeat this one, and we rest," his father continued. "Then I will tell you more about the Seven Great Dungeons… and why this place exists."
Fear twisted in Altheron's stomach. His fingers felt weak on the hilt, but his father's words burned inside him. Not for glory. Not for honor. For survival. He set his jaw and raised the blade.
The hobgoblin roared and lunged. Its cleaver came down like a falling tree. Altheron rolled aside, the stone floor cracking where he had stood. He swung back desperately, his blade biting shallowly into the beast's arm. A small cut—but enough to earn its rage.
The hobgoblin struck back. The sheer force of its swing sent the boy sprawling, his sword clattering from his hands. Altheron gasped, scrambling backward on scraped palms as the cleaver rose again.
And then—steel flashed.
The hobgoblin froze, eyes wide, before collapsing with a heavy thud. Behind it stood his father, sword dripping red.
Altheron's breath hitched. "I… I failed…" he whispered, shame stinging sharper than the fall.
A firm hand rested on his shoulder. His father knelt, voice steady.
"No, Altheron. You did not fail. You stood when fear told you to run. That is courage—and courage is rarer than victory."
The boy blinked, his chest heavy with both shame and pride. The pendant around his neck gave a faint glimmer, as though it had heard the words.
His father's eyes drifted deeper into the dungeon.
"There are seven of these places across the world—the Great Dungeons. Fire, Wind, Forest, Soul, Death, Time… and this one." His tone grew low. "Some say they were prisons. Others call them gateways. No man truly knows."
Altheron swallowed hard. "And… why are we here?"
"Because," his father said grimly, "the Dungeons do not sleep. They hunger. If left unchecked, what lies within will one day spill into our world. That is why you must learn to fight here—not for glory, not for honor, but for survival. Yours, mine, and the kingdom's."
His father rose, his gaze narrowing. "Each floor has its own keeper—a semi-boss, far stronger than common monsters. They guard the path forward. And every fifth floor… there lies a mid-boss, brutal beyond reason. At the very heart of a dungeon… a Dungeon Lord awaits."
He looked down at Altheron. "Today, you will face your first boss chamber."
The stone doors rumbled open, and a chilling draft swept out, extinguishing half the torches. From the darkness padded a massive wolf, its fur as black as midnight, its eyes glowing crimson. Shadows writhed unnaturally across its body, alive with hunger.
The Shadow Wolf.
Altheron's breath caught in his throat. His legs screamed to run. But his father's voice came firm and steady.
"Stand tall, boy. This one thinks. It hunts. Do not waver."
The wolf snarled, then lunged.
Altheron barely rolled aside as claws slashed through the stone where he had stood. He slashed desperately, his blade grazing the beast's flank. Too shallow. The wolf howled, red eyes blazing, then spun and struck. Pain ripped through Altheron's shoulder as claws tore his flesh.
He staggered, his vision swimming. His sword felt heavy as iron. But he did not let go.
"That's it!" his father's voice thundered. "Steel isn't only in the blade—it's in the heart that wields it!"
Gritting his teeth, Altheron charged again. His strikes sparked against shadow, each blow wild but desperate. The wolf was faster, stronger, relentless. A swipe hurled him into the wall, the breath knocked from his lungs. He gasped, his chest on fire.
The wolf prowled closer, lips curled in a snarl.
Altheron raised his sword again, his arms trembling but unyielding. "I… won't run!"
The Shadow Wolf lunged—
—and steel intercepted it.
Altheron's father appeared like a storm, his blade cleaving into the beast and driving it back. His strikes were merciless, each blow cracking stone, each step radiating unshakable power.
But the wolf did not fall easily. Snarling, its shadows surged, wrapping around its body. With a sudden burst, it slammed into the captain of the Sentinels, hurling him across the chamber. The ground split beneath the impact.
Altheron's eyes widened. His father—pushed back?
The wolf's form loomed, red eyes blazing as the chamber quaked. The dungeon itself seemed to groan, as though watching.
Then his father rose, slow but unshaken. His voice boomed like thunder.
"You dare bare your fangs before me?!"
He moved like a tempest. Sword arcs carved through shadow, each strike tearing the beast apart. The Shadow Wolf howled, its form unraveling, until with a final cleave it dissolved into mist, vanishing with a hiss.
Silence fell.
Altheron, clutching his bleeding shoulder, stared in awe. His father stood tall, his chest steady, his blade gleaming.
"That," he said, sheathing the sword, "is the difference between fighting to survive… and fighting to protect."
Before Altheron could reply, the dungeon itself shuddered.
A voice echoed, deep and resonant, not spoken but etched into the stone itself.
"The time is coming…"
The pendant around Altheron's neck burned with light.
"The Forgotten One… stirs. The seal weakens… The rise is near…"
The words repeated, like a chant, each echo heavier than the last.
Altheron's blood froze. His father's hand shot to his blade, eyes sharp, scanning the chamber.
But before either could move, the pendant erupted in blinding light.
Altheron cried out as the world twisted around him. His father's shout rang out one last time—then silence.
The boy was gone.
And in the depths of the dungeon, the echo lingered.
"The Forgotten One… will rise."