Morning light crept gently into the inn, pale and cool, brushing across Altheron's face. His eyes opened slowly, though sleep had left him restless. A faint ache lingered in his chest, echoing the memory of the voice beneath the Millennia Tree. The city beyond the window stretched lazily in the early hours, the cobblestone streets glimmering with dew, carts creaking as merchants set up, and the scent of fresh bread drifting from nearby bakeries.
Altheron rose, stretching slowly, careful not to jolt his still-heavy limbs. Emi was already awake, kneeling by the window to adjust the string of her bow. The soft sunlight touched her hair, turning strands golden, and her expression remained calm, untroubled. She glanced at him with sharp, observing eyes.
"You look like you wrestled a bear in your sleep," she said lightly, her voice carrying the warmth of morning.
Altheron managed a weak smile. "Something like that."
She studied him a moment longer, then let her gaze drift back toward the window, her silence speaking of trust rather than expectation. Emi understood that some thoughts couldn't be shared, at least not yet.
They gathered their things in unhurried rhythm. The city outside was waking fully now: children darted between carts, vendors called prices loudly, and the scent of spiced tea and roasted meats mingled with the morning air. Every step toward the Guild felt heavier to Altheron, not from fatigue, but from the silent weight of what the Millennia Tree had whispered to him.
When he finally glanced at the Tree, looming above the city square, his breath caught. Half the colossal structure looked sick. Leaves, once silver and glimmering, were now brittle, blackened, and hanging like dying embers. Dark veins spread across the bark, creeping like rot, and the gaps in the canopy let sharp shafts of sunlight pierce through. A subtle, unnatural shiver ran down his spine—and it was still withering, now faster.
A priest knelt at the base, sprinkling water over the roots, but his hands trembled. A small crowd whispered nearby.
"It's nothing. Just age," one said.
"The Tree has stood for a thousand years. It won't fall."
Their voices wavered, betraying doubt they did not wish to admit. Emi's brow furrowed slightly, but she did not speak. Altheron exhaled slowly and turned toward the Guild. Whatever was happening to the Tree, it would not wait.
The Adventurer's Guild was already alive with clamor when they arrived. The great hall smelled of ink, ale, and leather. High beams of sunlight streamed through windows, illuminating banners, wooden rafters, and scattered parchments. Adventurers were gathered in clusters, some polishing weapons, others comparing maps or quizzing one another on monsters.
Whispers trailed Altheron and Emi as they entered. Word of their discovery—the hidden dungeon, the corrupted lake, and the collapsed altar—had spread. Some scoffed, some doubted, and a few eyed them with thinly veiled jealousy.
The receptionist straightened at their approach, then disappeared through the heavy door behind her counter. A hush rippled through the hall.
Minutes later, she returned, flanked by the Guildmaster himself—a tall, broad-shouldered man with steel-gray hair, eyes like polished blades, and an aura of authority that silenced even the most audacious whispers. Every adventurer paused mid-task, some frozen with awe, others with envy.
Without a word, the Guildmaster examined the items on the counter: the faintly glowing vial, the jagged black scales of the Dungeon Lord. His fingers hovered over them, turning them in the light.
"Undeniably genuine," he said. "High-grade potion. Rare. And these scales… Dungeon Lord, without question."
Gasps and murmurs spread through the hall. Some clutched mugs tighter, others turned away, faces taut with jealousy or disbelief.
He placed the items back down. "Your party not only uncovered a hidden dungeon but conquered it. Records will be amended. As of today, by the authority of Caelburn's Guild, you are promoted to B-Rank."
The hall erupted. Cheers and applause mixed with scoffs, muttering, and the occasional crash of overturned mugs.
Altheron and Emi exchanged glances, absorbing the weight of attention from every corner of the room. The Guildmaster's decree was law, yet the reactions of others carried tension that would linger.
Before the celebration could settle, the heavy doors burst open. A bloodied adventurer stumbled inside, his armor dented and cloak torn. His chest heaved, eyes wide with terror.
"Monsters—south gate! A whole herd is tearing through the roads!" he gasped.
The hall froze. Adventurers turned toward the southern gate, a sudden, cold realization dawning. The man's voice cracked as he continued.
"Not ordinary beasts! Wolves with black veins in their hides, goblins snarling with crimson eyes, boars twisted with corruption… they're everywhere! We need every sword and bow we can muster!"
A surge of movement erupted. Chairs scraped back, weapons were drawn, and murmurs turned into shouts. Some adventurers hesitated, fear stark on their faces; others sprinted toward the exits, rallying their comrades.
Altheron felt the weight of the Sword Sigil against his chest, a faint warmth that reminded him he could not turn away. Emi's hand rested on her bow, steady and ready.
"Let's move," she said softly, and he nodded.
Outside, the streets of Caelburn were alive with panic. Guards shouted orders, merchants pulled shutters closed, and citizens fled from the southward chaos. The Millennia Tree loomed overhead, its branches sagging, leaves brittle, silver glow dimmed. Fireflies flickered around it, their tiny lights feeble against the creeping darkness.
The corrupted monsters surged into the city. Wolves leapt over carts, jaws snapping, fangs glistening with black ichor. Goblins darted between shadows, wielding crude weapons, their red eyes shining with malice. Even boars, twisted and enormous, barreled down streets, crushing anything in their path. Dust and debris swirled as chaos reigned.
Altheron gripped his sword tightly, Emi nocking an arrow. Together, they charged into the fray. Every step brought them closer to the south gate, where the bulk of the horde pressed forward. The city's defenses were overwhelmed, and the cries of the fallen filled the air.
Yet amidst the panic, Altheron's mind flickered to the Tree. Its withering had begun to spill outward, corrupting the land itself. Every twisted monster, every cry of terror, was a reminder of what awaited should it fall completely.
They moved with precision, striking beasts, covering each other, helping civilians where they could. Emi's arrows flew true, felling wolves before they could leap upon the unwary. Altheron's blade cut through goblins' ranks, each strike calculated, efficient, and merciless.
Even as they fought, Altheron's heart thudded in silent rhythm with the Tree. The city might survive the night, but this was only the beginning. The corruption that had risen from the roots would not be quelled by blades alone.
As the first rays of dawn crept across Caelburn, the horde slowed, partially repelled by the united adventurers. Injured, exhausted, yet unbroken, Altheron and Emi paused, scanning the battlefield. Fires smoldered along the streets, broken carts littered the ground, and the distant, hollow groan of the corrupted beasts echoed from beyond the city walls.
Altheron's chest tightened. The Tree—half withered, black veins crawling across its bark—loomed above them like a wounded titan. Its silver glow flickered weakly in the morning light, and the fireflies hovered defiantly around it.
"This is just the start," he murmured to Emi, who nodded, eyes fixed on the Tree.
"Yes," she said softly. "And we face it together."
The city's cries mingled with the distant, unnatural howls. Shadows had begun to stretch across Caelburn, and Altheron knew, with a weighty certainty, that the nightmare had only begun.