The six-floor dungeon was considered a "newborn," yet that did not make it harmless. Newly awakened dungeons were like infants screaming for attention—restless, unpredictable, growing too quickly for their walls to hold steady.
Every floor whispered of its youth. The walls still oozed faint mana mist, rough stone pressed together by magical force rather than age. Monsters were simple and crude, yet their numbers were many, and their hunger endless.
Ashveil had warned them.
---
First Floor
On the first floor, he noticed the strange moss carpeting the walls. Its emerald strands shimmered faintly, pulsing with mana. He had read of it in guild records—Firemoss.
"Careful," he murmured, shifting his burden of packs. "That moss burns to the touch. If fire spreads here—"
"Quiet, mule," Selene snapped, her nose wrinkling as if his words carried a stench. "I'll decide what burns and what doesn't."
Before Ashveil could protest, she lit her torch with a flick of her slender fingers and brushed it against the moss deliberately, as if to prove him wrong.
The wall erupted in green fire, mana-fed and hungry. The flames rushed upward like a beast unchained.
Garron cursed, swinging his greatsword through the blaze to cut it away, though steel could not wound fire. Kaelen was forced to call upon his light, chanting prayers under his breath, his magic smothering the flames before they consumed the whole tunnel.
When the fire finally died, the air stank of scorched stone and melted moss.
Selene glared at Ashveil as though it were his fault.
"If you'd spoken sooner, this wouldn't have happened."
Ashveil's lips parted. I did speak. But the words died in his throat. No one would believe him.
---
Second Floor
On the second floor, goblins swarmed from side tunnels, their shrieks echoing like knives against stone.
Ashveil knew the signs—the stench of unwashed bodies, the crude markings scratched into the walls. He tightened his grip on the straps of his pack. "A nest is near," he whispered urgently. "They'll ambush at—"
"Loose," Rurik interrupted, loosing an arrow before Ashveil could finish. The shot killed one goblin instantly, but the others shrieked in fury.
Half a dozen of the creatures burst forth, crude blades flashing in the dim light. Garron waded into them like a storm, his greatsword cleaving bodies in two. Selene's fireballs roared, turning the stone black with soot.
Ashveil stumbled backward, clutching the packs tight even as a goblin spear grazed his arm. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.
The battle was over quickly. Garron roared in victory, Rurik bent to pluck arrows from corpses, and Selene smoothed her robes as though she had simply brushed away dirt.
Then Selene turned her cold eyes to Ashveil. "Why didn't you say anything, porter?"
Ashveil froze. "I—" His voice faltered. "I did. I said—"
"Excuses." Selene flicked her hand dismissively. "If you had done your duty, we wouldn't have been caught off guard."
Rurik chuckled, kicking a dead goblin aside. "He's good at one thing—being late."
Their laughter echoed in the stone corridor.
Ashveil said nothing. He could feel the blood dripping down his arm.
---
Third Floor
By the third floor, his legs burned with every step. His shoulders felt torn, his back raw. The straps of the packs dug into his skin until he imagined the leather had carved permanent grooves into his flesh.
The packs seemed heavier with each passing floor. Food, loot, spare weapons, firewood—it was all dumped onto him, and he staggered like a beast of burden.
At one point, he nearly collapsed. His knees buckled beneath the weight.
Garron shoved him forward with a growl. "Keep moving, boy. If you drop, you'll be left where you fall."
Ashveil bowed his head and obeyed. He had no choice.
---
Fourth Floor
The twisting halls of the fourth floor were riddled with cracks. The dungeon groaned around them, walls vibrating faintly under unseen pressure.
Ashveil placed his hand against the wall, feeling the subtle tremor of shifting weight above. His stomach twisted. "The ceiling here isn't stable," he whispered. "If too much mana surges—"
"Always whining," Rurik interrupted.
The archer notched an arrow and, with a mocking grin, fired into the wall just above Ashveil's head.
The stone cracked with a sharp sound, dust raining down onto Ashveil's hair and shoulders. He froze, heart hammering.
"See? Nothing happened," Rurik said smugly.
Garron's booming laugh followed. Even Kaelen chuckled softly. Selene's lips curled in disdain.
Ashveil clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. One day… one day this cruelty will eat them instead of me.
---
Fifth Floor
On the fifth floor, food ran low.
Ashveil's belly had long since ceased growling—it was no longer hunger, but an ache, a hollow emptiness that gnawed at his ribs. He smelled the smoked meat when Selene opened her pack. He heard Garron chewing loudly, savoring the last of the dear meat .
When they finished, Garron tossed him a strip of dried jerky. It was hard as stone, almost impossible to chew. His teeth ached with every bite.
"Eat quickly," Garron commanded. "You'll need your strength to carry the loot back."
Ashveil obeyed, chewing silently, though it felt like swallowing ash.
His thoughts drifted. Not to the dungeon, not to the pain in his back, not even to the hunger hollowing him.
But to home.
He thought of his mother's hands—gentle, though worn from years of washing and mending. He thought of his father's voice—steady, even when sickness ravaged his body, even when the family had so little.
And he thought of his sister.
Bright-eyed amelia who used to tug at his sleeve whenever he returned from the guild's training halls, eager to hear what scraps of knowledge he had gleaned. She had been the one to urge him forward, whispering, Don't give up, Ash. One day you'll be strong. Stronger than all of them.
Her laughter had always been like light spilling into their dim home.
The memory tightened his chest.
Endure, Ashveil. Endure.
Tears threatened, but he swallowed them. He could not show weakness. Not here. Not before them.
---
Their Mistakes
That was when it happened.
A trap, half-hidden in the floor, triggered under Garron's boot. The mechanism snapped, releasing a volley of darts from hidden slits in the wall.
Kaelen shouted in surprise as one dart pierced his arm. Rurik barely ducked aside. Selene shrieked as her robe was grazed.
Ashveil had seen it before—he had noticed the faint seam in the stone, the discolored tiles. He had wanted to speak, but every warning he gave was met with scorn. Every word dismissed. So this time, he had swallowed it.
The darts flew. Garron roared, slamming his sword into the wall to smash the mechanism apart. The storm of needles ended.
Kaelen was pale, clutching his bleeding arm.
Rurik hissed, rounding on Ashveil. "Why didn't you warn us, mule?!"
Ashveil's lips parted, his throat dry. "I… I saw it, but I—"
"But you what?" Selene's eyes blazed with fury. "Too stupid to open your mouth?"
"I did warn you before," Ashveil whispered, voice trembling. "You never listen."
"Blame-shifting now?" Rurik spat. "Pathetic."
Kaelen muttered a prayer, sealing his wound with pale light, though the venom would take time to leave his blood. He glared at Ashveil as though he had been the one who fired the trap.
"You'll kill us all," Garron growled, shoving him. "One mistake from you, and the whole party suffers. If anyone dies down here, it'll be your fault."
Ashveil stumbled, clutching the straps of his pack. His vision blurred for a moment.
Their mistakes… always mine to bear.
He said nothing.
Silence was all he had left.