The dungeon was silent.
Not the silence of peace, but the silence before slaughter—heavy, suffocating, broken only by distant growls and the endless drip of water.
A child's cry pierced that silence.
On the cold stone floor lay a baby wrapped in ragged cloth. His face was pale, his tiny chest heaving with every desperate breath. Yet across that fragile body, faint black runes glowed and pulsed like veins filled with starlight.
From the shadows, creatures stirred.
Dungeon rats emerged first—grotesque things with bald patches of skin, their red eyes gleaming in the dark. They crept closer, claws scratching against the stone. Drool hung from their yellow teeth.
The baby's cry weakened.
The largest rat lunged.
But the moment it crossed the glowing runes—
BZZZT!
A surge of black light erupted from the infant's body. The rats screeched, their flesh sizzling, eyes bursting into smoke. The entire pack scattered, vanishing into cracks and tunnels.
The baby fell silent. His chest rose and fell, his small hand twitching.
The dungeon pulsed once, as if the stone walls themselves had a heartbeat.
Somewhere deep below, something whispered:
—Mine…