The alcove they picked on Floor 33 was a narrow cut sticking out from the main corridor, barely wider than Garron's shield. After the chaos of the ambush, nobody argued. Silence settled around them, but no one trusted it.
Moss covered the walls in faint green-blue, glowing in uneven pulses. Water dripped from somewhere they couldn't see, each drop echoing longer than it should have. The air pressed against their lungs, damp and thick, as if the dungeon wanted to remind them how far down they had gone.
They were climbing back up now. Floor by floor. The path to the surface was long, and the dungeon seemed to press harder the closer they got.
Serenya Korvelle's party took their positions.
Garron planted his tower shield at the mouth of the alcove, shoulders square, stance firm. Derrick leaned against the stone, one knee raised, flipping a dagger between his fingers in restless patterns. Liora checked Garron's arm one last time, letting a faint healing glow fade before stepping back. He had taken no real damage, but she always made sure the frontliner was fully restored before resting.
The mage hadn't stopped moving since they halted. Crouched low over parchment, Kaelen scratched sharp symbols and notes with shaky strokes. His staff rested beside him, ignored, while his eyes stayed locked on the theories forming under his quill.
Eron Vale sat apart from them, leaning back against his hiking pack. Streaks of dungeon ash clung to his boots, and his coat looked intact despite the earlier fights. In his hand, he held a piece of roasted lizard meat left over from the last battle. Chewing slowly, unhurried, as if the ambush never happened. To Serenya's party, that calm was the strangest thing about him.
Because they had seen what he did.
A fireball bouncing through the corridor, hitting the walls, exploding each time with exact force. One spell clearing the entire ambush. One spell breaking every rule they understood.
None of them could forget it.
The mage kept glancing at him, eyes unfocused, mind still tangled in the shape of that moving flame. Derrick's grip never left his dagger. Liora's gaze flicked toward Eron, then away. Garron rested, but his shield stayed raised out of habit.
Only Serenya watched openly. Her gift pulsed faintly in her chest, whispering danger but not lies.
This stranger carried power. But he was not lying.
Valerica's voice slid through his mind, smooth and amused.
"Tell me, Shadow. Why stick to these childish labels? Ping Pong Blaze, Split Bloom. You sound like you are naming toys, not spells."
Eron exhaled through his nose. "That question again" He leaned his head back slightly, tone flat. "I already told you. It is easy to remember. And I am too lazy to come up with cool names. Fancy names do not make me stronger, so why bother."
Valerica's laughter echoed in his thoughts, genuinely entertained.
"How pragmatic. How utterly boring."
"Works for me."
"How many variants of Fireball have you created so far"
Exhaling slow, he answered in his mind.
"Twenty-one. That is how many I have made. Twenty-one versions of a beginner's Fireball pushed until they became something else."
His thumb brushed the edge of his sleeve absently as he thought.
Then he paused.
The fabric was clean. No tears. He remembered the wolf's claws catching his arm during the fight, remembered the fabric ripping under sharp nails. But now it looked whole.
"That is strange," he muttered under his breath, pulling the sleeve closer. "Pretty sure this got scratched."
Valerica's laughter echoed softly in his thoughts.
"Your clothing carries magic, Shadow. It can repair itself."
Letting his hand drop, he leaned back against the stone. "Well, that is convenient."
She hummed with approval in his head.
"Twenty-one disasters waiting to be unleashed."
"Not all disasters," he thought back. "Some are stable. Spells I can trust. Piercer, Split Bloom, Scatterburst. But others are dangerous."
Flexing his hand, he remembered burns that once carved deep into his skin.
"Others nearly killed me the moment I tested them. White Flame, Tornado Blaze, Big Boom. Unstable. Dangerous. If I mix them up or lose track, I will not just burn myself. I will take the whole floor with me."
Valerica purred in his thoughts.
"So your precious numbering is survival. Madness arranged neatly in rows."
A faint smirk touched his lips.
"Call it whatever you want. Without it, I would be dead by now."
Her laughter echoed in his mind.
"Practical. Ruthless. I approve."
Across the alcove, the whispering continued.
The mage's quill scratched faster, ink lines forming spirals of spell diagrams.
"The rebound pattern was wrong. Fireball breaks apart on impact. It does not hold its core after the first explosion. And the timing. The timing alone breaks three basic rules. How did he hold it together. How did it keep its shape through multiple hits."
Derrick groaned. "Here we go. The mage is losing it."
Snapping his head up, Kaelen's eyes went wide.
"Do you understand what this means. If that really was Fireball, then he rewrote the entire spell. He reshaped the ignition matrix, the pressure curve, the release timing. Do you know how insane that is. How forbidden. How brilliant."
Serenya's voice cut in.
"Kaelen."
Freezing mid-sentence, mouth open, breath caught in his throat. Gripping his parchment tighter, knuckles turning white.
Liora quietly tied Kaelen's satchel. "It does not matter how. It saved us. That is enough."
Derrick twirled his dagger, scoffing under his breath. "He is no harmless traveler. Nobody throws fire like that unless they know exactly what they are doing."
"Quiet," Garron said, his voice deep and steady.
That ended it.
But Kaelen's mind refused to settle.
His gaze drifted back to Eron, and something finally clicked. The man was not holding anything a mage normally needed. No staff, no wand, no casting focus. Nothing that explained how he used a spell like that.
Kaelen froze, his quill suspended above the parchment.
How did he cast a Fireball of that scale without a focus. Did he use a hidden artifact. Some embedded channel. Yet he saw nothing at all. No glow, no tool, no catalyst, just the man sitting there as if casting required nothing from him.
His breathing quickened as the thought formed clearly in his mind.
What kind of mage was he..
But he saw nothing. No glow or visible tool. Just the man sitting there, calm and unbothered.
His hand tightened around his quill.
Did he cast it wandless. Is that even possible for a spell that complex. Wandless casting is basic utility at best. Small flames, minor lights, simple tricks. But a modified Fireball with multi-detonation properties and sustained velocity.
That should not be possible.
His breath came quicker, thoughts spiraling.
Unless he is not using traditional casting methods at all. Unless his body itself is the focus. But that would require mana channels carved directly into his core, and that kind of internal modification would kill most mages before they finished the first layer.
Staring at Eron, eyes wide, unblinking, one question burned in his mind.
What kind of mage is he.
Serenya did not respond to the others. Her golden eyes stayed locked on Eron. Her instincts repeated the same quiet truth.
Dangerous, but not reckless. Powerful, but not cruel. A man carrying a fire the dungeon itself seemed to react to.
And for reasons she could not explain, she felt no intent to harm them.
Not yet, at least.
Adjusting the strap of his pack, Eron thought quietly.
"Still not enough control. Still not enough range."
Valerica's laughter curled through his mind.
"Control, restraint, destruction kept in neat little boxes. With twenty-one experiments burning inside you, I wonder which one will slip free first."
"Not today."
"Growing cautious" she teased.
"I am not testing anything here."
"Then you have grown wiser" she said, though she sounded disappointed.
Silence settled again.
Not comfortable, just a truce held together by exhaustion and nerves.
Serenya's party kept watching him. Curiosity. Fear. Suspicion.
He had saved them today. Tomorrow, none of them knew what he might unleash.
Serenya rested her sword on her shoulder, mosslight painting faint gold over her armor. Her gaze did not leave Eron even when the others began to lower their heads.
Liora's hands rested on her lap, steady but alert. Derrick spun his dagger slower now, thoughtful rather than restless. The mage had stopped writing completely, staring at Eron with a look that mixed confusion and obsession. Garron listened to the stone, waiting for the dungeon's next move.
Sitting apart, Eron let his Hovering Blaze drift in slow circles above his hand.
Valerica's voice whispered in his thoughts.
"They fear you."
Sighing quietly, he responded.
"Am I that scary to be feared. I just want to go up to the surface."
Valerica laughed softly in his mind.
"But the woman with the sword watches you differently. Not fear. Something else."
The flame hovered between his fingers.
"They do not need to trust me. They just need to keep climbing."
She hummed in his mind.
"You hide more than your fire."
"Everyone hides something."
"Yours burns."
Closing his hand, the flame went out.
The alcove fell still.
Serenya's golden eyes stayed on him. Her instincts whispered again.
He is not lying.
He is not normal.
And the dungeon is shifting around him.
Garron felt it. Liora, Derrick, and Kaelen felt it too. None of them said the words.
This ascent would not be normal.
Leaning back against the stone, eyes half-closed, fire still echoed in his mind. Bouncing across dark halls, cutting through monsters with weight and rhythm.
His fire had only begun to wake.
And Serenya's party understood, even without words.
After a few moments of silence, Derrick spoke up.
"So, what is the plan. Do we keep following him"
Serenya did not answer immediately. Her eyes stayed on Eron, watching the way he sat there, unbothered, as if the dungeon itself bent around him rather than the other way around.
"For now," she said quietly. "He has no reason to harm us. And we need him."
Garron shifted his weight, shield still planted firm. "You trust him."
"I trust my instincts," Serenya replied. "And my instincts say he is dangerous, yes. But not to us. Not yet."
Liora frowned. "What if that changes."
Serenya's grip on her sword tightened just slightly.
"Then we will deal with it when it happens."
The healer did not look convinced, but she did not argue either.
Opening his mouth, Kaelen closed it again. His eyes stayed on Eron, burning with questions he could not voice.
He had nothing in his hands. Nothing a mage should use to cast something that complex.
How.
Across the alcove, Eron remained still, eyes half-lidded, seemingly unaware of the conversation happening about him.
But Valerica heard every word through his senses.
Her laughter was quiet in his mind, almost a whisper.
"They speak of you as if you are a beast on a leash, Shadow. How amusing."
"Let them talk. As long as they keep moving, it does not matter."
"And if they turn on you."
"They won't."
"So confident."
"Not confidence. Just experience."
Her presence seemed to grin in the shadows of his thoughts.
"Experience killing those who tried."
"Experience knowing when someone will and when they will not."
She laughed again, this time with genuine amusement.
"You read people the way I read fear. How delightful."
He did not respond. His gaze stayed on the flame in his hand, watching it flicker and spin, steady and controlled.
For now.
Minutes passed in silence.
The moss continued to pulse faintly along the walls, casting slow, uneven light across the alcove. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, each drop a reminder of how deep they had climbed from.
Finally, Serenya stood.
"We rest for ten more minutes. Then we move up."
Garron nodded, adjusting his shield. Derrick pocketed his dagger. Liora checked her supplies. The mage finally set his quill aside, rubbing his tired eyes, though he could not stop glancing at Eron.
He kept searching for the clue he must have missed, but nothing made sense.
Eron did not move.
Valerica's voice slid through his thoughts again.
"They are preparing to climb. Closer to the surface. Closer to the light you want."
"I know."
"And you are not worried."
"Should I be."
"Perhaps. The dungeon does not like those who rise."
His hand closed around the flame, snuffing it out.
"Then let it try."
Valerica purred in his mind.
"Good. I was hoping you would say that."
When the ten minutes ended, Serenya gave the signal.
One by one, the party rose to their feet.
Garron lifted his shield. Derrick stretched, rolling his shoulders. Liora slung her pack over her back. The mage gathered his parchment, still muttering formulas under his breath, eyes still lingering on Eron.
And Eron stood last, adjusting his coat, his expression calm.
Serenya glanced at him once more before turning toward the corridor.
"Stay close. We do not know what is ahead."
Eron said nothing.
But he followed.
And Valerica's presence lingered in his shadow, silent but ever watchful.