The walk from the Guild to the Dungeon entrance was quiet compared to the chaos of Orario's streets. Merchants shouted over carts, children ran between alleyways, and the occasional scream rang out, but as they neared the Tower of Babel, the city's noise faded into the hum of magic that radiated from the massive structure.
Kairon's stomach twisted. The Tower loomed above them, impossibly high, its jagged stone staircases spiraling into shadow. Even from the base, he could feel the Dungeon's pull — a low, vibrating hum that seemed to echo in his chest.
This is really happening, he thought, clutching his satchel. There's no turning back now.
Lars led the way up the first flight of stairs, boots heavy against worn stone, each step echoing. Sera and Corin followed closely, Bren weaving slightly, humming quietly under his breath. Kairon's legs felt hollow, each step heavier than the last. The narrow stairwell twisted in ways that made him dizzy, the stone slick from unknown moisture. He kept his eyes on the steps, ignoring the vertigo threatening to unseat him.
Halfway down, Kairon noticed the floor beneath them shivering faintly, as if the stone itself were alive. Tiny bits of debris slid down the stairs. A shallow puddle glinted faintly, warning of slippery footing. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus.
"Don't fall behind," Lars muttered, not looking back.
Kairon's throat tightened. Every breath felt loud in the enclosed stairwell, his pulse echoing in his ears. He tried to steady himself, memorizing the rhythm of the party's movements.
Keep moving. Just survive.
The descent was long. They passed narrow ledges, walls slick with condensation, and gaps that demanded careful stepping. Bren skipped lightly over unstable steps, Corin moved with lazy precision, and Sera's shielded side brushed against the stone as she tested each landing before committing her weight. Lars never faltered, his gait steady, unerring. Kairon could only follow, one cautious step after another, satchel tight against his chest.
Finally, the stairwell ended in a wide chamber. The smell hit him first: damp earth, faint rot, and the unmistakable tang of magic. The faint glow of veins snaked along the walls, casting a ghostly light. The air was cooler here, heavier. Every sound echoed, amplified by the vast, hollow space.
"This is Floor One," Lars said, voice low. "Stay close. Eyes open."
The party advanced cautiously down one of the main tunnels. The walls curved unnaturally, the stone looking less carved than grown, as if the Dungeon itself had decided where paths should run. The faint glow of the veins made shadows dance across every surface, leaving Kairon struggling to judge distance.
Every sound mattered.
The scrape of Sera's blade against her scabbard. The soft tap of Corin's boots as he shifted his weight. Bren humming under his breath, a tuneless thing that crawled under Kairon's skin. Lars's steady tread, deliberate and unshaken, a rhythm that pulled the group forward.
And then came another sound.
A low, wet tearing noise.
Kairon froze, his breath caught in his throat. Ahead, the stone wall bulged like dough under a baker's hand. Cracks split across the surface, glowing faintly before splitting open with a sound like flesh being ripped.
A shape pushed its way out.
The goblin dropped to the floor in a spray of dust and grit, its skin pale green and slick. Its eyes gleamed yellow, too large for its skull, and its crooked teeth clicked as it hissed. A crude blade, no more than sharpened scrap metal, hung in its claws.
Kairon stumbled back a step. His heart hammered in his ears. It wasn't just a story anymore. The Dungeon was birthing monsters before his eyes.
"Goblin," Lars said, calm as naming the weather. His greatsword slid free with a whisper of steel. "Form up."
Sera moved instantly to his side, shield raised. Corin drew and loosed in one smooth motion, the arrow sinking into the goblin's chest. It screeched, staggering, only to be split in half a moment later as Lars's sword came down.
The creature dissolved into motes of black smoke, leaving behind a jagged magic stone glowing faintly amid scraps of hide and bone.
"Collect it," Lars ordered without looking back.
Kairon blinked, realizing they were waiting on him. His hands shook as he crouched, picking up the still-warm stone and slipping it into his satchel. The hide followed, sticky and foul-smelling, making his stomach twist.
"Welcome to the Dungeon," Bren said with a sharp grin. "Don't drop the goods, porter."
Kairon muttered a quiet, "Right," and adjusted the satchel against his shoulder. The weight was real now — proof of death, proof of survival.
They pressed deeper.
Another goblin came soon after. Then two more together, clawing free of the walls with shrieks that echoed through the cavern. Kairon's breath hitched each time, his chest tightening as if the air itself had teeth. But the party moved like they'd done this a hundred times — because they had.
Sera's shield caught blows with bone-jarring thuds. Bren darted in and out of reach, his dagger flashing, leaving red-black trails across green flesh. Corin's arrows flew unerring, each one cutting short a shriek before it became a scream. And Lars… Lars was an avalanche, his sword crushing anything unlucky enough to stand before him.
Kairon followed, collecting stones and scraps with trembling hands, sweat stinging his eyes. The goblins dissolved too quickly, leaving him to grasp at remains before they vanished. It felt like sifting through the ashes of nightmares.
By the time the fifth corpse vanished into smoke, Kairon's satchel was heavy with magic stones. His back ached, his palms burned, but a strange thought wormed its way in as he watched Lars wipe his blade clean.
They were surviving.
Not because of him. Never because of him. But the group lived, and he walked, still breathing, chest rising and falling.
He glanced at the others. Sera's expression remained sharp, focused. Corin looked half-asleep even now, though his quiver hung lighter. Bren licked blood from a cut on his thumb like it was nothing more than spilled wine. And Lars… Lars hadn't changed at all. Stone-faced. Steady.
Kairon tightened his grip on the satchel.
Just survive, he thought again. But the words no longer felt like a curse. Not yet.