Tessia Eralith
The rough stone walls of the descending tunnel pressed close, slick with moisture that glistened in the dim light of Goldberg's hovering mana orb.
My breath came in shallow, rapid bursts, echoing slightly in the confined space. Every fiber of my being thrummed with a raw, almost painful energy. Excitement wasn't the right word; it felt like lightning trapped beneath my skin, crackling along my nerves, making my fingers tingle and my legs feel both light and heavy.
A sidelong glance, cool and assessing, cut through my internal storm. Grey. He moved with that unnerving silence, his presence both anchoring and unsettling. "You seem ecstatic," he observed, his voice flat, devoid of inflection, yet somehow cutting through the tunnel's damp acoustics.
The simple statement unleashed the torrent I'd barely contained. "Of course I am!" The words burst out, louder than intended, bouncing off the rock. I tempered my voice, but the fervor remained, hot and bright. "After this dungeon, I qualify for the A-Class exam! When we will back in Xyrus!" Saying it aloud made it real, tangible.
A-Class wasn't just a rank to me; it was a coronation. The tangible proof, the gleaming trophy I had risked these past months to bring back to Zestier. Back to my family. Images flashed: Mother's gentle surprise, Father's stoic pride carefully unveiled, Grampa's boisterous approval… and Corvis. Always Corvis. His quiet, watchful eyes, the unspoken worry I had seen too often before I left. I needed him to see this. See that his sister hadn't just wandered off; she had forged herself in fire and ice.
"We're almost at the first floor! Positions, Team!" Goldberg's command, sharp and clear, sliced through the anticipation. His usual laid-back grin was gone, replaced by a focused intensity that radiated command. It was easy to underestimate him beneath the careless charm, but moments like this revealed the steel.
We swiftly flowed into formation. Grey, an immovable monolith, anchored the front. Percival and Redson flanked him, readiness palpable. I fell back with Goldberg and Evelyn in the rear guard. My senses stretched out, the rustle of cloth, the scent of damp stone and the strange smell of dried salt from Evelyn's magic.
As we advanced, the tension shifted, coiling tighter. Goldberg, nudged me with his elbow, a ghost of his grin returning.
"So," he murmured, his voice low, barely audible over the scuff of boots, "what's the real story? You and the famous Grey? Traveling partners? More?" His eyebrows waggled suggestively.Heat prickled my cheeks, unrelated to the exertion.
"He's a friend," I stated firmly, keeping my eyes forward on Grey's back, a dark silhouette against the gloom. "And my Master's nephew." That was the simple truth. "Is he really that famous?" I added, genuine curiosity cutting through the slight embarrassment.
"We've been traveling together for three months, but I haven't met many who actually knew him beyond whispers."
Goldberg's eyes widened dramatically. "Knew him? Aria, I thought he was a rumor!" He spread his hands in mock astonishment. "A phantom conjured by bored adventurers swapping tales in taverns after one too many ales!"
Evelyn, her gaze fixed ahead but clearly listening, chimed in softly, her voice carrying a note of reverence. "The stories vary wildly. A shadow that clears B-rank dungeons alone. A swordsman faster than sight. But the constant thread? He always works alone."
She paused and then, finished:
"Until now."
My gaze lingered on Grey's back. Master Cynthia had mentioned his year of adventuring, his meteoric rise. But hearing it framed as legend… it cast our journey in a different light.
I had seen his impossible speed, his chilling efficiency, the way danger seemed to part around him like water. But I had also seen the quiet moments, the way he sometimes stared into campfires with an emptiness that felt vast and cold. What fueled this? What relentless engine drove a lone wolf to such heights in barely a year? What's his secret? The question echoed in the quiet space of my mind as the tunnel floor finally began to level out.
The tunnel spat us out into sudden, startling space. Gone were the close, sweating walls; we stood in a vast, echoing chamber, easily the size of the grand ballroom back in the palace of Zestier. But this was no place for dancing. Smooth, cold marble—unnaturally pale, almost luminous under the strange light—formed the walls, floor, and soaring ceiling.
The blocks were massive, precisely cut, clearly the work of people's hands, not nature. And above… above was magic. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of fist-sized crystals studded the ceiling like little stars, creating constellations I could swear were similar to the ones in the night sky.
They pulsed with a soft, internal radiance, shifting through every hue of the rainbow—sapphire, emerald, ruby, amethyst—bathing the entire cavern in an eerie, beautiful, yet utterly magic glow. Torches or spells were unnecessary here; the room lived in perpetual, shifting twilight. Evelyn's sharp intake of breath mirrored my own awe.
"This dungeon… is used as a quarry too?" she whispered, pointing towards the far wall where discarded picks, chisels, and cracked marble slabs lay scattered like forgotten toys. Goldberg nodded, scanning the perimeter with practiced eyes.
"The Red Gorge marble is famous, Evelyn. Prized. Most adventurer contracts here are escort duty—you know, protecting miners who extract it. But they rarely venture deeper than this first chamber. Too risky." His explanation hung in the strangely still air.
Then, Redson's deep voice, usually steady, held a note of strained tension. "Your lesson is very interesting, Mitch," he rumbled, swiping a thick forearm emcased in steel across his glistening forehead. A single drop of sweat traced a path through the dust on his temple. "But is it just me, or is this room hotter than a summer day?"
The moment he said it, I felt it. The air wasn't just warm; it was thick, oppressive, pressing down like a damp blanket. My own tunic clung to my back. I had dismissed it as exertion from the descent, but Redson was right.
This heat felt… too oppressive. Wrong.
Before anyone could answer, Percival, usually composed, let out a sharp gasp. His rapier trembled slightly as he pointed a shaky finger towards a jagged, secondary tunnel mouth yawning black against the glowing marble. "I… I hear s-something!" he stammered, his voice tight with nascent panic.
The sound hit us a second later. Not footsteps, but a skittering, chittering cacophony, like a thousand knives scraping against stone, growing louder and closer, echoing from the dark maw. It vibrated up through the soles of my boots, setting my teeth on edge.
"BEHEMOTH ANTS!" Redson bellowed, the sound raw and primal. In one fluid, powerful motion, he wrenched the massive greatsword from his back. The blade, easily as tall as I was, caught the shifting rainbow light as he settled into a low, wide stance, muscles bunching beneath his armor.
Adrenaline, cold and sharp, flooded my veins, burning away the oppressive heat in an instant. Training kicked in. My short sword was in my hand, its familiar weight a comfort. Grey was already a statue of readiness beside Redson, his expression unreadable.
Percival, despite his earlier tremor, snapped into a precise fencing posture, rapier gleaming like a needle. Goldberg and Evelyn shifted behind, mana already gathering around them in visible auras—one fiery, one aqueous.
They erupted from the tunnel not like the insects they resembled, but like living siege engines ready to force their way through a city. A dozen, maybe more of them, Behemoth Ants. C-Class mana beasts.
The name didn't do them justice. Each was the size of a large wolf, armored in segmented plates of obsidian chitin that drank in the rainbow light. Their six legs weren't insect limbs; they were similar to scythes—razor-sharp, jointed blades that click-clacked against the marble with terrifying speed and precision.
Tiny, beady eyes glinted with mindless hunger above snapping mandibles capable of shearing stone. Their long, whip-like antennae lashed the air, sensing prey.
The horde didn't just charge; it surged. A chitinous wave of clicking death, shrieking with a sound that scraped bone. They hit our front line like a living avalanche.
CRASH!
The impact was thunderous. Grey became a blur. One moment he was still, the next, a black iron sword—seemingly conjured from nothing, no storage ring, no telltale spatial distortion, just there—was blazing in his grip.
Fire erupted along its length, not the wild blaze of Redson's weapon, but a controlled, searing flame. He moved with impossible economy, each step, each pivot, calculated. His burning sword carved arcs of fire through the gloom.
Shink! Thud! A head, severed clean, bounced on the marble.
Shink! Thud! Another.
He flowed between the lunging ants like smoke, his fiery blade a lethal extension of his will, leaving trails of acrid smoke and twitching carapace.
Beside him, Redson roared. He wasn't finesse; he was raw, elemental force. His flaming greatsword became a whirlwind of destruction. He didn't cut like Grey; he smashed.
WHAM! A sweeping blow caught an ant broadside, shattering chitin and sending the beast spinning into a pillar of marble with a sickening crunch. The flames licking his blade weren't just for show; they hissed when they met chitin, the intense light causing nearby ants to recoil, antennae whipping wildly in confusion.
Percival danced. His lean frame darted and weaved, a deadly hummingbird. His rapier, seemingly too delicate for such monsters, became a piston driven by unseen force—gravity magic, I immediately realized.
With great speed and precision, the point punched through chitin joints, eye clusters, the softer gaps beneath mandibles. Thip! Thip! Thip! Each thrust was accompanied by a faint distortion in the air, a subtle crunch as concentrated force obliterated vital points. Two other Behemoth Ants collapsed mid-lunge, their charge abruptly halted.
"They are photosensitive!" Goldberg yelled from behind me, his voice cutting through the din. "Hit them with light if you can!"
Redson needed no encouragement; his flames flared brighter, becoming a beacon. Goldberg himself gestured sharply. A fist-sized orb of pure, searing white light burst into existence above the fray, hovering like a small furnace. The ants nearest it shrieked, recoiling, their movements becoming erratic, blinded.
But one, shielded by its kin, lunged low and fast, its bladed leg aimed at Percival's undefended back as he recovered from a thrust. My breath caught.
Evelyn reacted fast enough to intervene. A sharp flick of her wrist, and a whip-crack of pressurized water, clear and cold, lashed out from her palm.
SNAP!
It caught the ant mid-lunge, not to injure, but to deflect. The force slammed the creature sideways. It crashed into the marble wall with a sound like breaking pottery, cracks spiderwebbing across the pale stone where its chitin impacted.
My turn! The thought that surfaced was pure instinct.
Grampa Virion's lessons, the grueling hours mastering control, surged within me. I didn't think; I acted.
Planting my feet firmly, I raised my free hand, fingers splayed towards the stunned ant struggling to right itself against the cracked wall. Mana surged, drawn from my core, compressed and focused with a will honed by ambition and the need to prove myself. The air before my palm warped, shimmering with contained power.
"Air Piercer!"
The incantation ripped from my throat, sharp and clear. Not a shout, but a command. The compressed bullet of air tore free with a vicious CRACK-PHOOM! It wasn't a blast; it was a lance.
It crossed the distance in an eyeblink, striking the ant's thorax with devastating force.
KRA-KOOM!
The dense carapace didn't crack; it exploded inward. A dinner-plate sized hole vaporized through the beast, spraying fragments of obsidian chitin and viscous, dark ichor across the pristine marble. The ant collapsed, instantly still, a gaping ruin where its midsection had been. The recoil vibrated up my arm, a satisfying jolt of pure power.
I whirled, adrenaline singing in my blood, seeking the next threat. But the cacophony was dying. The last ant, disoriented by Goldberg's blinding light orb, staggered blindly. Redson, seeing the opening, stepped in with a grunt. His greatsword, still trailing flames, descended in a brutal, two-handed crescent arc.
THUNK! It cleaved the creature cleanly in half from head to abdomen. The two halves thudded wetly onto the marble, twitching for a second before falling still.
"Good job, Team," Goldberg's voice cut through the lingering ozone and ichor stench, warm but carrying an undercurrent of command. He scanned the shadowed tunnel leading deeper. "Hopefully, we've cleared the tunnels, but better safe than sorry. Keep your guards up." His usual grin was absent, replaced by focused intensity. "Onwards!"
A collective, tense nod. No cheers, no banter. The rainbow glow of the marble chamber faded behind us as we plunged into the next descending artery of stone. The air grew heavier, damper, the coolness of the marble replaced by the primal scent of deep earth and unseen water. Each step downward resonated with a new kind of weight—the weight of depth, of distance from the sky. I estimated we were a hundred meters down, maybe more.
The silence stretched, thick and uneasy, broken only by our own measured breathing. Then, Evelyn's voice, hesitant but burning with curiosity, pierced it. "Grey? May I ask… what magic did you use earlier? That sword… appearing like that?"
Silence. Grey moved ahead, a silent shadow against the tunnel's gloom, offering no answer, not even a glance.
I forced a lightness I didn't feel. "I tried prying answers out of him for three months straight, Evelyn. He's a vault. He likes his secrets buried even deeper than we are right now."
I hoped for a flicker of amusement, a hint of the person beneath the legend. He simply nodded, his voice flat, final.
"That's true. I prefer keeping my secrets." The dismissal was absolute, cold. Even Corvis, I thought with a pang of unexpected homesickness, tense as he is, at least reacts. His stoicism cracks in funny ways. Grey's is a fortress.
"Oh. I… I respect that. Sorry for prying." Evelyn apologized amd fell back, putting more space between herself and his impenetrable aura.
The descent steepened momentarily, the tunnel walls pressing closer, slick with condensation. Percival's voice, thin with anxiety, shattered the renewed quiet. "H-how many floors are there in this dungeon?"
"Three main chambers," Redson rumbled from the front, his voice echoing slightly as the passage abruptly widened. "We are approaching the second."
We emerged into another cavern, smaller than the first marble chamber, roughly oval-shaped. But the sight that greeted us wasn't marble or crystals. It was carnage.
"B-bodies?!" Percival choked out, freezing mid-step.
Goldberg shouldered past Redson, peering into the gloom. "Bodies? Are those… Behemoth Ants? Already dead?"
We advanced cautiously into the oval chamber. It wasn't just dead ants; it was a butcher house. Dozens of Behemoth Ant carcasses littered the uneven stone floor, piled haphazardly near gaping holes in the walls and ceiling.
But these weren't slain by swords or spells. Their obsidian carapaces weren't shattered; they were pierced. Huge, ragged holes punctured thoraxes and abdomens, the edges splintered outward as if something massive and brutally sharp had punched through them from the inside. Like something had drilled into them.
A sickening, coppery tang, older and fouler than the fresh ichor from our fight, hung thick in the damp air.
"I don't like this," Redson growled, his knuckles white on his greatsword's hilt. He scanned the shadowed holes, each one a potential maw. "We are the only adventurers here, right?"
Evelyn's voice was tight. "The last party cleared their contract a month ago. If anyone else is down here… they've been here far too long."
"Let's investigate," Goldberg said, his usual carefree tone strained thin. He took a step towards the nearest pile of shattered chitin.
Grey's hand shot out, clamping on Goldberg's clothes with surprising force, stopping him. His head was tilted, his entire body rigid, listening to something beyond our hearing. His expression, usually impassive, was etched with a sudden, chilling alertness.
"Grey?" Goldberg asked, confusion warring with dawning apprehension.
I felt it too, then. A prickle on my skin that had nothing to do with the damp cold. A vibration, deep and low, resonating through the stone beneath our feet.
Grey opened his mouth, his voice sharp, urgent:
"We should hea—"
The sentence was obliterated.
A roar tore through the cavern, a sound that defied any description I could make—the shriek of a colossal eagle fused with the guttural bellow of a world lion, amplified a hundredfold within the confined stone.
"HOLD ON TO SOMETHING!" Grey's shout was barely audible over the deafening echoes.
Then the world moved. Not a tremor—a convulsion. The entire dungeon heaved like a living beast. The floor bucked violently, throwing us off balance. Stone groaned, a tortured symphony of cracking and grinding. I stumbled, my dagger clattering from my nerveless fingers. Instinct screamed.
Roots! I slammed my palm against the shuddering wall, pouring mana into a desperate command. Thick, gnarled vines erupted from cracks in the stone, wrapping around my waist and forearm, anchoring me just as the section of tunnel we'd emerged from collapsed with a thunderous BOOM.
"We have no time to head back!" Goldberg's voice, raw with panic, cut through the chaos. "Go! Inside the room! NOW!"
There was no choice. The way back was gone, buried under tons of rock. We scrambled, stumbled, lunged deeper into the oval death chamber just as another section of ceiling near the entrance crashed down, sealing us in with the shattered ant corpses and the unseen horror.
Before we could draw breath, the second roar came. Closer. Angrier. It was answered by another violent upheaval of the earth. The cavern walls seemed to breathe, bulging inward. Massive chunks of rock sheared away from the ceiling.
"Evelyn! ABOVE YOU!" I screamed, my voice tearing my throat. A boulder the size of a carovan plummeted towards her where she crouched near a pile of carapaces.
She reacted with desperate grace, twisting, hands thrusting upward. A torrent of water, compressed to diamond hardness, shrieked from her palms. It met the falling rock in a spray of pulverized stone and mist.
The boulder split cleanly in two, the halves crashing harmlessly to either side of her. She gasped, her face pale as chalk.
"We are going to be buried alive!" Redson groaned, swinging his greatsword uselessly at the raining debris, his voice thick with urgency.
"Yeah, I see it!" I retorted, the sarcasm a flimsy shield against the rising tide of pure, icy fear. My roots held, but the wall they clung to was vibrating dangerously.
Corvis… Mom… Dad… Grampa... The faces flashed, bright and painful against the encroaching darkness.
Grey's voice, astonishingly calm amidst the bedlam, cut through the panic. "The holes!" He pointed at the dark, gaping tunnels riddling the chamber walls. "We have to get inside one! Kapani! Use your magic! Which one stretches furthest?"
Percival, trembling violently, dropped to his knees, pressing both palms flat against the heaving floor. His eyes screwed shut, his gravity magic reaching out, sensing mass, density, void. "T-that one!" he shrieked, pointing a shaking finger at a hole near the base of the far wall. "The second from the bottom! It… it feels deep!"
"GO!" Goldberg roared, shoving Redson towards the indicated tunnel. "MOVE!"
The room was disintegrating. The roar came again, impossibly loud, shaking dust from every surface. It felt like the mountain itself was roaring. I tore my anchoring roots free, scrambling towards the dark opening Percival had indicated. Redson plunged in first, a mountain of fear and muscle. Grey practically threw Percival in after him. I lunged, stumbling over a shattered carapace, the sharp edge scraping my leg.
Behind me, Goldberg was shouting, hauling Evelyn towards the tunnel. She had been furthest, recovering from the boulder almost hitting her. They were almost there, hands outstretched, faces etched with desperate hope.
Then, with a sound like the world ending, the entire section of ceiling above the chamber's center collapsed. A cataract of rock, dust, and darkness crashed down, an avalanche contained within stone walls. I landed hard on rough stone, the breath knocked from my lungs.
Redson's bellow of pure anguish echoed in the confined space behind me: "MITCH! EVELYN!"
Percival was curled into a ball, sobbing silently. Grey stood rigid at the tunnel entrance, peering back into the impenetrable, choking cloud of dust that filled the chamber we'd just fled. The roaring had stopped, replaced by an eerie, suffocating silence, broken only by the settling groan of rock and the frantic hammering of my own heart.
The dust slowly began to settle within our cramped tunnel, revealing the horrifying truth: the entrance was completely blocked. A solid wall of rubble, immense and unmovable, separated us from the oval chamber. From Goldberg. From Evelyn.
I didn't realize I was trembling until I tried to push myself up. My hands shook violently against the stone floor. My leg throbbed where the carapace had cut me. The air tasted of pulverized rock and despair. The invincible shield of traveling with Grey had been shattered.
Death wasn't a story; it was a crushing weight of stone, a stifling cloud of dust, and the echoing silence where comrades' voices should have been.
Corvis, the thought screamed in my mind, sharp with a longing that bordered on physical pain. I would really want to be with you and our family now.