Inola glared up at the wall draped in flowery vines, her tail flicking once in irritation. The petals were too perfect—soft lavender and ivory blossoms curling like parchment, completely unbothered by the damp air or creeping moss.
It was the third dead end in the past hour.
She exhaled through her nose, short and sharp. Somewhere behind her, a droplet of water tapped against stone. The echo annoyed her.
"Great," she muttered flatly. "Another wall that smells like perfume and lies."
Her boots were scuffed, her sleeves dust-streaked, and her hands smelled faintly of old copper from the last puzzle gate she'd bypassed. The only thing she had to show for this excursion so far was a single [Shadow Essence Stone] she'd found tucked inside a moss-covered treasure chest—half-buried beneath a staircase that went nowhere.
For her first Essence Stone, it was actually one of the better options. Shadow Essence was, at its core, one of the more versatile essences. Not simply the absence of light, it was the embodiment of secrecy, subversion, stealth, and suppressed emotion.
Where Void represented cosmic nothingness, Shadow was intimate—it knew your name, followed your fears, and stroke not from outside but from within. It physically enhanced the natural affinity for stealth, evasion, and sudden bursts of speed or disappearance. As well as heightened the dexterity and reflexes when in dim lighting or obscured conditions.
Shadow Essence was known to be able to strengthen emotional masking, aura suppression, and internal weaponization of fear. And unlock potential to craft skills that manipulated doubt, paranoia, or internal guilt in others. With illusion and perception control, a person could alter shadows around them into constructs, familiars, weapons, or camouflage. As well as imprint emotions or echoes into shadow.
With one last glare at the wall that was blocking her way, she turned and headed a different way, grumbling about 'stupid mazes' along the way. She activated her [Phantom Veil] skill as she turned a corner. The world dulled. Her presence blinked out like a snuffed flame, and for a moment, she simply wasn't there.
The skill allowed her to erase footprints, breathing, heartbeat, and System trace. She becomes invisible, soundless, and unsensed by most monsters—including boss-level scouts.
Skill Scrolls were consumable artifacts created from refined Essence signatures. When activated, a scroll imprinted a specific skill directly onto a user's System Interface. These were one-time use items unless the scroll was of persistent binding quality which was rare.
Inola obtained her two skill scrolls along with one she rarely ever used when she was five. She was exploring the farthest corner of the orphanage—a place most children avoided. It was a sealed storage room, rarely entered, dust-laced and half-forgotten. The room had once belonged to a retired adventurer who had donated old equipment to the orphanage before vanishing during the early years of the System era.
Behind rusted shelves and beneath a moth-eaten wool cloak, she found a locked blackwood crate—its iron latch half-cracked, weakened with time and moisture. Her nimble fingers pried it open.
Inside, she discovered three intact skill scrolls, preserved in wax-sealed tubes etched with faint glyphs.
[Phantom Veil]. It was wrapped in faded gray silk, its seal waxed with a crescent-shaped emblem. It carried a quiet hum when touched, like the air around it resisted sound
Inola felt an immediate draw to it—an instinctual recognition.
[Sense Danger]. Stored with a beastkin warding talisman beside it, likely a survival tool from the original donor. It was a simple parchment but reinforced with mana-infused thread. Activating it caused a faint tingling in her fingertips.
[Cleanse Touch], aminor utility scroll, was tucked into the corner with no markings. Basic, yet useful, it was designed to cure poisons or infection—likely unused due to rarity of illness in the orphanage, being beast-kin with their natural regeneration and all.
For the past eight years, Inola had trained herself to master those skills.
It was rare—borderline illegal—for third-rate citizens, especially orphans without documented Essences, to possess scrolls of any kind. Let alone to actually use them.
Classes were reserved for those with backing: guild-signed apprentices, sponsored students, or bloodlines tied to noble Essence registries. The System didn't bother watching strays like her. Not closely.
So for her—a no-name, classless beastkin—to own three skills?
It was an anomaly. A quiet rebellion. And one she kept to herself.
No one taught her how to activate a scroll. No one showed her how to move without making noise, how to slow her breath until her heartbeat didn't echo, how to react to the strange pressure that built in the room right before a trap sprung.
She learned by doing. She learned because she had to. Because life treated strays like her like leftovers—forgotten, stepped over, and left to rot unless they proved otherwise.
Inola crouched behind a wall, her body pressed tight to the cool stone as her ears twitched toward the sound of sharp, clipped voices. Human, maybe elven? The sound of steel clashing. The distinct ring of metal striking metal. Someone was fighting.
Her tail stilled. Her breathing flattened.
The [Sense Danger] skill didn't trigger—no immediate threat pressed close—but the air held tension. Real tension. Inola shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. One hand hovered near the pouch where her second Essence Stone should go—once she found it.
For now, she needed to get passed whoever was fighting ahead of her.
Inola narrowed her eyes and prepared to steak pass. 'Let's hope it's not a dungeon monster they are fighting. That would complicate things,' she thought.
With [Phantom Veil] still activated, she moved low, quick but deliberate, weaving between broken pillars and overgrown root-laced stone without so much as a whisper.
Voices grew sharper as she neared—at least three, maybe four. Weapons clashed again, followed by the hiss of spell discharge.
Then came the roar. It was low, guttural, and angry. It shook dust loose from the ceiling and made the floor vibrate beneath her boots.
Inola pressed herself against the crumbling edge of a broken archway and peered through the vines.
She was close enough now to see the party and what they were fighting.
A chitin-armored beast, twice the height of a man and covered in shifting violet plates, lunged toward a silver-haired swordsman. Its limbs ended in jagged claws that glowed faintly with arcane runes, and its head resembled a fused mask of bone and glass—faceless, yet somehow watching. Its every movement left streaks of distorted air, like reality was glitching around its body.
A dungeon-born Warden-class elite, if she had to guess. Mid-floor boss, maybe. The kind that didn't patrol randomly—it guarded something.
One of the adventurers cast a wall of flame, driving the creature back. Another, robed and shielded, shouted orders between breathless chants.
Inola narrowed her eyes, scanning the chamber beyond the fight.
Behind the beast, half-concealed beneath twisted roots and luminous fungal growth, she caught the faint shimmer of something nestled in a shrine alcove—stone cradle, runic base, subtle gleam.
A pedestal. A containment socket. Her second Essence Stone might be sitting right there.
The question was, 'what to do? Should I just sneak pass as the party fights the monster and grab what's inside the containment socket or...' She watched as the group fought the monster. They were a party of five. 'Nobles', she realized. 'Pretty high up in the hiarchy if their gear is anything to go by.' Their leader, if she was correct, was a tall human male with light brown hair wielding a long sword and shield. His armor
She exhaled slowly. 'Perfect,' she thought sarcastically. 'This is definitely complicated.'
But her tail flicked once with anticipation. She had a target.
The question was: what to do? 'Should I just sneak past while the party fights the monster and grab whatever's inside the containment socket, or…'
She narrowed her eyes, watching the group from the cover of broken stone. They were four in total. Well-formed, disciplined in movement, with no wasted spells or panicked shouting. The kind of coordination only drilled teams or nobility-trained elites could manage.
'Nobles,' she realized. 'Pretty high up in the hierarchy, if their gear is anything to go by.'
Her eyes shifted to the one at the front—a tall human male, easily the most commanding presence in the group.
He wielded a long sword and a kite-shaped shield edged in gold. His armor was polished silversteel, embossed with intricate golden patterns that swirled across his chestplate like flame and filigree. A deep crimson sash crossed his hip beneath the plates, matched by the noble sweep of a royal blue cape trailing behind him.
His hair was a tousled shade of light brown, catching the dim dungeon light in soft streaks, and his gaze—sharp and calm—stayed locked on the monster with unwavering focus.
He didn't shout orders. He led by motion. Every parry, every sidestep, every shield block dictated the party's rhythm.
Inola's ears twitched.
'Not just a noble,' she thought. 'A trained commander. Probably a noble house heir.'
She moved her attention to the archer.
They stood slightly behind the front line, feet planted with surgical precision atop a moss-slick stone, every movement fluid and exact. Their long, silver-white hair was tied back in a loose tail, a few strands falling across a sharp, focused face. Piercing green eyes tracked the monster's every twitch, calculating, ready—hungry for the perfect shot.
Their armor was lighter than the swordsman's—sleek, reinforced leather stitched with arcane-threaded seams, dark with green accents and overlaid with silver-laced shoulder guards. Emerald-encrusted fastenings caught the light like forest fireflies, and their bow—a twisted, darkwood longbow reinforced with bone and runes—was nearly silent even when drawn.
They were elven, clearly, and not just any ranger. Judging by their gear, composure, and the resonance of their arrows—an Essence-bound archer, likely with wind or nature affinities. Maybe even spirit-linked.
Inola narrowed her eyes.
'Too fast for a direct run. Too perceptive to slip past unless the veil holds perfectly. Definitely the type who senses out-of-place air.'
She didn't like the odds.
But the containment socket was still there. Glimmering. Waiting.
She weighed her chances.
The swordsman was focused on the monster. The archer was scanning the flanks, protective.
"One step at a time," she muttered in her head, preparing to reposition.
Next was the rogue.
He was positioned off to the side, just far enough from the main fight to avoid drawing attention, yet close enough to strike if the opportunity opened. His presence was subtle—too subtle. If Inola hadn't been trained to watch for unnatural stillness, she might have missed him entirely.
Draped in black and charcoal gray, his armor was light and refined, interwoven with blacksteel filigree that shimmered faintly under the dungeon's ambient glow. A hood cast a deep shadow over his face, but strands of silver hair caught the light like blades, framing his sharp features.
His eyes—when they flicked toward the monster—were a piercing violet, alert and cold. They didn't just observe. They calculated.
A staff rested in his gloved hand, laced with flame-glyph etching, but it wasn't used for casting. No, this rogue didn't deal in direct magic. That weapon was a misdirection—like everything else about him. His aura was restrained, polished, honed into something surgical.
'Disguised spell-rogue,' Inola guessed. 'Or maybe a shadowcaster hybrid. Either way—bad news.'
He hadn't moved much, but Inola noted something critical: he wasn't focused on the monster.
He was watching the battlefield. Watching everyone else.
'He's the safety net,' she realized. If anything unpredictable happens… he's the one who ends it.
Her tail stilled again.
This one, above all, was the threat she'd have to slip past unseen.
And he hadn't noticed her yet. Or at least, he hadn't reacted—whether that meant he hadn't seen her, or he was waiting to see what she would do... Inola wasn't sure.
She turned to the last of the party—and froze.
The girl was stunning.
She stood at the edge of the formation, a quiet shadow wrapped in a dark hooded cloak that veiled her form but couldn't hide the elegance beneath it. Strands of long, steel-gray hair spilled from beneath the hood, framing a pale, refined face that was far too young to wear such an unreadable expression.
Her eyes—crimson, just like Inola's—glowed faintly beneath the shade of the hood, focused yet distant, as if she wasn't just watching the battle... but listening to something deeper.
Eyes that matched Inola's own.
Her features were unmistakably elven—a high elf, judging by the pointed ears, flawless skin, and natural elegance—but she looked no older than Inola. Which was strange.
High elves didn't typically enter dungeons that young. And even if she were a prodigy, the lack of visible strain, the way she held her posture—poised, calm, untouched by fear—wasn't something learned through drills. It was either bred from nobility... or something else entirely.
The girl's armor was ceremonial in design but combat-capable, threaded with gold and adorned with white enamel accents that shimmered with enchantment. A crystal pendant rested against her chest, pulsing in sync with the Essence flow of the room.
'She's not just part of the party,' Inola thought. 'She might be the reason it exists.'
But it wasn't just her beauty or presence that shook Inola. It was the familiarity. Like seeing a reflection of something she hadn't yet become.
Beastkin and elves lived long, even without a Class. Their lifespans outlasted most humans by centuries. But this girl… she looked young, untouched by time, and yet her gaze held a weight that suggested she'd seen far more than her years should allow.
'Who are you…?' Inola wondered, her claws flexing slightly against the stone.
Whatever this girl's role was in the dungeon… it wasn't minor.
And now, Inola had to decide whether to sneak past royalty, steal an Essence right from under the nose of a noble party… Or watch a bit longer and find out what she was truly dealing with.
'So annoying.' Inola's tail flicked in irritation.