Elijah
Royal palace
Pandemonium City, the Capital city
Hudsonia Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
December 6th 6414
After leaving Father's chamber—still reeling from the weight of his declaration that I was to be his intended heir—I found myself walking toward my brother's wing of the palace. I wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe I wanted someone to talk to. Maybe I just needed to see the look on his face when he realized what had just happened. Or maybe, deep down, I wanted his approval—something he rarely offered.
Isaiah, my elder brother, held the position of Director of Defense. Technically, that meant he should've been stationed at the Nicodemus Command Post, overseeing the Royal Military's strategic operations. But Isaiah had a habit of bending protocol when it suited him. Instead of remaining at his post, he had converted the eastern wing of the palace into his personal command center—half office, half war room. I always assumed he did it to remain close to Father. Proximity, after all, often meant influence.
I approached the heavy door at the end of the corridor and knocked twice before entering. As I stepped into his sanctum, I was met with a scene of controlled chaos.
The space was dimly lit by wall-mounted glowpanes, their golden light flickering over shelves stacked with scrolls, data-slates, and half-opened tomes. Several holo-maps hovered mid-air, each displaying real-time updates of troop deployments, regional alerts, and mana field fluctuations. Charts were pinned to the walls with red threads connecting different territories—battle simulations in progress, no doubt. Empty mugs and mana battery cores littered the long, metal desk, and near the corner, a battered longsword leaned against the wall like a silent sentry.
Isaiah stood in the center of it all, his coat off and sleeves rolled up, hunched over a glowing interface. He didn't look up when I entered, but I could tell—he knew it was me.
"Elijah," he said without turning. His voice was calm, clipped, and full of calculation. "To what do I owe the visit? You never come here unless something's wrong."
His tone carried no malice, just cool detachment—the way generals speak when they're too busy for politics but know they can't escape it. I stepped forward, not sure what I was going to say, only that I needed to say something.
He looked like he was scrambling through a stack of data scrolls, the furrow in his brow deepening with every flick of his fingers. A look of barely restrained distress was etched across his face. Even though Isaiah always tried to mask his emotions behind cold efficiency, I could read him better than most. My brother was unraveling—and trying hard to hide it.
"Why weren't you at the meeting?" I asked, stepping further into the room. "Father kicked everyone out after Zellux declared independence."
Isaiah didn't even glance up. "Did he now?" he muttered, voice thin with sarcasm. "As you can see, Elijah, I don't exactly have the luxury of time to sit in on Father's theatrics."
"Busy doing what?" I said, letting my eyes sweep across the room. It struck me then—his command staff was nowhere to be seen. Normally, a handful of aides would be buzzing around this place, feeding him updates or relaying orders.
"Where's your staff?"
"They're at the Nicodemus base," Isaiah snapped. His hand trembled slightly as he gripped a scroll, and in a sudden flare of frustration, he hurled it to the floor. "Damn it!"
I bent down and picked it up, noting the classified sigils still glowing faintly across its surface. "What's going on, Isaiah?" I asked, my voice calmer now.
"I... I can't tell you," he said, turning away. His tone wasn't angry this time—just tired. Resigned. "You'll just run off to Father like you always do."
That stung more than I expected.
"You think that's why I'm here?" I said, gripping the scroll tightly. "After everything that just happened... I came here because I thought you'd want to know."
Isaiah didn't respond. His shoulders remained stiff, unmoving—like a statue trying not to crack.
"There's been a data breach at the Nicodemus base," Isaiah finally admitted, his voice low and tight. "Some highly sensitive intel was stolen from our network archives."
"What?" I said, my heart skipping a beat. My mind instantly raced to him—the informant I'd hired to infiltrate the Nicodemus network. The one who fed me the information... the one I had to kill. Thank the Divine Mother, I silenced him when I did.
"When exactly did this happen?" I asked, trying to keep my tone steady.
"Months ago," Isaiah said, running a hand through his hair. "But there was no alert. No tripwire, no anomaly in the standard scans. Whoever did this covered their tracks—cleanly. We only discovered the breach a week ago. Since then, we've been scrambling to assess the damage."
He let out a shaky breath. "And I still don't know how far the leak goes. Or what was taken."
"How did you even find out?" I asked, watching the frustration still lingering in Isaiah's eyes.
"The Enchantress," he muttered.
That damn vixen. Always slinking around the edges of everything, pulling strings with a smile. What is she up to now? I thought.
"Her gut's as sharp as ever," Isaiah continued, rubbing his temple. "She said she had a 'feeling' something was off. Just like that. No proof, no anomalies, nothing—just intuition. She demanded to audit our network archives and insisted on a full inspection of our data integrity protocols."
"And you let her?" I asked, brows raised.
"I didn't have a choice. You know what she's like. Once she sinks her teeth into something, she doesn't let go." He sighed. "She brought one of her tech specialists. Some young prodigy. It was he who discovered the breach, buried deep in the backup sublayer. If she hadn't intervened, we'd still be blind."
I crossed my arms, uneasy. If the Enchantress was sniffing around, it meant one of two things: either she was looking to score political leverage… or she already suspected something far more dangerous.
"You know, for something like this, R.E.T.U. has to be involved," I said, keeping my tone level.
Isaiah scoffed before I even finished. "I knew you'd say that. Can't help yourself, can you? Always trying to score points with Father—just leave me in the dust."
"It's not about that," I said calmly. "It's about protocol."
"Protocol?" he snapped, stepping closer. "Since when has your lazy ass ever cared about protocol?"
I didn't flinch. "Since a national security breach showed up on your watch and you decided to hide it."
Isaiah's eyes widened at my words—as if I'd just betrayed him. I could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened, how the accusation hit deeper than it should have. And maybe it did sting. It wasn't that I didn't love my brother. I did. But love didn't always translate to understanding.
Especially not between us.
Maybe it was our differences—too much pride, too many unspoken resentments—but Isaiah and I had never gotten along. Still, knowing full well this entire situation was my fault made my words cut sharper. I was fanning the flame that would get him scorched by Father, and part of me hated that I didn't stop myself.
"I wanted to tell Father..." Isaiah finally said, sinking into his chair like the weight of it all had just landed. "But the Enchantress… she advised against it. Said with the Zellux and Xibalba situation, pushing this onto him would only crack the crown further."
He looked up at me, and for the first time in a while, I saw the uncertainty behind his usual bravado. "I listened to her."
"Is that so," I murmured, folding my arms. The Enchantress. That viper always had her own games. Still, if she told Isaiah to hide this, it complicated everything. "Well, that means my department won't be involved. Not officially, at least."
Isaiah blinked. "Wait… really?"
"Fine," I said, turning toward the door. "But you have until I return from the Dungeon to tell Father the truth yourself. We can't keep him in the dark forever, Isaiah. Not about this."
Isaiah exhaled like the tension had momentarily eased, though the guilt still lingered in his voice. "Right. I understand."
He paused, then added quietly, "Thanks, Elijah."
I didn't answer. Just gave him a final look before walking out.
****
With the amount of time Father had ordered me to spend inside the Dungeon, it was clear I wouldn't have the capacity to fulfill my duties as Director of R.E.T.U. So, I delegated command to my Assistant Director—a man I barely interacted with, truth be told. Most of my department's affairs were managed by Stephen Macros, my secretary and right-hand in all but name. She attended the daily meetings, reviewed the security reports, and liaised with the other departments while I played politics—or, more often than not, dodged it.
Steph would be accompanying me into the Dungeon. I insisted on it. Part of me was curious—perhaps more than I'd like to admit. She'd mentioned her military background in passing, but it didn't quite add up. Her calm, collected demeanor… her efficiency… it all pointed to someone beyond the typical Manaborn human. And I wanted to know what exactly she was.
The Dungeon's location was not public knowledge. Only members of the Ashtarmel lineage and their highest-ranking vassals were privy to its existence. Access to it required a very specific route—one that couldn't be taken by ordinary staff through the general-use Hyperfold Gate in the Palace courtyard.
No.
To reach the Dungeon, one had to pass through the sealed Sanctum Foldgate, hidden beneath the Palace's inner sanctum. It was a place even most nobles didn't know existed. Only those summoned by royal edict were allowed entry—and even then, only after a full spiritual and genetic verification. A barrier of blood and legacy, guarding a treasure hoard most would destroy a nation just to get to it.
And now, it would be my training ground. My crucible. And Steph would be right there beside me, every step of the way.
Steph didn't look pleased when I told her she'd be accompanying me. In fact, she looked like someone whose last hope for a quiet week had just been ripped from her grasp and thrown into the sun. I could almost hear the groan she didn't voice. A part of me suspected she'd assumed that my departure into the Dungeon meant she'd finally be free of my constant presence, at least for a while.
Unfortunately for her, I had other plans.
She was my secretary—more than that, my handler in many ways—and whether I was on the surface or buried in some ancient ruin beneath the Palace, she would be with me. That was the arrangement. The position came with little rest and fewer boundaries.
We stood side by side in the elevator capsule, a sleek obsidian tube inlaid with glowing sigils that hummed with restrained power. This elevator wasn't part of the standard palace infrastructure—it was one of the hidden pathways, built directly into the foundation of the central spire, descending deeper than most civilians or even nobles knew existed. Only those with Ashtarmel blood or direct authorization could access this descent into the Sanctum.
As we dropped steadily, the lights outside the capsule blurred past in flashes of gold and white. A silent tension hung between us.
Steph was clad in full combat attire, and so was I. Our armor was not the ceremonial kind worn for military reviews or noble parades. This was battlefield-grade, crafted by the Royal Forgemasters, etched with mana-dampening sigils and layered with elemental resistance. Sleek, metal-plated suits designed for maneuverability, reinforced with enchanted alloys that could stop high-grade magic blasts and most kinetic strikes.
Her gear was more form-fitted, built for speed and tactical agility. Mine favored impact absorption and mana channeling—designed to match the requirements of my fighting style.
"You really don't want me to have a break from you, do you?" Steph muttered, finally breaking the silence. Her tone was dry, edged with annoyance, but not without a touch of resigned humor.
"You knew what this job entailed when you signed up," I replied. "Besides, I thought you'd be curious. This Dungeon isn't just a prison—it's a legacy vault."
She crossed her arms. "Curious, yes. Suicidal, no."
I smirked.
The elevator shuddered slightly as it passed through an energy veil—one of the last security layers before reaching the Sanctum. The air shifted. Heavier. Denser. Older.
"Too late to back out now," I said, glancing at her.
She met my gaze with a faint glare, then sighed. "Next time, just leave me a resignation scroll and a fruit basket."
I chuckled. Even irritated, Steph was reliable.
And I had the feeling I'd need that reliability down there.
The elevator finally landed with a soft thrum, its reinforced doors sliding open to reveal the hidden depths beneath the Palace.
You'd think that for a place meant to be top secret—restricted to only the highest-ranking members of the Ashtarmel lineage and their most trusted vassals—this lower sanctum would be a quiet, desolate bunker. But it wasn't. Not by a long shot.
The area around the Sanctum Foldgate buzzed with activity, a concealed city hidden beneath the foundation of the empire. A sprawling, self-contained hub of power and preparation, built directly around the Dungeon's entrance. It reminded me of a military village—one carved out of steel, stone, and mana-bound light.
Multi-tiered infrastructure sprawled throughout the cavernous space. Elevated bridges connected watchtowers and command posts. Barracks, armories, forgemaster workshops, intel centers, and even recovery stations were tucked into reinforced alcoves carved into the walls. Pipes carrying condensed mana lines snaked across the ceilings, channeling energy toward the Foldgate Nexus.
Warriors in full combat regalia moved with purposeful discipline—members of R.E.T.U's elite divisions, and veterans from the Royal Military assigned to guard the Dungeon perimeter. Many of them bore insignias of clearance or division markers. I spotted several that outranked even generals in the outside world.
And then there were the Ascendants.
Some of them radiated pressure so intense it bent the air around them. High-level cultivators affiliated with the Ashtarmel family—men and women who had surpassed the Master realm long ago. They walked among the others like demigods cloaked in mortal skin. Their mere presence was a statement: We are the final wall between this world and what lies within.
Steph's gaze swept over the scene, her brow furrowing. "This… doesn't feel like a support station," she said. "It feels like a battlefield staging ground."
"It's both," I replied. "The Dungeon isn't just any ordinary Dungeon. This is one of the few special-grade Dungeons in the world. It's a living anomaly. What lies within isn't entirely under our control—only contained. The Foldgate has to be protected at all times."
She nodded, silently taking in the magnitude of the place. Her posture straightened slightly—combat instincts kicking in.
As one stepped further into the sanctum's heart, one could see the shimmering Foldgate that pulsed like a vertical lake of molten light, encased within a spire-like support tower. Guard posts surrounded it in a tight formation, and floating rune drones hovered silently, scanning every soul that drew near.
This was it. The threshold between our world and something far older, far deeper.
And we were walking straight into it.
The moment I stepped out of the elevator, four Ascendant warriors materialized in front of us with a flash of movement so swift it barely stirred the air. They dropped to one knee, fists crossed over their hearts, their eyes lowered in perfect synchronicity.
"We greet thee, Your Highness," they intoned in unison.
To them, I wasn't just their superior as Director of R.E.T.U. I was royalty—their Prince. And unlike the usual soldiers who saluted with discipline out of duty, the Royal Guard bowed with reverence born from blood oath and indoctrination.
They wore matching combat uniforms: sleek, mana-threaded bodysuits reinforced with enchanted armor plating. But their features were far from uniform.
Two of them were Vampires—one male, one female. Classic Bloodline Aesthetics: jet-black hair, ghost-pale skin, and crimson eyes that glowed faintly even in the luminescent sanctum light. Both had expressions carved from marble—stoic, unreadable.
The third was human. Brown hair tied back in a tactical knot, dark skin marked with battle scars, and sharp green eyes that gleamed with unwavering focus. A seasoned warrior, no doubt selected for loyalty and discipline.
The fourth… I hesitated.
I couldn't place her race. Not from her features, nor her aura. Her skin was iridescent, her eyes shimmered with layered hues like fractured gemstones, and her hair cascaded in silver-black coils that seemed to subtly change texture in the light.
When you couldn't identify someone's race in the Ashtarmel court, it usually meant one thing—they were a Mixbreed. And not just any kind. This one reeked of high lineage. Refined, dangerous, and rare.
Steph caught my lingering glance and leaned in, her voice low. "She's a Daemon-Fey hybrid. I think she was recruited from the northern fronts."
Interesting. That explained the constantly shifting energy signature surrounding her like a living mist.
Daemons—like the Fey—was a catch-all term for a collection of lesser-known or exiled Manaborn species. They didn't belong to any of the dominant racial clans, which often made them unpredictable. Yet one trait unified most Daemons: their affinity for the darkness and shadow elements.
And unlike standard Manaborn, Daemons were born with access to Accursed Mana—a twisted, volatile branch of mana few dared to wield. The Fey, on the other hand, were often attuned to spirit, nature, illusion, and chaos. Merging both bloodlines in one body? That was a cocktail of metaphysical power few could survive—let alone control.
No wonder her aura felt so potent. It didn't just radiate strength. It pulsed with layered intent.
"Keep an eye on her," I said under my breath.
Steph nodded. "Already am."
"Rise," I commanded.
They obeyed, standing in unison—and with them, their auras surged upward like tidal waves pressing against the boundaries of the chamber. Each of them had already surpassed the Awakening stage. They were Grandmasters—cultivators who had walked through fire and silence to earn their place in the higher echelons of Ascension.
A flicker of curiosity tugged at me.
What did it feel like to be a Harmonizer? To have soul, body, and energy harmonized as one? My thoughts drifted to Leonel Lionheart, the human I had encountered in Kettlia. Just remembering the sheer gravity of his presence… I shook my head, clearing away the lingering sense of inferiority that tried to coil around me.
Focus.
The male Vampire stepped forward. Judging by his bearing and the subtle respect shown by the others, he was their captain.
"We've arranged a strategy chamber, Your Highness," he said with a crisp formality. "There, we can discuss tactical options before entering the Dungeon."
"Is that so?" I said, folding my hands behind my back. "Very well. Lead the way, Captain…"
"M'rael," he replied, bowing his head slightly.
"Very well then, Captain M'rael," I said, gesturing for him to proceed. "Take us there."
And with that, the Royal Guard turned in formation, guiding us deeper into the heart of the underground sanctum.
****
The strategy chamber was carved from black obsidian stone, polished to a mirror sheen. Mana-powered lanterns floated at each corner, casting soft azure light across the long rectangular table in the center. Crystal projectors, embedded into the walls, flickered to life as we entered, displaying a live map of the Dungeon's known layers.
Steph and I took our seats while the four Royal Guards remained standing, with M'rael stepping forward to the table's head. He placed a command crystal into the table's slot, and the map shimmered, reorganizing to show a three-dimensional projection of the lower floor.
"This," M'rael said, voice crisp and deliberate, "is what we call the lower Floor. Unlike standard Dungeons that contain a preliminary or 'tutorial' level, this Dungeon lacks such a luxury. It was not designed for gradual exposure or adaptive combat scenarios. Every level is hostile. The moment you descend, you enter a battlefield."
Steph furrowed her brow. "So no calibration floor. That's... unusual."
"It's not unusual," M'rael replied. "It's intentional. This Dungeon was never meant for mass military trials or public training purposes. It's a legacy vault—probably crafted by the Ashtarmel ancestors to temper bloodlines and bury secrets. There are regions here that haven't been explored in over a thousand years."
"And the lower floors?" I asked, eyeing the swirling projections of jagged terrain and heat zones.
"Occupied by Shedim," M'rael answered. A subtle tension filled the air at the mention of the name. Even the other Guards straightened.
"Shedim," Steph echoed. "Those are low-tier, aren't they?"
"Yes," M'rael said. "Technically, they're classified as low-tier Mana Beasts due to their energy output and physical durability. However—" he tapped the crystal, and a new display appeared: a swarm of lanky, multi-limbed creatures with eyeless faces and shadow-bending bodies, "—they are deceptive. What they lack in brute power, they make up for in intelligence, coordination, and adaptability. Shedim operate in clusters, often forming pseudo-hives, mimicking the behavior of higher-tier beasts."
"And they use tactics," I murmured.
M'rael nodded. "Yes. They ambush. Flank. Lure targets into traps. If left unchecked, a cluster of six Shedim can overrun even a Master-level team if they're unprepared. And unfortunately for us… the lower floors are teeming with them."
He gestured again, this time revealing mana-signature clusters across the projected map—nearly every major path was crawling with blue dots.
"Wonderful," I muttered, sitting back. "So we're walking into a pit of sentient hyenas."
"They also feed on spiritual essence," M'rael added grimly. "Their claws tear not just flesh, but soul-matter. Which means your healing abilities are pretty much useless if you can't heal from soul attacks."
Steph crossed her arms. "And no one thought to purge them?"
"We've tried," the female Vampire Guard spoke up. "But they multiply. And worse, they remember."
"Remember?" I asked.
"They recognize faces. Forms. Aura types," M'rael said. "There have been cases where veterans who survived a previous descent were hunted more aggressively on a return dive. Some believe the Shedim carry generational memory."
I exhaled sharply and leaned forward, resting both elbows on the table. "So we're going in knowing we'll be outnumbered, surrounded, and targeted. And this is just the lower floor?"
"Yes, Your Highness," Captain M'rael replied. "The lower floor is divided into seven distinct terrains, each teeming with Shedim. The first terrain is overrun by hordes of them—vicious and relentless. As you descend through each terrain, the numbers thin, but the individual Shedim become far more dangerous. By the time you reach the seventh terrain, you're dealing with apex predators—solitary Shedim that don't need a pack. They're stronger, smarter, and in some cases… sentient."
I rubbed a hand down my face. "And my father expects me to stay down here for four months."
Steph leaned forward, arms crossed. "What about the middle and upper floors? Are they any more manageable?"
"The middle floor," M'rael began, tapping the table to shift the map display, "is where most of our military units are stationed. It's where they farm essence stones, mana crystals, etheric shards—resources critical to our war efforts and cultivation programs. The terrain there is vast, sprawling like an open world. We've mapped out several settlements, outposts, and even local ecosystems. But despite years of occupation, we've only explored a portion of it."
"And the upper floor?" I asked.
M'rael's gaze turned serious. "No one has reached the upper floors in centuries. Access is sealed by ancient wards, likely left behind by the founding members of House Ashtarmel. The only known records of anyone reaching the upper floors come from the journals of past elders—some of whom never returned."
Steph frowned. "So this Dungeon is not just a resource vault. It's a fortress. A proving ground."
"Exactly," M'rael said. "And you, Prince Elijah, are being asked to endure its trials… for reasons we can only speculate." I leaned back, letting the weight of it settle. This wasn't a trial. It was a crucible. And I would walk into it with eyes wide open.