"You're back!" chirped the familiar voice of Linnea, the North Duchy Adventurer's Guild receptionist, as the heavy double doors creaked open to let in the snow-booted quartet.
Inside, the guild hall glowed with warm lamplight and steady noise. Adventurers moved between long tables and bulletin boards, armor clinking and orders shouted in every direction. It was the heart of the region's untamed spirit—and at its center stood four familiar figures.
Alaric Durnhart stepped forward, brushing snow from his coat, his breath visible in the chill that lingered just inside the stone building.
Behind him followed Rusk, Kaela, and Teren—tired, a little bloodied, but standing tall.
Linnea leaned over the polished oak counter, grinning. "Frost Bear, right? How'd it go?"
"It didn't die easy," Rusk said, dropping a fur-marked satchel with a solid thump. "But it died."
"It scratched up my armor," Kaela added, crossing her arms. "That was my best set!"
Teren gave a wry smile as he adjusted the bow slung across his shoulder. "You dodged late. Again."
Kaela rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut up."
Linnea laughed, stamping their mission scroll with a warm clack of approval. "Still, congratulations. That's your first silver-ranked monster hunt, and you didn't lose a limb."
"We're getting better," Alaric said with a small, proud smile. His eyes were tired, but a flicker of quiet confidence shone behind them.
"And stronger," Linnea replied with a wink, "Maybe soon you'll even give the veterans reason to sweat."
Kaela puffed her cheeks in mock pride. "You hear that? Better than chickens and stolen goats."
Teren chuckled, while Rusk gave her a light punch on the shoulder. "Let's not get cocky. Silver rank doesn't mean immortal."
The group shared an easy laugh, basking in the quiet satisfaction of a job well done.
Days passed like falling snow. Seasons blurred.
The four adventurers rose steadily—through training, battle, and long days on the road. From frost-covered foothills to monster-infested woods, they accepted missions, built camaraderie, and bled side by side.
They were no longer just promising recruits. Their names appeared frequently on the guild board—scrawled in praise or warnings, depending on who was reading.
Two years passed.
Now at thirteen, Alaric Durnhart bore the eyes of someone older—less from age, more from the accumulation of lived experience. His Knight Rank had climbed to 3, and he now wielded his Dark Magic (Rank 2) with disciplined control. His Shadow Step was no longer a surprise trick—it was a weapon.
The Equinox Flame, slumbering within him, remained quiet. A heartbeat buried beneath others.
Kaela Linth and Teren Voss—each now Knight Rank 2—had grown leaner, faster, more refined. Kaela's footwork and parry skills had become fluid. Teren's marksmanship—precise and dangerous.
Rusk Halden, the brawler of the group, stood equal to Alaric in strength now—Knight Rank 3 and Fire Mage Rank 2. His flames, once wild bursts, now obeyed his will with sudden, violent clarity.
But things were about to change.
It was dusk, and golden light poured through the tall windows of the guild. Lanterns swayed gently, warming the board-lined mission chamber. Adventurers came and went, some tired, others eager for coin.
Alaric stood near the central board, eyes scanning the parchment list while Kaela leaned beside him.
"Can't believe this is my last one before I leave for the capital," he murmured.
Kaela sighed, arms crossed. "You're really doing it, huh? Arcanum Academy. Big halls, fancy spells."
"You jealous?" he teased.
"A little," she grinned. "But not too much. You'll be stuck memorizing textbooks while we're out here building legends."
Rusk walked up, overhearing. "Try not to come back wearing powdered wigs and quoting philosophy."
Alaric laughed. "No promises."
Teren joined them last, tugging his scarf loose. "Just make sure you write. Or better—bring home some rich noble girl."
"Shut up," Alaric groaned, face going pink.
Kaela raised a hand. "All in favor of teasing him about romance for the next hour?"
All hands rose.
But the banter stopped when the front doors creaked again—and three figures stepped inside.
At their lead was a man with a proud posture, fur-lined cloak, and armor reinforced with woven gold threading. His hair was short and black, and a longsword strapped to his hip bore the symbol of the Adventurer's Guild inlaid with thunder runes.
He moved to the guild's central podium and unrolled a sealed parchment.
When he spoke, his voice carried authority.
"My name is Garron Thale," he announced, "Knight Rank 7, Lightning Mage Rank 3. I lead the Gold Team known as Falcon's Edge."
The crowd quieted.
"We've discovered a sealed dungeon site west of Brelmore Ridge. Spirit energy surges have been detected, along with signs of corruption. This mission will involve full dungeon exploration and potential boss elimination."
A wave of murmurs rose.
Garron continued, voice steady. "The team will be composed of:
1 Gold Team (ourselves)
3 Silver Teams
3 Bronze Teams
Each team will be responsible for a quadrant of the dungeon. Signal flares will be used to communicate. Monsters are expected. Traps are confirmed. At least one boss threat is highly likely."
He stepped aside slightly and gestured to his two teammates:
Merin Darrow, Knight Rank 6, wielding twin daggers, dressed in red-black lamellar.
Esmira Halowen, Mage Rank 7, water elementalist and healer.
Their presence turned heads.
Garron motioned forward. "Silver teams, step forward."
Three groups did so, each introducing themselves—veterans with quiet confidence.
Then came the Bronze teams.
Rusk nudged Alaric forward.
Alaric took a breath. "Alaric Durnhart. Knight Rank 3. Dark Magic Rank 2."
The name sent faint ripples through the room—some from recognition, others from the mention of dark magic.
"Rusk Halden. Knight Rank 3. Fire Magic Rank 2."
"Kaela Linth. Knight Rank 2."
"Teren Voss. Knight Rank 2. Long-range, bow specialization."
Garron's eyes lingered on them a second longer. "You're younger than most. But your records speak for themselves. You'll coordinate with Silver Team Three. Rear scouting and flank suppression."
He turned back to the crowd.
"The dungeon may contain:
Wraiths
Corrupted beasts
Sealed constructs
Elemental traps
Rewards will be distributed based on contribution. Boss drops are to be registered for Guild claim, then distributed by ranking."
He scanned the assembled ranks.
"Prepare. We leave at dawn."
They stood at the dungeon threshold just after sunrise.
The ridge was a scar in the land—boulders split by time and frost. The dungeon entrance yawned like a mouth between stone fangs. Faint mist curled out from within, chilling the air.
Old carved glyphs lined the edges of the stone archway. Teren ran his fingers along one. "This place feels… wrong."
Kaela gripped her sword tighter. "We've walked into cursed places before."
"Not like this," Rusk said.
Alaric remained silent. The shadow inside his chest—the Equinox—was silent too. Watching. Waiting.
They entered.
Torches flared. Boots echoed. The first corridor was stone and dirt, riddled with collapsed alcoves and flickering blue torches. Something unnatural pulsed through the air.
And then the first monsters came.
Cave Gnashers—medium-size reptilian creatures with bone-armored backs and snapping maws—charged from the shadows.
Rusk ignited a wall of fire, Kaela met one with a sideways slash, Teren picked off another from afar. Alaric dove through a shadow and appeared behind the last, blade finding the gap beneath its skull.
They fell. Efficient. Sharp.
But it wasn't easy.
"They hit harder than usual," Kaela muttered, wiping a scratch on her cheek.
"It's this place," Esmira said as she healed a wound. "Spirit corruption. It strengthens them."
They pressed on.
The dungeon air grew thicker as they descended. The torches flickered against moisture-slick walls, their glow swallowed by the darkness ahead.
The group paused at a T-shaped junction. Garron raised a fist. All teams stopped.
He spoke quietly but firmly. "Silver Teams One and Two, take the eastern wing. Bronze Teams Two and Three, with them. Silver Team Three and Bronze Team One—you're with us. The core chamber is straight ahead. This is where we'll find the boss chamber seal."
Alaric's team nodded.
Kaela exhaled slowly. "This place is worse than I thought."
Even Rusk had stopped making jokes. His hand never strayed far from his weapon.
They moved forward again. Every step was a heartbeat.
The hallway twisted and opened into a larger chamber—circular and pillared, with carved murals half-covered in moss and grime. Time had cracked the tiles, but faint glowing runes still flickered in places, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Esmira raised a hand. "Residual mana... recent activity."
Then the sound came.
A shriek—not human. Not animal. Echoing off the walls like knives scraping against bone.
From the shadows above dropped five creatures—Bloodjaw Reapers. Long, gangly limbs with claws like jagged bone. Glowing red slits for eyes. Their bodies were sinewy and covered in black chitin, and their movements spider-fast.
"Formation!" Garron barked.
But they didn't come alone.
From the floor erupted three more: Burrowing Deathmaws—quadrupedal creatures with armored hides, shovel-like claws, and venom-dripping mandibles.
Nine monsters. Simultaneous. Coordinated.
Teren barely had time to nock an arrow before a Reaper lunged at him.
"Piercing Gale Shot!" he shouted, firing a wind-enhanced arrow that grazed its arm, throwing it off-course.
Alaric's shadow split as he activated Shadow Step, warping behind a Deathmaw, his blade slashing across its spine. But the beast twisted unnaturally, slamming him into a pillar with its claw. His ribs groaned in protest.
Kaela stepped in, intercepting another with a sweeping Guardbreaker Slash, her runed longsword glowing bright blue.
Rusk lit the center of the chamber in flames. "Flame Ring Burst!" he shouted, hurling a circle of fire around him that singed the incoming Reaper.
On the other side, Bronze Team Two wasn't so lucky.
One of their knights—a young man with a longsword—was grabbed mid-attack. The Reaper bit into his throat before flinging him aside like a broken doll.
A second member tried to run.
A Deathmaw caught her by the leg, crushing it instantly, then impaled her torso with a mandible. She screamed once—then went still.
Bronze Team Three's mage cast a barrier spell too late. A Reaper leapt from above and sliced through his shield and head in one fluid motion.
Screams echoed. Blood splattered across the mural walls.
"Fall back!" Garron roared. "Mages! Redirect fire! Tanks forward! Suppress!"
Esmira unleashed a Tide Burst, flooding half the room and washing a Deathmaw into a wall. Silver Team Three's leader, a spear-wielding knight named Varen, intercepted another and drove his weapon into its side.
But not before it slashed his stomach open. He fell to his knees, blood pooling.
"Varen!" shouted his second.
The chaos spiraled.
Alaric dove beside Kaela. "We have to split them—Rusk!"
Rusk nodded, slamming his fists into the ground. "Flame Fissure!"
The earth cracked, fire erupting along a fault line. Two Reapers jumped back, but one slipped and got burned. It shrieked, scrambling away.
Teren fired arrow after arrow—one caught a Reaper through the eye. Another through its exposed neck. He wasn't missing.
Kaela defended Alaric's blind side as he plunged his sword into a downed Deathmaw's skull. The creature thrashed, shrieked, then stilled.
"Three down," Kaela breathed. "Six left."
Then a scream—
Bronze Team Three's last surviving member—a short-haired woman with a warhammer—took a claw through her chest.
She dropped. Her hammer rolled across the floor, untouched.
The room finally went silent.
The monsters lay dead or charred, their blood dark and sticky. The torches flickered wildly from the residual magic.
Eight dead.
Three from Bronze Team Two.
Four from Bronze Team Three.
One from Silver Team Three.
Rusk's shoulders were heaving. Kaela had blood on her cheek—not hers. Teren was breathing too fast. Alaric leaned on his sword, trying to steady his heart.
Esmira moved rapidly among the bodies, checking pulses. Her face was grim.
"They're gone," she said softly.
The remaining teams stood in silence.
Garron looked over the room, expression unreadable. "This… is what adventuring truly is. Not all of us make it. This is why we train. Why we stay sharp."
No one spoke.
"We push on," he said. "We have no choice. The way back is too unstable. And the boss chamber is likely one corridor away."
Kaela looked at Alaric, whispering, "I knew this would happen someday. Just… didn't think it'd hit so hard."
Alaric looked back at her.
His hands trembled. The memory of Mira, his little sister being taken—his village burning—flashed in his mind.
"I won't let it happen to us," he whispered.
Kaela nodded.
They rested in a side chamber.
Teren sat with his bow across his lap, fingers clenching and unclenching.
Rusk leaned against a wall, not speaking. His usual grin was gone.
Kaela sharpened her blade slowly. Mechanically.
Alaric stood alone at the corridor's edge.
The survivors of the other teams did the same. Garron and Merin tended wounds. Esmira had run out of healing salves and had resorted to stitching one of the Silver Team's arms.
The quiet was heavy.
Then the runes on the wall pulsed red.
The chamber door behind them slammed shut, stone grinding on stone.
"What the—" Esmira turned.
The wall ahead began to open—massive stone doors shifting, letting out a low, echoing growl.
From the room beyond came a rush of cold air, thick with magic.
"The boss chamber," Garron muttered.
"But we didn't trigger it," Merin said. "It… pulled us."
Alaric stepped forward, jaw tight.
"We have to finish this."
The moment the black chamber doors opened, the air grew heavier—drenched in decay and spiritual malice.
The torchlight dimmed as if in fear.
Ahead, mist coiled around a massive altar in the center of a vast domed chamber. Pillars jutted from the ground like fractured teeth, and along the walls, murals of shackled spirits screamed silently through centuries of dust.
Atop the altar, something shifted.
Then it uncoiled.
Eight limbs emerged first, jointed like scythes, followed by a serpentine torso covered in armored, violet-black scales. A draconic head emerged from a cowl of bone ridges—four red eyes dripping black mist, and a gaping maw-within-a-maw, packed with jagged teeth and roiling corruption.
The Abyss Wyrm.
Dungeon Guardian.
Boss Tier: High Silver.
As it let out its awakening roar, the ground cracked beneath it.
But it wasn't alone.
From the shadows of the far chamber—three more entities emerged.
A winged serpent, shrouded in mist, with skeletal wings that screeched when slicing the air.
A massive quadruped, fused with stone and shadow, its body like a living golem with burning red slits for eyes.
A blurred predator, its movements erratic and stuttering—duplicating itself in flickering shadows with every motion.
Abyss Guardians.
Rank: Low Silver.
"They brought lieutenants," Garron growled. "Tch. We're splitting."
"Gold Team—on the Wyrm," Garron commanded, blade glowing with stormlight. "All other units—engage the guardians! Don't get caught alone!"
The room erupted into chaos.
Boss Engagement: Gold Team vs. Abyss Wyrm
Garron shot forward in a blur of lightning—Storm Step—his sword crashing down on the Wyrm's upper shoulder.
"Thunder Fang Cleave!"
A crackling arc split across its hide, drawing thick, black ichor.
Merin dashed beneath its body, blades gleaming. "Black Fang Spiral!" Her twin daggers slashed glowing runes into its joints as she evaded a claw the size of a cart.
Esmira raised both hands. "Cascade Lance!"
A spear of water shot across the chamber and drilled into the beast's exposed ribs, steam rising from scorched corruption.
The Wyrm roared, lashing its tail—Garron blocked it midair with Crashing Volt Guard, deflecting the blow in a flash of lightning.
Guardian One: The Winged Serpent vs. Silver Team Two
The first Guardian shrieked and dove from above.
Silver Team Two braced as the skeletal wings flared wide. "Fan out!"
"Icicle Chain!" one mage shouted—but the serpent twisted, dodging the binding spell and releasing a Sonic Scream that burst their eardrums.
The flying beast cut through one of their archers mid-air. She fell, unmoving.
Silver Team Two's knight lunged. "Ground Anchor Smash!" He spiked his hammer into the floor, sending tremors upward that clipped the serpent's wing.
It shrieked in pain—but didn't fall.
Guardian Two: The Golem-Beast vs. Silver Team Three
The massive bruiser charged, shaking the room.
A Silver Team shield bearer stepped forward. "Hold the line!"
Boom!
The Guardian slammed him into the wall like a rag doll.
Teren fired arrows nonstop. "Piercing Gale Shot!"
One struck the beast's eye—it staggered, but kept coming.
Kaela dashed in. "Breaker's Lunge!"
She struck under its arm joint, cleaving shallowly.
It swiped back—Kaela barely ducked.
The Silver Team mage shouted, "Searing Chains!" Fire ropes wrapped the beast's legs.
Rusk took the opportunity. "Flame Spike Barrage!"
Three blazing spears erupted under the golem's body—cracking its stone armor.
It bellowed, enraged.
Guardian Three: The Shadow Hound vs. Alaric's Team
The third Guardian flickered into being, dashing toward Alaric's group in a blur.
"Watch the copies!" Kaela warned.
The beast split into three shadows. Teren fired—his arrow passed through one.
"Middle!" Alaric shouted, using Shadow Step to intercept.
His blade clashed with the real body—sparks flew.
Kaela joined him, fending off one illusion. "They're all dangerous!"
"Try this!" Rusk shouted.
"Flame Spin Kick!"
He dashed through the illusions, his leg wreathed in fire—burning one of the shadows to smoke.
The beast lunged again—Alaric blocked its fangs inches from his throat.
He gritted his teeth. "Now!"
Kaela stabbed its side. Teren fired at its flank.
Alaric activated Shadow Fang: Crescent Arc—his blade curved in midair, carving across its back.
The creature roared, flickering.
Silver Team Two's aerial mage was sliced mid-cast.
The golem crushed a Silver Team rogue beneath its foot—blood pooled.
One of the Guardian's tail spikes skewered a healer from Bronze Team Three.
The party was splintering.
"Stay together!" Esmira shouted, water surging from her staff. "Aegis Torrent!"
A dome of water rose around Garron and Merin, shielding them from the Wyrm's Void Pulse—a spiral of black gravity that shattered two nearby pillars.
Merin vanished in smoke—reappeared beneath the Wyrm's belly.
"Venom Spiral!" She carved a spiral of glowing runes under the exposed flesh—the Wyrm howled in agony.
Alaric's group finally struck down the shadow hound.
Kaela pinned it with her sword. "Now!"
"Shadow Reaver!" Alaric's blade plunged into its core—darkness pulsed, and the beast crumbled to ash.
Nearby, the golem fell to a coordinated barrage—Teren's Comet Shot to the face, Rusk's Infernal Barrage, and a dual slash from Kaela and Alaric.
Silver Team Two brought down the flying serpent with sustained fire magic and Teren's critical shot to the heart.
One by one, the Guardians fell.
And now only the Abyss Wyrm remained.
The Wyrm's breath grew heavy.
Its core began to glow purple.
"Final spell," Garron said grimly. "We finish this now."
"Cascade Storm!" Esmira unleashed her last mana, dousing the Wyrm's face.
Merin sliced its neck tendons, ducking away. "NOW!"
Kaela and Alaric leapt together.
"Shadow Lancer!"
Alaric's aura wrapped his blade—he drove it deep under the Wyrm's ribs.
Kaela struck the throat again—"Breaker's Judgment!"
Teren fired one last arrow into the creature's central eye.
It screamed.
Rusk stood, barely conscious, and raised his fist.
"Flame Burst Finale!"
A wave of fire erupted.
Garron's blade surged lightning—he jumped above the beast.
"Storm God's Descent!"
He came crashing down.
BOOM.
The Wyrm shattered.
Black ash drifted through the chamber.
The Wyrm, its guardians, and its curse… were gone.
They stood—wounded, shaking—but victorious.
Five adventurers lay dead. The rest, bloodied.
Alaric fell to his knees, Kaela beside him. Rusk collapsed to sit. Teren helped him up.
Esmira tended wounds. Garron sheathed his blade.
"We lived," he said softly. "That's all that matters now."