The order came at dawn.
Elira, Mira, and Kael stood in the Sanctum's briefing hall as a knight-officer unrolled a scroll across the table. The air was heavy with the smell of parchment, wax, and the faint hum of mana that always clung to this place.
"There has been a resurgence," the officer said, tapping the map. "An abandoned dungeon near the border has begun emitting irregular mana waves. That site was sealed a decade ago after its core was declared dead. Yet the reports indicate otherwise. Your task is to investigate and confirm whether a threat still lingers."
Mira's expression hardened at once.
"Dungeons don't just die on their own," she murmured. "If it's still sending waves… it's waking up."
The officer did not dispute her. "Move swiftly. If the core remains intact, destroy it before it evolves further."
The road was long and dust-bitten. Along the way, Mira spoke more than usual, her tone clipped, like a teacher whose words carried urgency.
"A dungeon isn't a fortress. It's alive. It feeds on the mana of the world, building walls and spawning creatures as its defense. That's why some scholars call them parasites—'the world's leeches.' When the core collapses, the body crumbles. But if even a fragment survives, it can stir again."
Elira frowned, tightening her grip on her sword strap.
"So we're walking into the body of… something that's alive?"
Kael's voice was cold, practical.
"And every beast inside is its offspring. Expect resistance."
Elira felt a chill crawl up her neck. The idea of stepping into a creature's hollow corpse unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
The ruins loomed by dusk.
Half-buried in the hills, the dungeon's entrance yawned like a broken jaw. Its stone gate had fractured long ago, yet pale violet mist seeped from the cracks, curling across the ground like restless smoke. The air was unnaturally cold, damp enough to bite into bone.
They lit their mage-lamps and crossed the threshold.
Inside, the air was thicker, saturated with mana residue. Walls of once-smooth stone had warped, veins of crystal running through them as though blood had petrified in place. The ground was scattered with shards that glimmered faintly under the light.
"This one's… rotting," Mira whispered, brushing her fingers against a wall that pulsed faintly, like cooling embers. "But not dead."
The first threat came swiftly.
A chorus of low growls echoed from the shadows before a pack of Stonefang Wolves burst forth. Their bodies were half-crystallized, their fangs jagged stone. Each step left shards splintering across the floor.
Elira instinctively raised her hand. "Wind Barrier!"
A translucent gale burst outward, shielding the group as the wolves lunged.
Mira's voice cut sharp through the din:
"Crimson Deluge!"
She swept her staff, and a torrent of searing water and flame exploded outward, scattering half the pack in a single surge.
Kael's foot slammed against the ground, stone cracking beneath his boots. Earthen spikes shot up, pinning several wolves mid-leap. In the same motion, he carved through another with a lightning-imbued strike, sparks splitting the air.
One wolf slipped past, fangs glinting as it lunged for Elira's throat. She swung her blade, wind sharpening at the edge.
"Breeze Edge!"
The strike cut across the wolf's neck, leaving it in a broken heap at her feet.
Silence followed, broken only by the wolves' fading whimpers and the drip of molten stone from Mira's spell.
"Too many for a dead dungeon," Kael muttered, wiping blood and dust from his blade.
They pressed deeper.
The corridors twisted like veins, and the air grew stranger the further they went. At times the walls shimmered faintly, as if watching. Crystal nodes bulged from the stone, resembling unblinking eyes.
Elira kept close to the others, every step tightening the knot in her chest.
Finally, they reached the lowest chamber.
The room opened into a shattered hall, its ceiling half-collapsed, the ground split by jagged crystal veins. At the center stood what should have been the dungeon's core—yet the pedestal was broken, its center hollow.
Instead, a figure sat upon it.
A girl.
She lounged on a throne of petrified thorns, legs crossed, raven-black hair spilling over her shoulders. Her crimson eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, wings folded neatly behind her back. A long tail curled lazily at her side.
She looked no older than sixteen, but the air around her carried an oppressive weight, as if years—centuries—rested in her gaze.
"…Visitors?" Her voice was smooth, honeyed, and far too calm for the ruins around her.
Mira stiffened, stepping forward with her staff at the ready. "Who are you?"
The girl tilted her head, lips curling into a smile that was equal parts charm and threat.
"Would you believe me if I said I'm just… resting?"
The pressure in her tone made Elira's hand tighten instinctively around her sword. Kael muttered, "Her mana is dense. Far beyond standard threat levels."
Elira forced her steps forward, her voice steady despite the tremor in her chest.
"…Are you the one behind the magic pulses?"
The girl's crimson eyes glowed faintly. She leaned back against her thorned throne, expression unreadable.
"I never asked anyone to come."
A pause.
Then, her smile deepened.
"But I'm glad you did."