The Forson Labyrinth changed as Friezzar walked.
Not dramatically—no collapsing walls, no exploding magic—but subtly, as if the entire dungeon adjusted its posture to watch him.
Stone shifted in soft clicks.
Rubble rolled aside without touch.
Long-dead braziers flickered to life as he passed.
What was once a corpse of a dungeon now stirred like a waking creature.
Friezzar didn't understand any of this.
He only felt the faint tremors in the air, like heartbeat-like pulses responding to his movements.
His hollow eyes glowed faintly blue as he walked through a corridor lined with cracked pillars. He had grown taller—noticeably—and his joints moved with smoother fluidity. His carved patterns glowed with soft warmth, their lines rearranged after his evolution.
But for all the newfound strength within him…
Friezzar felt something he did not know how to name.
A subtle tightness in his chest.
A warmth that felt disquieting.
A whisper inside his being telling him:
Something approaches.
He paused.
For the first time since his awakening, he did not move by hunger. He moved by… awareness.
He turned his head toward the distant upper tunnels—through layers of stone and corridors—and he felt the faint vibration of footsteps.
Not monsters.
Not the dungeon shifting.
Something else.
Something unfamiliar.
Something warm.
Friezzar froze.
He didn't know what they were.
But he could feel life coming nearer.
And unlike monsters, this warmth didn't trigger hunger.
It triggered… conflict.
It felt dangerous, yet not the kind of danger that fed him. Not prey. Not predator.
Something different.
Something unknown.
Above — The Humans Descend
The sound of footsteps echoed against the upper spiral stairs carved into the labyrinth walls.
Arden's boots hit the stone with steady, controlled rhythm. He was a tall man with dark hair tied back, armor worn but well-kept. His expression was sharp, his instincts sharper.
Behind him, Lyra clutched a glowing lantern, her white cloak fluttering behind her as she tried to keep up.
Her breath fogged lightly in the cold dungeon air.
"Arden…" she whispered. "Are you certain this is safe?"
"No," he answered bluntly.
Which, for her, was strangely comforting. Arden never lied.
He lifted a hand, slowing his pace.
The dungeon groaned as another pulse of mana rolled through the halls.
Lyra shivered.
"This place is… waking up."
Arden nodded grimly.
"Dungeons don't wake without reason. Something inside stirred it. Something strong."
Lyra tightened her grip on her lantern.
"I feel… something ahead. Not malice. Not exactly. Just… presence."
Her brows knitted. "It's faint but… sad. Lonelier than anything I've ever sensed."
Arden glanced back at her.
Few healers were sensitive enough to sense emotional residue.
If Lyra felt something…
Then something alive was down there.
And it wasn't a normal monster.
Below — A Room Full of Bones
Friezzar moved carefully now, wooden fingers brushing the walls as if the stone might guide him. The hunger in his core had quieted, replaced by a peculiar tension.
He entered a new chamber.
This one was different.
Bones littered the floor—ancient, brittle, scattered in disarray. Some were massive, belonging to dungeon beasts long extinct. Others were humanoid.
Friezzar crouched, picking up a fractured human rib. The memory-shard he had touched earlier flickered faintly in his mind—a brief image of human hands shaping wood.
He did not understand the connection.
Only that this bone felt… familiar in some way.
He placed it down, standing slowly.
A faint sound echoed behind him.
Not clicking.
Not slithering.
Not the sound of a monster.
Light.
Soft, gentle… warm.
Friezzar turned.
First Light
Soft gold light spilled into the chamber.
Lyra stepped in first, lantern raised, eyes wide with wonder and fear. Her presence brought a warmth the dungeon had not seen in centuries. Arden followed close behind, blade drawn, scanning the shadows.
Friezzar's hollow glowing eyes met the lantern light.
Lyra froze.
Arden exhaled sharply through his teeth.
"What… is that?"
Lyra didn't answer.
Her voice had died in her throat.
The puppet stood still—not attacking, not retreating. Its carved face lacked expression, but its posture was not hostile. It seemed almost gentle, elegant even, with its simple yet beautiful wooden lines.
But its eyes—
glowing blue, hollow, inhuman—
held a strange depth.
Not aggression.
Not hunger.
Confusion.
Curiosity.
Lyra felt it immediately in the faint emotional ripple around him.
"He's… aware," she whispered. "Not mindless. Not wild."
Arden tightened his grip on his sword.
"That thing killed every monster on the path."
Friezzar tilted his head slightly—an instinctive gesture he'd begun developing.
Lyra took a careful step forward.
"Wait—Arden. He isn't attacking us."
"Yet."
"No," she insisted softly, "not at all. I can feel it."
Her voice trembled, but her conviction didn't.
"He's afraid."
Friezzar blinked—slow and unsure—as if startled by the sound of her voice.
He did not understand words.
But her tone…
That was something new.
Warm.
Soft.
Not dangerous.
He took a small step backward—too smooth, too human-like to be mere instinct, yet too hesitant to be intentional aggression.
Arden widened his stance.
"That's close enough."
Lyra lifted a hand toward him.
"No… wait."
Understanding Fear
Friezzar's chest felt tight.
Not hunger.
Not instinct.
Something else.
He raised a hand slowly—wooden fingers trembling slightly—and pointed toward Lyra's lantern light, as if asking what it was.
Lyra gasped softly.
"He's… communicating."
Arden gave her a sharp look.
"You're assuming that."
"No," she said, stepping forward again, carefully. "I can feel his emotions. They're faint… but they're there."
Arden frowned.
"What do you feel?"
Lyra took a shaky breath.
"He's confused. He's… lost. And he's trying to understand what we are."
Friezzar's hand dropped slowly to his side. He tilted his head again, studying the humans, uncertain if they were prey, threat, or something else.
The warmth he felt radiating from Lyra was unlike any sensation he'd encountered. Not essence. Not energy he could devour.
Different.
Alien.
He took one step toward her.
Arden instantly moved in front of Lyra, sword raised.
Friezzar stopped.
Arden's voice was low, dangerous.
"One more step, creature, and—"
"Arden, stop!"
"He's a puppet, Lyra—an animated construct! That alone makes him dangerous."
"But his runes… look."
Lyra pointed. "They're not attacker patterns. They're… creator patterns. Beautiful, gentle runes. Someone made him with care."
Friezzar looked down at his chest, tracing his fingers along the glowing lines, as if hearing her for the first time.
"See?" Lyra whispered. "He understands."
Friezzar raised his head.
Then—
Thump.
The dungeon shook violently.
A massive roar erupted from the tunnels beyond—deep, guttural, shaking dust from the walls.
Arden's eyes widened.
"A floor guardian."
Lyra gasped.
"But… it shouldn't be awake—"
Friezzar turned toward the roar.
The hunger inside him stirred violently.
That glow—
that essence—
that power—
Feed.
Grow.
Become.
He stepped forward, ready to run straight into the darkness, toward the monstrous presence calling him.
But Arden slashed his sword down, blocking the puppet's path.
"You're not going anywhere."
Friezzar stopped.
Hollow eyes stared at the blade.
Arden's voice hardened.
"I don't know what you are. But I'm not letting you get stronger."
Lyra stepped forward quickly.
"Arden, please! We don't know that he's—"
But she didn't finish her sentence.
Because Friezzar's body… reacted.
Not aggressively.
Not defensively.
But with something neither of them expected.
He knelt.
He lowered himself slowly—awkwardly—placing his wooden hands on the ground, head bowed.
Lyra's breath caught.
"He's… submitting?" she whispered. "Arden, he's yielding."
Arden stared, stunned.
Constructs didn't submit.
Monsters didn't bow.
Nothing in the dungeon behaved like this.
"Why?" Arden muttered. "Why would it—"
Lyra took another small step forward, lowering her lantern.
Friezzar lifted his head slightly, hollow eyes glowing softly.
And for the first time since awakening, he reached out.
Not to attack.
Not to strike.
But to touch the warm light.
His wooden fingers hovered near the lantern's glow—
faintly trembling.
A small sound escaped Lyra's throat—pure awe.
"He's… curious."
Arden slowly lowered his sword.
And far in the darkness, the guardian roared again, shaking the entire dungeon.
Friezzar's head snapped toward the sound.
The hunger surged—
—and something else:
Purpose.
The puppet stood.
Arden and Lyra both stepped back instinctively.
Friezzar looked at them one last time.
Then he turned toward the darkness—
—and began walking straight toward the floor guardian.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
Without knowing that behind him, two humans stared at his back…
…and felt the beginning of a legend.