Gabe Laughlin watched as Grace, David, and Miller all fled from the ships, sailing through the rough waves and the tragic rain that fell from the heavens above.
He threw the head of Captain Paren into the rough waves with indifference. Behind him, a group of people swarmed around him, awaiting for orders.
"Shall we follow them?" One asked.
Gabe said nothing, his eyes still set on the boat that was reeling further and further away from him. Though he could still feel the gazes that were cast upon him like bullets traveling at sonic speeds.
"Yes," Gabe spoke calmly, brushing his hair to the side. He walked along the starboard, leaping from the burning ship to the one that was rightfully theirs.
"Let us take back what is rightfully ours."
~~~
Back in the real world, in Central City situated at the center of the Ergo continent, a lone boy of average height sat on a bench that was located at a train station. Wearing obsidian-colored shorts on a hot summer day, he paired it up a sweatshirt that was like platinum.
His short chestnut hair flourished underneath the guiding wind of the world. And his eyes shone with a dark-brown. Over his shoulder was a bag that carried many of his necessities.
In his hand and settled on top of his lap, was an ordinary leather book. Absolutely nothing about it stood out aside from the fact that almost none of the pages were filled.
The boy closed his eyes, sighing.
"So hot today," he muttered, grateful that the sunlight was being shielded off of by umbrella of metal. He opened his eyes once again as he leaned forward, willing his hand to close the ordinary book shut.
[Ivan Sawyer]
Engraved into the front of the leather, the book was ordinary but also not at the same time.
It was a tool for him and many others.
While people were able to cast magic without a tome — even being able to wield basic forms of magic without it being bestowed upon first prayer — having a medium such as a tome greatly bridged the gap for the cost-effect relationship between user and spell.
Soon, the blaring sound of a train came in full throttle. The ground shuddered, and Ivan got up from his seat, turning the corner in order to see the speeding train emit plums of smoke from the helm.
Leaving trails of smoke, Ivan blinked once, then a flood of realization opened within the center of his mind. Not too long ago, he was someone who shared an insignificant destiny. He studied at Central Ergo Academy, having received the same teachings as many of the elite nobles in society.
However, he was never someone who shone with brilliance. Rather, he was someone who lacked the ability to shine underneath all the dazzling limelight of the academy.
But that changed not too long ago.
[Ivan Sawyer]
[Age: 18]
[God: Endless Astral Overseer]
[Grade: 1.6]
[Prayer Characteristic: Astral Tome (Rank 1)]
[Skill(s): None]
Encountering the book in his hand, and it becoming his unique tome for magic and spell-casting, he was given an opportunity to change his life. To steer his destiny elsewhere, to become something more than ounces of insignificance flesh.
That is what he hoped for, as his flesh and blood were now bound to a God that he had never heard of before.
The train came barreling in, then it came to a great halt, the metal grinding and creating terrific shrieks that echoed painfully.
As various people got out and other got in, Ivan held his tome tightly to his side, a small smile spreading across his face.
His hunt would soon ensue!
~~~
They had no idea how long it had been since they had escaped from the boat, but they knew that it was a great number. The storms had subsided, the tides reducing to soft, rhythmic tune, and the sun was now casting its light down on them with radiant warmth kissing their skin.
Grace stared onto the boat's floor.
His gaze was deep, yet his thoughts were anything but that. All he could think about was the incomparable circumstances that the dungeon had thrusted them into and what it thrusted Gabe into. Their starting points were practically night and day, oil and water.
So... Gabe... he spawned in as a Captain. How lucky. Grace snorted quietly.
David sighed as he sat with an aimless gaze.
"Why can't dungeons just be linear..." His voice trailed off, clicking his tongue not long afterward. Grace glanced at him for a moment, before turning his head towards the land that was quickly gaining more prominence by the second.
From their perspective, the side of the island they were on contained a large town of sorts, layers of brick buildings protruding upwards, and bustling civilians who traversed the streets with smiles on their face.
Indeed, if they were linear we wouldn't be having the uncertainty that we have now. To pick and choose what they thought was right, even if all the roads led to the same place, was difficult. On the other hand, Grace also thought this was a blessing.
For if the dungeon were to be linear, their chances of dying by the hands of Gabe would almost be guaranteed.
Grace yawned.
"We would be missing out on rewards, though."
Once a dungeon is completed, there is an overall grade that is supposed to signify how well of a story the dungeon seekers had "told." Going from an E-Grade to and S-Grade, the individual rewards scaled alongside it.
However, since there is no knowledge on how the clearing of the dungeon is systematically graded, one can only do things arbitrarily.
And this will always be the universal assumption.
If there were rules that were known and true, then the purpose of creating a story within the dungeon's narrative would almost be counter productive. Grace thought as the boat stopped at the land's shore. Slipping out of the boat, Grace felt the coarse sand dig into the tiny crevices of his feet, snuggling into it like a hibernating animal.
"Let's get moving," David looked back at the distant horizon. "Gabe couldn't be too far off our trail." Nodding their heads, Miller carried the sack of food behind his shoulder and trudged a beat behind the two due to the weight.
"We look homeless," Miller sighed. Not only were they completely disheveled, but David and Miller wore extremely worn out clothes that were ragged to the bone.
For Grace, his clothing was in better shape than theirs, but even he could not deny that his frail body was not helping blend him into society. Even more so that his once — what he could remember — beautiful face had been reduced to an uncannily hollowed version of it.
Nothing a surplus of food couldn't fix, though.
As they walked through the port, they received many judgmental stares from onlookers, their expressions convulsing into minor disgust. Moreover, they smelled as if rain water had manifested into living, breathing, human beings.
"Blend in," Grace muttered.
Like hell they were.
They stuck out like sore thumbs that were battered and bruised to the point it was swollen purple.
One of the first few things taught at any academy when it comes to dungeon exploring is to examine the details.
Regardless if clearing the dungeon is inevitable — or they die during the process — due to the natural convergence, being able to get to that point quicker than having to rely on — what it is often referred to as — destiny was a much more favorable path for them.
And even having prior information on what to do to clear the dungeon could help form a stronger ending to the dungeon's narrative. Grace looked at the two next to him as he bit on one of the sausage links that they took.
It's a shame that all this food will disappear once we get out. As only items that are registered under the system interface are allowed to be transported across the dimensions.
But food is food.
And he was not going to deny satiating himself with it.
As they walked along the road of the town, Miller posed something oh-so suddenly.
"Don't you think it's... a bit sad... that these people will... disappear once the dungeon is cleared?"
While they didn't stop walking, all their gazes glanced at the people they walked by.
They were all doing their daily morning activities; vendors were selling their products, people were walking their dogs, carriages were trudging through the road.
These people were happy.
David glanced away, his eyes settling on a reflection of himself that came from a window pane that was showcasing cute dresses.
"They're as real as anyone outside of the dungeon," he muttered solemnly. "Though... for only as long as the dungeon exists." Grace was the only person to say nothing.
However, one glance at his face told David and Miller that what the latter had asked them had put him into a deep thought.
Truth be told: Grace hadn't put a single ounce of thought into this idea until Miller had posed it all-so suddenly. The original Grace did, but the new inhabitant did not.
He glanced at a dog that walked between his legs, waggling its tail before heading off to its owner.
His answer?
He didn't know.
And, for now, Grace figured that this was for the best.