The dungeon breathed.
Fenrik could feel it now—subtle, slow, like a living thing resting beneath stone and shadow. The corridor ahead split into three paths, each lit by a different shade of flame.
White.
Blue.
Amber.
Fenrik stopped.
"So this is how you want to play," he said quietly.
The markings on his arm warmed again, stronger than before. Not pain—recognition.
Fenrik stepped toward the blue flame.
The corridor opened into a wide chamber.
Unlike the others, this place didn't feel hostile. The air was cool, almost calm. At the center stood a young man, seated on a broken pillar, staring at his own hands.
He looked… normal.
College-age. Dark hair. Sharp eyes dulled by exhaustion.
"You too?" the stranger asked without looking up.
Fenrik froze.
"…You can see me?"
The man laughed softly. "If I couldn't, I'd be talking to myself. Again."
Fenrik approached carefully. "You were pulled here at night?"
The stranger nodded. "Every night. Same time. Same place. Thought I was going crazy."
Fenrik exhaled. "You're not."
The man looked up then—and for a moment, Fenrik saw it.
A faint glow behind his eyes.
Not power.
Control.
"What do you call this place?" the man asked.
Fenrik paused. "…A dungeon."
The man smirked. "Figures."
A low hum echoed through the chamber.
From the blue flame, a symbol burned briefly in the air—linking the two of them.
Not a contract.
An acknowledgment.
The dungeon had accepted him.
Fenrik felt it instantly.
"Looks like," Fenrik said slowly, "you're not alone anymore."
The man stood.
"Good," he replied. "I was getting tired of surviving by myself."
The amber path felt different.
Warmer. Heavier.
Fenrik stepped through and nearly stumbled as gravity shifted. This chamber was smaller, its walls scarred and cracked.
Someone was already fighting.
Not a monster.
The girl stood alone, back against a pillar, breathing hard—not injured, but tense. In her hands was a weapon Fenrik didn't recognize: short, curved, shimmering faintly like heated metal.
She spun the moment Fenrik entered.
"Don't come closer," she snapped.
Fenrik raised both hands. "Relax. I'm not your enemy."
She studied him, eyes sharp, calculating. "Everyone says that."
"Yeah," Fenrik replied. "So does every enemy."
That made her pause.
"…You're human," she said finally.
"So are you."
Silence.
The weapon in her hands faded—not vanished, but returned, like it obeyed her will.
"You came at night too," she said.
Fenrik nodded. "Every night."
She let out a breath she'd been holding. "Then this place chose you as well."
A faint amber glow spread across the floor.
Another symbol.
Another link.
Fenrik felt it settle deep—not ownership, not dominance.
Trust.
The girl looked at him, expression unreadable. "Guess that means we're stuck together."
Fenrik allowed himself a small smile. "Guess it does."
Back in the central hall, the three stood beneath the towering ceiling.
No names were exchanged.
Not yet.
The dungeon didn't rush them.
Torches ignited—three this time.
Fenrik looked at his allies.
"One rule," he said. "We survive first. We ask questions later."
The others nodded.
Somewhere deeper, stone shifted.
The dungeon was no longer preparing a trial.
It was preparing a group.
And far above, the moon shone brighter than it had in years.