The road to the Sunken Spire was a wound in the earth.
Ancient cobblestones, cracked and weathered by centuries of rain, wound through the Old Forest like a grey serpent. Trees pressed close on either side—oaks so massive their roots had swallowed entire sections of the road, forcing travelers to detour around them. The canopy blocked the morning sun, leaving everything in a permanent twilight.
Vihan walked at the rear of the group, as befit his station.
Seraphine led, her amber eyes scanning the tree line with the casual alertness of someone who had survived long enough to take nothing for granted. She moved like water—smooth, effortless, each step placing her exactly where she needed to be. S-Rank. Sovereign. Someone who could probably kill him with a thought.
Behind her came Marcus, the massive bald man who had yet to speak a single word. He carried a greatsword across his back—not sheathed, just there, the bare metal gleaming dully in the forest light. The blade was wider than Vihan's chest. Marcus's arms were thicker than Vihan's legs. He moved with the heavy certainty of a landslide.
And then there was Vex.
The hooded woman walked apart from the others, always at the edge of Vihan's vision. He'd caught glimpses of her face beneath the hood—pale, sharp-featured, with eyes the colour of old copper. She hadn't spoken either, but unlike Marcus's comfortable silence, hers felt chosen. Like she was listening to things none of them could hear.
Three S-Ranks. Walking through the Old Forest like it was a Sunday stroll.
Vihan felt woefully inadequate.
"How far?" he asked, mostly to fill the silence.
"Half a day," Seraphine replied without turning. "We'll reach the Spire by midday, rest at the outer camp, then descend at first light tomorrow."
"There's a camp?"
"There's always a camp." A note of amusement in her voice. "Dungeons don't move. People do. The Sunken Spire has been farmed for decades. There's a whole ecosystem of suppliers, healers, and information brokers at the outer ring."
Vihan had never heard of this. His dungeon experience consisted of local C-Rank holes that took a few hours to clear, with parties that scattered as soon as the rewards were claimed.
"What's the Spire like?" he asked.
Seraphine glanced back at him. Something flickered in her amber eyes—assessment, perhaps, or calculation.
"Ancient. Dangerous. Wet." She faced forward again. "It was a tower once, back before the Dungeons came. Now it's half-submerged in a lake, and the waterline shifts with the seasons. Lower levels are flooded. Some are completely underwater. The monsters there have adapted."
"Monsters?"
"Undead, mostly. The Spire was a prison in the old world. When the Dungeons opened, something happened to the bodies buried beneath it." Her voice was matter-of-fact. "Now they walk. Drowned Liches, Skeletal Tidecallers, Corpse Crabs. Nasty things."
Vihan's stomach tightened. Drowned Liches were C-Rank threats at minimum. A single one could have killed his old parties ten times over.
"What's the objective?"
"A Heart of the Lake." This from Vex. Her voice was soft, almost musical, but it carried an edge that made Vihan's skin prickle. "A C-Rank core item. We need it for a ritual."
"We need it," Seraphine corrected smoothly, "because we're being paid to retrieve it. Nothing more."
Vex said nothing. Her hood tilted slightly, and Vihan had the distinct impression she was watching him from its shadow.
He looked away.
---
They walked in silence for another hour.
The forest grew denser. The cobblestones disappeared entirely, swallowed by mud and roots. Seraphine navigated without hesitation, following markers that Vihan couldn't see—a broken branch here, a cairn of stones there. The trees pressed closer, their branches intertwining overhead until the sky became a distant memory.
Vihan thought about Kaelen.
The old warrior's face at the gate. That expression—fear, pride, something else he couldn't name. Kaelen had never looked at him like that before. Like he was watching someone walk toward a fire and couldn't decide whether to pull them back or let them burn.
There are things about your skill that you don't understand.
What things? What could possibly explain nineteen years of failure?
His hand drifted to his sword hilt. The worn leather was familiar under his fingers. Kaelen had given him this blade when he turned sixteen, along with the only real advice the old warrior ever offered:
"A sword is just metal. You are the weapon. Don't forget that."
He'd never understood what that meant. He still didn't.
"Stop."
Vex's voice cut through the silence like a blade. Everyone froze.
The hooded woman stood perfectly still, her head tilted as if listening to something far away. Her copper eyes were fixed on a point in the forest to their left—a dense thicket of thorns and twisted vines.
"Something's watching," she said.
Marcus's greatsword was in his hands. Vihan hadn't even seen him move. Seraphine's blade had appeared similarly—a slim, curved length of steel that gleamed with a faint blue light.
Vihan drew his own sword. It felt embarrassingly small.
The forest held its breath.
Seconds passed. A minute. Vihan's heart hammered against his ribs.
Then Vex relaxed.
"Gone. It was curious, not hungry." She looked at Vihan. "You attracted it."
"Me?"
"Your rank. You're E-Rank in a group of S-Ranks. To the things in this forest, you look like wounded prey walking with predators. They want to see if they can snatch you."
Vihan's grip tightened on his sword. "Can they?"
"No." Seraphine sheathed her blade. "But they'll keep testing. Stay close. Don't wander."
They resumed walking. Vihan stayed very close.
---
By midday, the forest began to thin.
Vihan saw light ahead—true sunlight, not the filtered gloom they'd been walking through. The trees receded, and suddenly they were standing at the edge of a vast crater.
The Sunken Spire rose from its center like a accusing finger.
It had been a tower once, as Seraphine said. A massive structure of black stone, easily a hundred meters tall at its peak. But the ground had collapsed around it centuries ago, and water had filled the depression. Now the tower stood in the middle of a circular lake, its lower third submerged. The stone was stained dark with moisture. Moss and strange glowing fungi clung to its surface. Windows dotted its length like empty eye sockets, some above the waterline, some below.
Around the lake's edge, a small settlement had grown.
Tents. Huts. A few permanent structures of wood and stone. People moved among them—Rankers, by the look of them, in various states of repair. Some laughed around fires. Others sat alone, sharpening weapons or staring at nothing. The air smelled of smoke, cooking meat, and something else. Something old and wet and wrong.
"The outer camp," Seraphine said. "We'll rest here, gather information, then descend at dawn."
She led them down a worn path toward the settlement.
---
The camp had no name, as far as Vihan could tell. People just called it "the Spire camp" or "the edge" or nothing at all. It existed because the dungeon existed, and it would vanish when the dungeon was cleared or collapsed.
They found an inn—if a tent with benches and a fire pit could be called an inn. A woman with tired eyes served them stew that was better than Vihan expected. Marcus ate in silence, consuming three bowls without apparent enjoyment. Vex disappeared into the shadows at the edge of the tent and didn't emerge.
Seraphine sat across from Vihan, her amber eyes studying him.
"You're nervous," she said.
"I'm E-Rank in a group of S-Ranks about to enter a C-Rank dungeon. Nervous is underselling it."
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. "Smart. Most E-Ranks would be trying to impress us. You're just honest."
"Is that rare?"
"Extremely." She leaned back, stirring her stew. "Tell me about your skill."
Vihan's spoon paused halfway to his mouth. "What about it?"
"You said it's Lifesteal. One percent. But that doesn't make sense."
"Why not?"
"Because Lifesteal skills scale with damage dealt. Even at one percent, if you hit hard enough, you'd heal something. But you're E-Rank fighting C-Rank monsters. You shouldn't be hitting hard enough to make that percentage matter." She met his eyes. "So why do parties keep inviting you?"
Vihan set down his spoon. "I don't know. I thought it was desperation."
"It's not." Seraphine's voice was quiet. "I've been watching you since we left Oakhaven. You move like someone trained. Not formally—your stance is wrong, your grip is inefficient—but there's something there. Instinct. Muscle memory you don't know you have."
"I was raised by an A-Rank warrior."
"That explains the foundation. It doesn't explain the rest." She leaned forward. "When we entered the forest, something watched us. Vex said it was curious about you. Not afraid of us, just... curious. About you."
Vihan frowned. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying there's more to you than an E-Rank with a broken skill." She stood, picking up her bowl. "Rest. We descend at dawn. Try not to die before then."
She walked away, leaving Vihan alone with his thoughts and his cooling stew.
---
Night fell over the camp.
Vihan found a spot near the edge of the settlement, close enough to hear if something happened, far enough to avoid the noise. He lay on his bedroll, staring up at the stars.
They were different here. The sky over Oakhaven had familiar constellations—the Hunter, the Veil, the Three Sisters. Here, the stars seemed brighter, closer, as if the dungeon's presence thinned the veil between worlds.
He thought about what Seraphine had said.
There's more to you.
Everyone kept saying that. Kaelen, with his secrets and his sorrowful eyes. Seraphine, with her sharp observations. Even the thing in the forest, curious instead of hungry.
What did they see that he couldn't?
He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. The sounds of the camp washed over him—distant laughter, the clink of metal, the crackle of fires. Somewhere, someone was singing a slow, sad song about a Ranker who never came home.
Sleep came eventually. And with it, dreams.
---
He stood on a grey plain beneath a dead sky.
The Shadow Realm.
He knew it without knowing how. The same place from his dreams in Oakhaven. The same endless expanse of ash-coloured earth, stretching to horizons that didn't exist. The same silence—not empty, but waiting. Like the whole world held its breath.
Today, something was different.
Figures stood in the distance. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Arrayed in ranks that stretched as far as he could see, motionless as statues. Soldiers. An army.
He walked toward them.
The first rank came into focus—warriors in ancient armour, their faces hidden behind helmets. Beyond them, creatures that defied description: massive beasts with too many limbs, ethereal beings that flickered between forms, dragons coiled in patient slumber. All still. All waiting.
At the front of the army stood a single figure.
Tall. Armoured in shadows that moved like living things. A sword at its hip that seemed to drink the grey light. No face beneath its helm—just darkness, deeper than the realm around them.
Vihan stopped.
"Who are you?"
The figure didn't answer. But something shifted in the darkness of its helm, and Vihan felt himself seen. Examined. Judged.
A voice spoke—not from the figure, but from everywhere.
*"You are not ready." *
"Ready for what?"
*"To command. To carry. To become." *
The figure raised its hand. The army behind it stirred—thousands of shadows shifting, weapons lifting, eyes (so many eyes) opening in the darkness.
*"They wait for you. In the space between life and permanence. They wait to be claimed." *
"I don't—I can't—"
*"You will. Or you won't. The choice is not ours." *
The figure's hand lowered.
*"But the betrayers come. Soon. When they do... remember that death is not the end. It is only the first percentage." *
The army vanished. The grey plain vanished. The figure's darkness expanded, swallowing everything—
---
Vihan woke gasping.
The sky was grey with pre-dawn light. The camp stirred around him—people packing, fires being stoked, weapons being checked. He was drenched in sweat despite the cool air.
A dream. Just a dream.
But his hand was clenched around something.
He opened his fingers.
A single black feather lay in his palm. It shimmered with an iridescent purple sheen, and when he touched it, he felt... cold. Ancient. Patient.
He shoved it into his pocket and stood, heart pounding.
Seraphine was already waiting at the lake's edge, her amber eyes fixed on the Sunken Spire. Marcus stood beside her, greatsword on his back. Vex was a shadow at their periphery.
"You're late," Seraphine said without turning.
"Sorry. Didn't sleep well."
"No one sleeps well at the Spire." She glanced at him, and her eyes narrowed slightly. "You look different."
"I'm fine."
She held his gaze for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Because once we go down, there's no coming back up until we reach the Heart. Understood?"
Vihan nodded.
Seraphine turned to the lake. A small boat waited—wooden, weathered, big enough for four. She stepped in. Marcus followed, the boat barely shifting under his weight. Vex glided aboard like smoke.
Vihan climbed in last. The boat rocked. He gripped the sides.
Seraphine picked up an oar and pushed off from the shore.
The Sunken Spire grew larger with every stroke.
---
End of Chapter 2