Nothing remained of the feeble woman—no stitch of clothing, no trace of a wet tear. Cedar blinked into the brightness of the lava lake below. The harsh light burned her sweaty, reddened eyes, forcing her to turn away.

“Well, that was a bad idea,” she grimaced.

She began her descent, the texture of the heat thickening around her feet. Inch by inch, she submerged herself into the sickening broil.

Glancing down to gauge her remaining distance, Cedar noticed a bright white sphere hovering just below. It seemed to be waiting for her.

“Now what?” Cedar hesitated going further. She had no idea what to expect from the ball of energy, and for a moment, she considered retreating. But after little deliberation, she realized she had no choice but to descend.

The descent was easier than the climb had been, though fatigue and thirst quickly overwhelmed her. Nausea churned in her gut, and her steps faltered. She could no longer summon tears to soothe her dry, burning eyes.

As she neared the lava’s surface, the heat intensified. Her eyes began to crust and shrivel, feeling like prunes left in the sun. The acrid smell of sulfur and hot gravel filled her mouth until the grainy air became something she could almost chew.

Cedar glanced down one last time, her vision threatening to blur completely. Deciding to risk a jump before her sight failed her altogether, she prepared herself. A blister on the back of her neck burst, sending a jolt of pain through her disoriented senses.

She let her body fall. Time seemed to slow mid-air as darkness swallowed her briefly. She landed hard on her back, the impact jarring her against rigid stone.

Dry as ash, her voice failed her. Calling out for Ari was pointless. She lay still, unwilling to move. The heat cocooned her, seductive in its invitation to sleep. Her eyes, gritty and raw, refused to open.

Her thoughts swirled, muddled and frantic, as panic began to set in.

I’m going to die, she thought. My friends and family are going to die. I’m supposed to trust. This, too, shall pass. I can’t move.

A bright blur caught her attention—the sphere. It bobbed up and down like a floating face. Cedar had almost forgotten about it, though she’d seen it only moments before.

Beside the sphere, a soft-bodied minion appeared, glaring at her with malevolent eyes. Its gaze promised revenge.

Cedar rolled onto her belly, unsheathing her dagger. She brandished the weapon at the creature, unaware that it was merely a decoy.

A second demon, lizard-like and silent, leapt onto her back. Its claws tore at her protective cloak. The first minion joined the fray, and from the shadows, more emerged.

Sharp talons slashed at Cedar’s face and neck, spraying blood onto the surrounding monsters. Their forked tongues darted eagerly, lapping at the droplets. Dozens of them swarmed her, biting, clawing, and trampling over one another in their frenzy to reach her.

Why did Ari leave me? Cedar thought, despair heavy in her chest. Was this his plan all along? To kill me?

She coughed up blood as talons shredded her once-impenetrable armor. Her exposed flesh sizzled and peeled under their relentless assault.

After a prolonged moment of agony, the pain subsided. Cedar could still hear the demons tearing at her flesh, their guttural grunts filling the air as they devoured her—but she felt nothing. Even the searing burn of the scorching heat had vanished.

What’s going on? she wondered.

Pushing herself upright into a sitting position, Cedar glanced around. The minions were too engrossed in their frenzy to notice her. They clawed and burrowed into the mound of mutilated flesh they were raking apart, nuzzling their noses deep into its gore and ramming their nubby horns at any rivals who got too close.

Is that . . . me?

Her eyes widened in horror. Staggering back, she tripped and fell onto her backside, then scrambled away from the grotesque scene, using her legs to push herself farther.

“Oh, gross . . .”

It was her. Or, at least, what was left of her.

The sound of the demons’ munching triggered phantom pains all over her body. She shuddered, turning her head away; she couldn’t stomach the sight of them eating.

Beside her, the bright energy sphere bobbed gently, maintaining a safe, unthreatening distance. Neon blue numbers flickered on its surface, forming a digital clock counting down from ten.

What happens after ten seconds? Do I live again?

Cedar stood slowly, scanning her surroundings. She needed to find a safe spot to respawn—if that’s what was about to happen. She wasn’t sure. Would she reappear somewhere outside the dungeon? Or would she stay here? Either way, she needed to be ready.

This was her first time flatlining in a dungeon. During her previous near-death experiences, Ari had always pulled her out just in time. Looking back, she almost wished he hadn’t. If she’d experienced death before, maybe she wouldn’t have been so terrified of it. Now that it had finally happened, it wasn’t as bad as she’d imagined.

She made her way to the entrance of a nearby tunnel, just beside the lava fall. The energy sphere followed her like an obedient pet. Gripping the hilt of her sword, she watched the countdown tick closer to zero.

When it hit zero, a burst of heat enveloped her, searing her skin before vanishing in an instant. Cedar blinked, taking stock of her body. She was whole again—her armor restored, her wounds gone. Even her strength felt renewed.

Her eyes narrowed as she turned toward the lizard minions. They scurried over the now-empty ground where her corpse had been, sniffing the air with bloodied muzzles. One by one, their heads whipped around to face her.

“You grimy bastards . . .”

With a snarl, Cedar charged. Her blade cleaved through the creatures like they were nothing more than sacks of maroon pudding. They screeched and scattered, scampering up the jagged peaks to escape.

Cedar let them go, conserving her energy. The sphere had given her another life, but she didn’t see any more of them nearby. If she died again, she’d likely have to start over from the beginning. The thought of enduring that stinging goop and the infernal heat a second time was more than enough motivation to stay alive.

She turned toward the tunnel and stepped inside. Switching on her headlamp—thankfully respawned along with everything else—she noticed the glistening walls, slick with slime.

Even with all her training, and the knowledge that her entire universe was at stake, Cedar felt restless and trapped. Courage had carried her this far, but now it wavered. She no longer wanted to be in Satan’s Citadel. More than that—she never wanted to come back, never wanted to finish what she’d started.

Her energy stores were full, her body felt strong, but some deeper part of her was drained—something intangible, beyond her reach to fix or fight.

I need more courage, she thought, but courage only comes through suffering.

She had ventured far enough into the tunnel that the lava’s glow no longer illuminated her path. Darkness pressed around her, broken only by the sharp beam of her headlamp. Each step felt heavier than the last. Lifting her boot to move forward was an act of will, but shifting her back foot to follow felt impossible.

It was as though she’d hit a wall—not of stone, but of something unseen and immovable.

Meditation had taught Cedar the gift of self-awareness. She recognized the warning signs blooming within her. If she pushed too far, too fast, she’d soon face the wrath of panic—its mental and physical toll would cripple her.

The realization struck her: she could witness her own limitations, as if they were gauges displayed in her mind’s eye. If she let them fall too low, she risked creating something worse than failure—trauma. A new phobia.

She needed Ari. If Ari were here, she could press deeper into the tunnel, meeting any combatant head-on with little fear.

Pretend he’s here, she thought. None of this is real. The only evil is fear.

Closing her eyes, she recentered herself with the wisdom she had gleaned from the void:

Trust conquers fear. To trust, I must let go. I can only let go when I’ve suffered enough. But I don’t feel like I’m suffering . . . I’m just scared. Are they the same thing? Fear and suffering?

The question circled her mind, eluding a clear answer. She didn’t want to be here anymore. She didn’t want to be devoured a second time. Could her fear be as simple as that? The anticipation of being eaten alive?

No, she thought. Anticipation isn’t simple. It’s a symptom of something deeper. The answer must be simpler than that. I’m asking the wrong question.

Frozen in place, Cedar decided to confront her fear. Anticipation, she realized, was born of a belief: the belief that she wasn’t strong enough to endure another attack. But that wasn’t the whole truth. There was something deeper, a stronger sensation moving beneath the surface—just out of reach.

Truths are always common sense, she reminded herself. What is it I feel? I don’t want to be here. I want to leave. I want . . .

She paused, struck by the simplicity of the thought.

I want.

The realization hit her like a bolt of lightning, snapping every piece of the puzzle into place.

Fear and suffering were not the same thing. Fear was the anticipation of suffering. And suffering?

Suffering is desire.

That was it. The clarity of it left her stunned. Suffering wasn’t some external torment. It was desire—the yearning for something, the aching void of unmet need. The more she wanted, the more she suffered.

This dungeon isn’t my nemesis, Cedar thought, the truth illuminating her like a beacon. It’s me. I’m my own nemesis. I’m fighting my fear—the anticipation of suffering—and suffering is nothing more than desire.

She let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she was holding.

What? Did I just crack the code?

Everything started to make sense. She had heard this truth before—Ari spoke of it constantly—but only now did she truly understand the purpose of the dungeons. They weren’t about conquering the dungeon itself but about overcoming her own fear. Her task wasn’t to defeat death but to face her anticipation of it, her dread.

Yet she realized she had been stubborn, trusting herself to a fault. She couldn’t let go. Let go of what?

Her ego.

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That’s why believing in God is important, she thought, the pieces clicking into place. The void told me it’s important, but it didn’t say why. Now I get it. Believing in God takes me out of my ego. It’s not about trusting myself. If I trust myself, I’ll just sink deeper into my own pride. I have to think beyond myself. Even if there is no God, I need to trust the universe. Trust the process.

Her revelation deepened. I’m fighting myself. I have to man up. Grow a pair.

Cedar realized she was resisting change. Her ego clung to the safety of what it knew. It didn’t want to grow. It didn’t want to mature. It wanted to remain defiant and childlike—an entitled, whiny brat.

My ego doesn’t want me to let go. It wants me to stay safe, to remain scared. It’s keeping me from evolving. But why must I suffer? What does suffering have to do with any of this?

A new understanding lit up her thoughts. If she died in the dungeon and reappeared at the entrance, she’d most likely see Ari. His presence alone always brought comfort. When he was with her, her fear of the dungeon seemed absurd.

Suffering teaches us how to trust, she realized. No matter how much we suffer, we survive. We’re still okay. We may not get what we want, but we receive what we need.

With this insight, Cedar no longer felt the need to die in the dungeon to find solace in Ari or to be reminded of what was at stake. She could use her imagination for that. Visualizing her death and the subsequent comfort of Ari felt as real as if it had actually happened.

My brain doesn’t know the difference between what’s imaginary and what’s real, she thought.

The idea brought her to a halt. I could trick my brain into believing I’ve suffered. If I visualize the worst, I’ll be ready for it. If I’m not scared, then suffering has no power over me.

Cedar straightened her posture and opened her eyes. She lifted her back leg and placed it forward, breaking through the wall of resistance. She had just undergone an inner journey, rising to new heights of awareness while standing alone in the depths of hell.

Her mind wandered to the countless movies she’d seen, where the hero always triumphed in the end. But they never showed the details of how the hero overcame fear. The mechanics were left out, rendering their victory inspirational but unreplicable.

We can only learn through experience, she realized. It’s a personal, inner journey. That’s why books and movies can only inspire. They leave out the blueprint. If there were a true blueprint, we’d all be fearless warriors.

Had she stumbled upon the blueprint? Cedar pondered this as she moved deeper into the tunnel, her headlamp illuminating the way.

The ground shimmered with puddles of slime, raising questions about what could have caused them. Each step forward felt like a step deeper into herself—a place she had avoided for too long.

It’s useless trying to explain this blueprint to others, Cedar thought, shifting her focus from the slime to something more uplifting. Ari tried explaining it to me, but I didn’t get it until now. I wish I had my journal to write this down. I don’t want to forget.

Another puddle of slime drew her attention, suspicion prickling at the back of her neck. A monster had to be nearby. Cedar loathed all things slimy, so of course Ari had incorporated it wherever possible. All my greatest fears . . . she mused. What more does he have planned?

A faint rustle echoed down the tunnel. Cedar pressed her hand against the wall, feeling for vibrations. She was no longer afraid of death, but her thoughts drifted to the energy sphere that had granted her an extra life. She wanted to find more of them—or at least figure out what had triggered the first one’s appearance.

The old woman.

The sphere had appeared right after she killed the old lady. That was Cedar’s best and only guess, and it made sense.

The rustle grew into a low rumble, shaking loose dust that danced in the beam of her headlamp. Cedar reached into her pocket and gripped an ice orb, keeping it ready.

“Come on, you bastard.”

The rumble deepened, the sound growing louder and more oppressive. Cedar widened her stance, bracing herself for whatever monstrosity was barreling toward her. Judging by the noise, it was massive—likely as wide as the tunnel itself.

My headlamp . . .

She hesitated. Should she switch it off? Seeing the beast in its grotesque detail might terrify her more than the dark—a fear that she had already conquered.

My headlamp . . . “

Speaking of her headlamp, where would she be without it? Or those little magical orbs in her pockets that saved her from the large minion? Ari didn’t offer her these things, she had to request them.

He expects me to die, she realized. Maybe . . . he wants me to die.

The idea clicked into place. Why else would he carry a bottomless backpack only to leave her alone without any water or equipment? He wanted her to suffer, to fail, to die—and then to return to him, fully prepared for a second attempt.

But why?

By now, Cedar understood his way of thinking.

He wants me to learn how to trust. That’s it. He expects me to die. But guess what, Ari—I figured it out. I don’t need to die anymore. I don’t fear it.

The thought filled her with determination, just as a deafening screech ripped through the tunnel. The air seemed to shudder with the sound, like a prehistoric pterodactyl’s cry.

Then, the beast appeared: a gaping, circular mouth filled the tunnel’s entire width. Row upon row of pointed teeth spiraled inward, disappearing into its writhing, wormlike body.

“A lamprey,” Cedar hissed. “I hate lampreys!”

Without hesitation, she hurled the ice orb into the beast’s cavernous mouth and stumbled back, watching for signs of damage. She scanned her arsenal—aside from her sword and daggers, she had no more destructive tools. She wanted to conserve the rest of her magical orbs in case the ice orb wasn’t effective.

The lamprey’s jaws snapped shut with a thunderous clack. Its snout wriggled, revealing a soft, squishy spot at the top of its head. Cedar’s eyes locked onto the weak point.

Now’s my chance.

With its teeth sheathed, Cedar lunged forward, sword in hand. She drove the blade deep into the vulnerable spot above its mouth, feeling it sink into the beast’s pliant flesh. Using the embedded sword as leverage, she hoisted herself up the slippery slope of its head.

“Oh, gross . . .” Cedar muttered, pressing her gloved hand against the lamprey’s massive mouth to ensure it stayed shut. “Stay . . . stay.”

With a powerful leap, she hoisted herself onto the beast’s head. Just as she had visualized moments ago, she drove her sword repeatedly into the soft palate atop its squirming form.

The lamprey bucked wildly, thrashing like a wild horse. Its head slammed upward, pinning Cedar between the tunnel ceiling and its slimy bulk. Luckily, her armor held firm, shielding her from being crushed. Gritting her teeth, she continued her gruesome work, stabbing again and again into the beast’s brain.

At last, the monster let out a long, wet exhale. Its massive body deflated beneath her like a collapsing bounce house. A noxious, gassy smell wafted through the air, accompanied by the sound of air escaping a balloon. The echoes reverberated along the tunnel walls, and to Cedar, it was the sound of triumph.

Rising atop the mushy, fractured head of the defeated lamprey, she thrust her arms into the air and declared, “Victory!”

Her proclamation was short-lived. The beast’s slick surface sent her sliding down its face as though it were a playground slide. She tumbled to the ground in an unceremonious heap, her back now coated with blood and gunk. Shakily, she stood and dusted herself off, nodding confidently.

“Nobody saw that.”

Undeterred, Cedar climbed back onto the lamprey and began crawling along its slimy, deflated body, making her way further down the tunnel. Twenty feet later, she reached the creature’s backside and slid off onto solid ground.

Standing tall, Cedar felt fully present, in tune with her body and mind. She understood herself with a clarity that felt exhilarating. Her character, her identity, and her actions all seemed to coalesce, driving her forward. It was as though she were watching her own story unfold from a third-person perspective, enchanted by the protagonist: herself.

Yet, she paused to consider the fine line between self-love and narcissism. The thought troubled her deeply, for nothing repelled her more than narcissism. It was a trait that sparked her fury and disdain. But this, she reassured herself, wasn’t that. This was evolution—a transcendence of self, not an infatuation. She was becoming more.

The once-menacing corridor no longer felt foreboding. What had loomed as a harbinger of doom now seemed like a lighthearted challenge. With jaunty steps, Cedar made a mental note to ask Ari about the nuances of self-love versus narcissism. She smirked, anticipating his explanation would be lengthy, as usual.

When she reached a fork in the tunnel, she instinctively veered right, recalling her father’s advice: Always stick to the right path when in doubt.

Soon, she faced another drop—this one about ten feet, much like the earlier descent. The ledge marked a point of no return, but retreat wasn’t an option. She was far too invested. Carefully lowering herself, Cedar surveyed the new area below.

The environment shifted entirely. She landed in a square, tiled room. Unlike the rough, jagged rock and slimy walls of the tunnel, this space was pristine. The tiles were immaculately laid, with seams so tight no air could seep through. The room offered no visible exits, only a small, ominous opening in the ground.

The opening reminded Cedar of an ice fishing hole, except instead of crystalline water and chunks of ice, it was filled with a pulpy, writhing mass of jelly-like creatures. The strange, gelatinous lumps swirled sluggishly, giving the liquid a textured, almost alive quality.

Cedar crouched near the edge, peering into the unsettling pool. “Well . . . that’s not ominous at all.”

Cedar scrutinized every inch of the chamber, now resembling a solitary confinement cell. She pushed against the walls, hoping to find a hidden door or a weak spot, but the tiles held firm.

Her eyes returned to the hole in the ground, filled with its viscous, pulsing substance. Could she squeeze through it? It was barely larger than a petite pothole. Shaking her head, she turned her attention to the tiled floor instead, stomping on each one in hopes of finding a loose panel.

Her persistence paid off. One of the tiles shifted beneath her boot.

Suddenly, the cell reverberated with the ominous sound of hidden gears grinding to life. The ceiling growled as it began to descend.

“That’s not good.”

Cedar stomped on the loose tile again, hoping to reverse the mechanism, but the ceiling continued its steady descent. Remaining in the cell would mean facing an inevitable, slow crush—a fate no armor or protective cloak could avert.

“This is really not good.”

Claustrophobia, one of Cedar’s unresolved fears, stirred in her chest. The confined space tightened around her, stirring memories of a stifling Peruvian sweat lodge where she’d sworn never to revisit such small, oppressive spaces again.

With no alternative, Cedar sat on the edge of the hole and dangled her legs into the warm, bog-like substance. It engulfed her calves with a silky, cloying texture that felt both soothing and repulsive, as if she were wading into a womb of viscera and jelly. Gritting her teeth, she pushed her hips through the opening, her progress halted briefly by her chest.

“Damn you, Darwin and your proposed sexual selection,” she muttered, squeezing herself through the tight space.

Once fully submerged, Cedar kept her head above the surface, kicking to stay afloat. She stared in dread as the ceiling descended further, leaving barely three feet of space above her head.

This predicament is only temporary, she reminded herself, trying to suppress her rising panic. Still, a trickle of urine escaped her.

The microbes will love it.

Taking the deepest inhale of her life, Cedar dunked her head into the bog. The viscous liquid was murky and brown, stinging her skin. Tentatively, she opened her eyes.

The scene below was haunting. Stinging jellies lit up the darkness with bioluminescent flashes, casting eerie glows in the murk. Though blurry and indistinct, the gelatinous creatures moved with purpose, and Cedar couldn’t shake the sense that they were aware of her presence.

Two jellies broke from the flock and floated toward her.

Fearing she’d drown if she lingered, Cedar began swimming, searching for an escape route. She followed the faint glow of a trail of jellies down a long, narrow passage. Her headlamp cut through the darkness, illuminating the crevasse walls so she could avoid scraping against them.

The narrow tunnel seemed endless, but at last, she emerged into open water. The expanse was vast, teeming with glowing jellies that pulsed and shimmered, seemingly welcoming her arrival.

Cedar ignored the venomous creatures and kicked hard toward the surface. She scanned the dark water above, searching desperately for any change in color, any sign of light or breathable air.

Come on, come on . . . she thought, straining her eyes.

Suddenly, a hoard of jellies encircled her, their movements deliberate and menacing. One slid up her pant leg, its sting biting deep into her calf.

Cedar howled, releasing a burst of air bubbles as the searing pain shot through her. Swatting at her leg, she felt the burning sensation creep further upward, invading the tender skin of her inner thigh. More stings followed, each one like a red-hot needle piercing her flesh.

Her lungs began to burn, and panic surged. Cedar thrashed, trying to free herself from the jellies’ onslaught, but the venom coursing through her veins made her movements sluggish.

Realizing the jelly had slipped inside her pants, Cedar made a grim decision: she had to leave it there. Removing her pants was out of the question in these circumstances. The persistent stings served as a brutal reminder of the masses now swarming her. No matter how desperately she swiped at them, the jellies crowded her vision, clinging to her neck and crawling down her back.

Time was running out. Her lungs burned with the effort to hold onto the last remnants of air, and the venom’s numbing effects were spreading. With few options left, she reached into her pocket, fingers fumbling for a magic ball. She crushed it in her gloved hand, not knowing whether it was ice or water.

Instantly, the water around her turned frigid. Cedar, along with the jellies, froze in place.

Ice.

Her body stiffened, every muscle locked in icy paralysis. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t move—she couldn’t even register pain anymore.

The cold burrowed into her, numbing her flesh and gnawing at her bones. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint, rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat.

After a few agonizing beats, the ice shattered. Shards of frost and lifeless jellyfish fragments drifted around her like glittering debris. Cedar’s limbs, though aching and stiff, were free.

She frantically kicked toward the surface—only, which way was up? All directions looked the same—there was no up, no down—just as it was during her time in space.

Desperate, Cedar released a single air bubble from her lips to watch where it went. She followed the bubble as though it were consciously guiding her. From her wayward navigational skills, it looked like the bubble was leading further down and away, as thought it traveled diagonal to the horizon.

Dark splotches began to creep into the edges of her vision—a clear sign her time was almost up. Refusing to let fear take hold, she propelled herself after the bubble with everything she had left.

Just as the bubble burst, Cedar’s hand broke through the surface. She erupted into the open air with a gasping, desperate breath, her lungs heaving as sweet oxygen rushed in. She was free—if only from the water.

But her relief was short-lived. She was still trapped in the depths of the sadistic mountain.

“Hello, Cedar,” a deep, menacing voice rumbled from the shore.

Turning her head, Cedar spotted a flickering torch illuminating a tall figure. It was a man—or at least half of one. His legs ended in cloven hooves, his slender face framed by stubby horns and a meticulously groomed goatee. He wore nothing else, his powerful torso gleaming in the firelight.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked with a wicked grin.

Beside him, a woman hung upside-down, suspended by her entrails. Her screams pierced the air, raw and unrelenting. The creature casually lifted the woman’s arm to his sizable mouth and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of her forearm, tearing into it with horrifying ease.