The woman was a stunning figure of dark allure, her pitch-black hair cascading like a shadowy waterfall streaked with glints of red beneath a tall, pointed witch's hat. Her thin, arched eyebrows framed eyes that gleamed like rubies, their red hue sparking with a predatory glint that set him on edge. Her lips, thin and perfectly shaped, curled into an amused smile that hinted at dark secrets. She towered over seven feet tall, an imposing presence that sent a jolt of warning through his mind—he knew, without a doubt, that he stood no chance against her if it came to a fight.
A deep, inexplicable dread gnawed at him, the image of a black widow in her web flashing through his mind, waiting with deadly patience for her prey to make one fatal mistake. As he approached her with caution, his heart pounded in his chest, every step a gamble. He knew that one wrong move could seal his fate.
But then, something else caught his attention—the table before her, laden with a feast he hadn't noticed until now. The air was thick with the mouthwatering aroma of cooked vegetables and roasted meats, mingling with the sweet scent of unknown liquids in several pitchers. His stomach twisted in response, the hunger gnawing at him for what felt like a day now roaring to life. The fighting and running had all taken its toll, and he was painfully aware of how weak and drained he had become. Hunger and thirst screamed for relief.
His eyes flicked back up to the woman, who smiled even more broadly, her hand gesturing toward the food as if inviting him to partake. The sight of the meal and her seemingly welcoming gesture broke through the last of his caution. He approached the table, hesitantly at first and then with growing urgency. He piled a plate high with the tantalizing fare and filled a cup with what appeared to be apple juice. As he took his first bite, the rich flavors overwhelmed him, a wave of relief and satisfaction momentarily washing away the tension and stress that had gripped him since his arrival.
Yet even as he ate, the tension lingered, a reminder that this reprieve could be just as dangerous as any other trap in this strange and perilous place.
-
The woman watched the strange man with keen anticipation, her eyes following every agonizingly slow bite as he devoured the feast before him. Most would have hesitated, wary of poisons, but she wasn’t surprised by his hunger after witnessing his relentless struggle in the dungeon without supplies. For what felt like a day to him was a cunning trick. Her dungeon warped people's perception of time so that every two hours felt like one. His hunger was warranted; he hadn’t eaten or drunk for nearly two days—a deceptive twist that had claimed many adventurers before him. Yet, here he was, still pressing on.
Her gaze lingered on him, noting how he moved with the caution of a seasoned soldier, which didn’t surprise her. She also noticed his looks: about 6 feet tall, black scruffy hair, a decent beard forming. His blue eyes, though weary, held a spark that might have made him handsome if not for the ragged clothes barely clinging to his frame. Despite the dungeon’s waning power, he had effortlessly taken down her skeletons. In the dungeon’s prime, she would have been shocked if he had made it past the first foe. With its weakened state, his survival was irritating, not impressive. She wonder if he ever had levels, she thought, noting the lack of skill usage during his fight.
She whispered an incantation under her breath, “𐎽𐎧𐎮𐎼 𐎬𐎤 𐏂𐎧𐎤 𐏂𐎧𐎤𐎱𐎤 𐎽𐏂𐎱𐎤𐎭𐎦𐏂𐎧,” confirming what she had suspected: no level, no class. She shook her head, caught between amazement and disbelief. It was bizarre—infuriating, even—that someone of his skill hadn’t claimed any class. The wait had stretched on far longer than she could bear. Ten thousand years, she thought, the weight of those millennia pressing down on her. She was running out of time—out of patience.
She had drained nearly all her magic from the lower floors, clinging desperately to existence, evading the void that loomed ever closer. She needed out. She ached to leave this place, to see the world beyond her prison again. But the only way to do that was to take over a mortal’s body, which she planned to do as soon as someone reached the last floor. She had even placed an ancient soul-devouring beast down there to make the transition easier. Once, hundreds of adventurers had challenged her dungeon. Now, as the millenniums passed, their numbers dwindled to nothing. It had been fifteen hundred years since her last visitor, and now she had a potential candidate sitting before her.
He was weak, barely worthy, but he was all she had. She could still strike a bargain, bind her soul to his body, and follow him, waiting for the moment when she could take over. But the thought of waiting even longer made her skin crawl. She needed to be free now. All he has to do is reach the end of this floor, she reminded herself, frustration gnawing at her insides.
A forced smile spread across her face, anticipation tinged with impatience bubbling within her. She watched him eat, willing him to hurry. The sooner he finished, the sooner she could guide him forward. Move, she silently urged, knowing that her freedom hung in the balance, feeling her composure slipping every second.
--
As Jack continued to chew on his chicken and sip the unfamiliar juice, his mind gradually began to clear. The gnawing hunger that had consumed him for days was finally subsiding. The instinct to survive, so ingrained by his military training, loosened its grip on him. His thoughts, no longer dulled by hunger and thirst, sharpened as he took in his surroundings.
Seated across from him was the woman—the source of the soft tapping sound. Now that he could focus, he noticed her translucent appearance. She was beautiful, but faintly ethereal, her expression a mix of impatience and curiosity, as if waiting for him to realize something important.
“Thank you for the food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Jack said, his voice still a bit shaky, feeling almost like a student trying to explain himself to an annoyed teacher.
The woman tilted her head slightly, lips curling into a strange smile, before speaking in a melodic, unfamiliar language.
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"Nista vlour trellion. Idrhe polsen var nikt darvyn juvor, malkhe Isor bren varlen zhathels for mydran flissa."
Jack blinked, confusion sweeping over him. He rubbed his ears, trying to understand. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you just said,” he stammered.
The woman frowned, seemingly puzzled, and then raised her hand. This time, she uttered words that resonated differently, ancient syllables that seemed to pull the air around them into stillness. Her voice shifted into something more powerful:
"𐎠𐎠𐎫𐎫𐎮𐎼 𐏂𐎧𐎨𐎽 𐎯𐎤𐎱𐎽𐎮𐎭 𐏂𐎮 𐎸𐎭𐎣𐎤𐎱𐎽𐏂𐎠𐎭𐎣 𐎠𐎭𐎣 𐎽𐎯𐎤𐎠𐎪 𐏂𐎧𐎤 𐎼𐎮𐎱𐎣𐎽 𐎮𐎥 𐏂𐎧𐎤 𐎼𐎮𐎱𐎫𐎣."
The air itself seemed to hum with each word, and Jack felt a sharp, piercing ring in his ears. His head pounded, and the pain surged through his skull like a bolt of lightning. He clutched his temples, staggering backward. The pain intensified for a brief, agonizing moment before it abruptly vanished, leaving him gasping for breath and retching.
“What the fuck did you just do to me?” Jack snarled, his hand reaching for his spear, eyes wild with pain and panic.
But before he could rise, the woman lazily extended her finger and pointed toward him. An invisible force slammed into Jack’s body, knocking him back down as if a mountain had fallen on his shoulders. He struggled but couldn’t move, pinned under the weight of her power.
"Please, sit down," she said, her voice cool, with a dangerous undertone. "First of all, you will not speak to me in such a manner again. Secondly, I have generously granted you the ability to understand and converse with me, as well as anyone else you may encounter. Now, tell me who you are, and I suggest you speak only the truth."
The weight lifted just as suddenly as it had appeared, and Jack gasped, feeling the pressure release from his body. He slowly sat up, his head still spinning from the ordeal. “My name is Jack Hill. And why the hell do you sound like you’re from some British drama?” he asked, voice hoarse with frustration.
The woman gave him a long-suffering look, clearly unimpressed with his outburst. "How I sound to you is merely a reflection of how your mind arranges the words. It is irrelevant." She straightened, her posture regal and imperious. "What matters is that we have a most important conversation."
She stood a little taller, her eyes glinting with a mix of irritation and amusement. "I am Everon BlackWind, Matriarch of the Shade Coven, and I am the creator of this dungeon. You find yourself in a place of my making, and I have an offer for you."
Jack frowned, his muscles tense as he tried to process what she had just said. “Where the hell am I? Why are there skeletons everywhere? And what is it you want from me?”
Everon let out an exaggerated sigh, as though the questions bored her. "You are in the Shadowthorn Hollow Forest, in the northern region of the continent of Avalorie. The skeletons? My creations, crafted to test the strength of any who enter. As for what I want from you? I have a deal to propose."
Jack narrowed his eyes, his guard up. “And what kind of deal would that be? Am I supposed to sell you my soul or something?”
Everon chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Nothing quite so... dramatic." She folded her arms, her gaze locking onto his. "What I seek is someone capable of restoring what I have lost. My dungeon, once a grand fortress of magic, has been reduced to this single floor after centuries of erosion. I need someone to bind with this place, someone who can help me rebuild its power. In return, I will offer you the full extent of my knowledge—magic, ancient secrets, whatever you desire."
Jack stared at her, his mind racing. His fingers tightened around the shaft of his spear. “Why me? What do I get out of this?”
Everon smiled, her eyes gleaming with something akin to amusement. "You gain access to my knowledge, my power. You are in a world you do not understand, Jack Hill. But I can change that. With my help, you can thrive. Consider it a mutually beneficial arrangement."
She stepped closer, her presence imposing. "The magic I wield is beyond anything you have ever seen. And in this world, you will need that power to survive."
Jack took a hard minute to think this through, his mind a whirlwind of questions and doubts. His heart thudded in his chest as he considered the implications. He was in a world where he knew nothing, and the thought of having her help was undeniably tempting—information was a lifeline, even if hers might be outdated. But the more he turned it over in his mind, the more a creeping unease began to settle in his gut. Was this deal safe? Could it possibly be fair? A cold sweat formed on his brow as his thoughts spiraled. What if he was walking right into a trap, setting himself up for possession, or worse, becoming some sort of puppet under this contract?
His hand unconsciously tightened around the hilt of his spear, knuckles whitening as the reality of it all hit him. What exactly was a soul contract, anyway? His limited knowledge of fantasy offered some insight, but now, in the harsh light of reality, the concept was terrifying. This wasn’t a game; there were no reset buttons here. His life—his very soul—hung in the balance. Every instinct screamed at him to be cautious, to scrutinize every word, every subtle gesture she made. His stomach churned with fear, the knot in his gut tightening with each passing second. Was this really the right move? Was he about to make a mistake that could never be undone?
And yet, despite the fear gnawing at him, another thought tugged at the corners of his mind. He’d read enough fantasy to know that soul dealings, while dangerous, were often straightforward—you do XYZ, and in return, you get ZYX. If either side broke the deal, their souls would be destroyed, and the contract would be void. The simplicity of it, the clear-cut rules, offered a strange sort of comfort. He glanced back at the imposing figure before him. Right now, she was his only concrete way out of this place. The heavy stone doors seemed to loom more prominent in his mind, an impassable barrier without her guidance. She could help him navigate what lay ahead, maybe even help him find a way back home. The thought of returning, even if there wasn’t much waiting for him, felt like a lifeline—something to hold onto in this dark, twisted world.
But it was the power she wielded that truly captured his imagination. The air around her seemed to hum with it, a raw, untapped energy that made his skin prickle with anticipation. He couldn’t deny it—he was a nerd through and through, and the idea of having magic of his own was almost intoxicating. His breath hitched slightly as the possibilities danced through his mind. What kind of spells could he learn? What ancient secrets could he unlock with her knowledge at his side? The thrill of it sent a shiver down his spine, a sense of wonder and excitement bubbling up inside him, overpowering the lingering fear.
This wasn’t just about surviving anymore. It was about embracing the incredible possibilities that were suddenly within reach. The fear that had twisted his gut began to unravel, replaced by a growing sense of anticipation. The idea of escaping this dungeon, of finding his way home with newfound power, of mastering the arcane arts—it was an adventure like no other, a chance to step into the extraordinary. Jack’s mind raced, his doubts falling away as the thrill of what could be took hold. How could he pass this up?
After what felt like an eternity, Jack exhaled slowly, straightened his shoulders, and locked eyes with Everon. A steely resolve had replaced the flicker of doubt. “Alright,” he said, his voice firm, brimming with newfound confidence. “Let’s negotiate this contract.”
Everon’s smile grew wider, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Very well. Let us begin."