The canal water was a mixture of blue and green. Like a Van Gough painting. It was cold, murky, dense and dark. The current creating swirls of oily water that let the light in small bursts.
The air was full of tension as the different teams descended into the water.
Tavalor saw the elven twins disappearing in the distance. They were the fastest. They had formed a drill shaped cone out of water and slashed through the water with ease. Their route required the least effort. Straight down. It looked like they could even breathe.
Opposite to the flashy entrance of the twins I saw a glimmer of a magic circle in the shadows.
Luneth.
I think I was the only one who could see her. My [Dragon Sight] coming in handy. She simply slid through the shadows. Like a hardcore game of the floor is lava.
Dorian was the flashiest of them all. He sat on a gold throne at the front of a lavish gold plated gondola. It’s hull reinforced with layers of arcane reagents. He swirled a golden goblet of wine. His usual self-assured grin on his face.
He even used magic to call-out to other people. ‘A bit of extravagance never hurts, yes?’
It glided smoothly through the water. Like a slow moving kingfish. The arcane glow dimming as it descended deeper into the depths.
Kethar and Auris stood side by side, their eyes fixed on the water as they unfurled the enchanted beast hide. It glimmered with an iridescent sheen, pulsating softly as Kethar muttered the incantations that would trigger its magic.
The hide, made from the skin of a creature that had lived deep within the frozen wastelands, was a rare and powerful artifact. As Kethar whispered the final syllable, the hide shimmered, wrapping around them both like a living, breathing second skin.
They had transformed into a giant white shark. A one hundred feet long monster. Similar to a great white shark but larger and more intimidating. Huge teeth. A small cone like snout. Small deep set eyes that gave it a pig like appearance.
The shark had a smug and lazy expression in its eyes. It also seemed to find the decent easily. Moving almost lazily through the water.
Finally at the back were Emberfist and Tavalor.
Emberfist’s sharp gaze met Tavalor’s for just a moment before he extended his hand to her. Her gauntleted hand grabbed onto his.
The draconic magic was already thrumming in his veins. The magic awakening automatically. Tavalor had imagined a barrier. And a barrier was formed out of flames.
A shimmering barrier of ethereal energy surrounded them both, cloaking them from the prying eyes of the world above.
Emberfist looked around at the barrier and was surprised. Tavalor on the other hand remained focused. They slowly walked forwards and then into the water.
As they walked into the water a new feature of [Ancient Scales] activated. Physical damage immunity. The water, was no longer an obstacle.
Emberfist and Tavalor walked down the side of canal, stepping carefully on slippery bits of rubbish and ancient history. It was so dark that Emberfist lit the glove that wasn’t in Tavalor’s hand to light the way.
It was slow going. They had to work their way around a lot of obstacles. Unlike the other teams who moved through the unobstructed water.
The deeper they walked, the more oppressive and dark the atmosphere. Higher up the water had been quite clear, but as they went deeper their field of vision dropped. Slowly from several hundred meters. To a hundred meters. To twenty meters. To ten meters. To almost nothing.
They crossed an invisible line in the water and they could see again. They were walking through ruins.
Crumbled grey stonework, shattered columns and what might have been intricate carvings flickered into view.
It was a vast set of ruins.
A drowned city.
A city so vast that the magnitude of it sent a chill down their spines. Emberfist shivered slightly. The gauntleted hand in Tavalor’s hand clenching hard.
The closer they got the more a chill appeared.
The water started to glimmer with power. Slight enough that nobody saw except for Tavalor. The ancient unyielding presence grew stronger with every passing moment.
Tavalor smiled. Interesting. He thought to himself.
The edge of the city had been boulders and ruined buildings. As they made their way further and further in, the stonework gave way to columns, their edges jagged and broken.
Slowly and strangely the groups grew closer and closer together. Something that shouldn’t have been possible due to the vastly different speeds. The silence of the water was broken only by the faint ripples of their movement.
Then the first signs of the dungeons defences activated.
A soft hum, barely audible over the noise of the water, vibrated through the depths. The pressure of the water increased, pushing against them like the hand of some unseen force.
An ancient barrier long dormant, had felt their approach and awakened.
A flicker of light appeared. A pale ghostly glow. Then another. And another. The lights moved beneath the water, guiding the way deeper into the ruins.
They led to a barrier. Flickering in the same ghostly frequency as the lights. Through the barrier they could see a giant door.
It was about a hundred meters tall. Crafted from a dark metal that seemed to suck up the lights.
Ancient runes scrolled across its surface in shifting patterns, their pale blue glow reflecting off the water. Intricate carvings depicted scenes of naval battles and mythical sea creatures, with a massive kraken motif dominating the centre.
The door's frame was adorned with coral-like formations that pulsed with magical energy, while twin serpentine handles, each as thick as a ship's mast, curved outward from its surface. At its apex, a carved medallion showed a compass rose whose needle moved independently, pointing to unseen magnetic forces.
All the teams raced to enter through the barrier.
As they neared the barrier the magic grew almost unbearable. The water shimmered with energy as they broke through the resistance.
They arrived at an air pocket. And an impossibly clear and vast space where the pressure of the depths suddenly eased. They were underneath a clear blue sky. Daylight.
On the door written in draconic. The Vault of Sin.
Sin? Strange.
One by one the groups emerged. Standing in a semi-circle in front of the door.
An echo sounded. Slowly.
Footsteps.
They all turned to look at the door.
Then a thud. A clunk.
The sound of gears shifting and stone grinding on stone.
The door began to open.
The door opened to reveal an enormous hall.
All the teams walked together through the doorway. The space again expanding to reveal a marvel of elven architecture.
The walls rising in gentle curving arcs, were adorned with intricate mosaics and delicate carvings. Telling the story of ancient Vallkenport. Full of legacies lost in time.
The twins had immediately walked towards the walls. Whispering amongst themselves as they took in the mosaics.
Soft glowing runes pulsed with light along the walls, casting shimmering reflections on the marble floors which seemed to stretch endlessly in the distance.
The entire hall felt old. It smelled fresh though.
I wonder where the air is coming from? Thought Tavalor.
Tavalor looked around hoping to find a clue. It smelled freshest from the top and he looked up at the ceiling.
The ceiling arched high above above everyone, disappearing into the darkness. Faint threads of golden trickled down into massive chandeliers that hung suspended in the shape of star-bursts.
In the centre of the room a figure materialised.
Emberfist was the first to notice. She gasped. Drawing the attention of the others.
It was a flicker at first, then growing into a distinct form. Shifting and undulating like smoke.
An energy spread from that form. Like an invisible wave spreading like a surging tide. Small and subtle at first. A slight tremor. Then multiplying. Growing stronger and stronger.
Filling the space with intense pressure. It wasn’t a physical weight but a magical one. It was suffocating and crushing all at once.
Whatever was coming was strong. Terrifyingly so.
[A-Class] at least.
Emberfist clenched her gauntlets. Her fists trembling slightly.
The ever-confident Dorians smile faltered for a second.
The elven twins who had seemed above it all shared a worried glance with each other.
It mad their heart race, clouded their minds, but it was also too captivating, too powerful to resist. The only one who stood oblivious to it was Tavalor.
The weight of that aura strengthened. Wanting to crush them all. Like an immense wave crashing down. It moved through the room in violent waves, bending the light around it, distorting reality. The temperature plummeted, then raised as if it became a part of some cosmic furnace.
The presence grew louder. Whispering. Like a thousand voices speaking in a language not meant for human ears.
[Intimidation]? Tavalor recognised it at once.
Someone was using [Intimidation] against them.
The figure finally fully materialised. Growing into a distinct form.
One of the elven twins exclaimed in shock ‘Vallen!’
As soon as he materialised the aura vanished.
It was a tall, pale elven man. He seemed ethereal, shimmering with a light that seemed to bleed into the very air around him. His skin was so pale that it was transparent. You could see the blue veins through his skin. He had long whitish hair, that flowed like liquid silver and pooling in waves around his shoulders. His eyes glowed silver as well. Like a pool of water that reflected moonlight. His clothing was as much a part of his form as his body—draped in fine silks that seemed to change with every movement, patterns constantly shifting in an endless dance of color and light.
What an entrance. Thought Tavalor.
The group stood in silence, awestruck by that entrance. Even the elvens twins almost bowed their heads in recognition.
Tavalor was the only one amused by it.
Then Vallen spoke. He wasn’t speaking Common but everyone understood. ‘Welcome, travellers. You have come far.’
The silence in the room deepened.
The elven twins glanced at each other.
Even Luneth had been forced out of the shadows. Her posture stiff with fear. Both hands on her daggers.
Even Dorian was quiet. No quip at hand.
Vallen continued: ‘You stand before me, in the heart of the Vault of Sin. This place, long hidden from the world above, is a repository of knowledge—of the greatest sins, and the greatest triumphs—of our people. It is not a place to be entered lightly.’
His words hung in the air. The significance of his statement sinking in.
Treasure. A library. Power. The reason that everyone was here.
As he finished speaking, small glowing orbs began to materialize around him, floating gracefully in the air. They were tokens—magical objects, each gleaming with a different hue, as though each represented a different path. They hovered, delicate as dew, before drifting to each member of the groups, one by one.
‘These tokens are your guide,’ Vallen continued, his gaze sweeping over the groups. ‘Each token holds within it a part of me—a fragment of my power. When you need aid, these will serve as your lifeline. They will guide you, protect you, and in times of great danger, they will allow you to leave. To break the token is to be transported out of this place, to return to the world you came from. But know this—’
His voice dropped, filled with an eerie sense of finality.
‘To break the token is also to relinquish your claim to whatever knowledge or power this place offers. Choose wisely.’
The tokens all pulsed warmly in hand. Each person held a token in hand.
Luneth examined hers with suspicion.
Dorian twirled his lazily, not one to show his unease.
Kethar and Auris, the pragmatic duo, nodded to each other, eyes narrowing as they considered the implications.
Emberfist’s grip tightened on her tokken, the weight on the decision ahead clear to her.
Vallen added: ‘This is not a place for reckless ambition,’ his gaze lingering on each group. ‘There are tests of mind, spirit and body. Some will fail. Others will face greater dangers than they expect. You have been warned.’
The atmosphere in the hall changed again. The air growing thick with magic. The tokens in their hands pulsed brighter. There was no turning back no.
In a sudden unnerving shift, the form of Vallen fractured. It split like a beam of light refracted through a prism. A dozen version of him. Each one slightly different.
The Vallens stood in a semi-circle around the room, their forms shifting in an unsettling synchronicity, each one representing a different aspect of the ancient being.
The first Vallen, old and hunched over spoke: ‘I am Vallen, Keeper of Knowledge. I will guide you through the trial of intellect. Should you seek answers, follow my lead.’
Another Vallen, heroic and bearing the aspect of a warrior, stepped forward, his form rippling with raw energy. ‘I am Vallen, the Unyielding. I will guide you through the trials of strength. Should you seek to prove your might, I will stand beside you.’
A third more serene Vallen, exuding an aura of tranquillity, form glowing with a soft calming light. ‘I am Vallen, the Sage. I will guide you through the trials of spirit. Should you seek inner peace, I will show you the way.’
Different Vallens continued to manifest. Each representing a different path – the intellectual, the physical, spiritual, emotional. The variety was overwhelming, and each group had to decide which Vallen to follow.
The room was quiet except for whispers among the different groups as the dozen Vallens floated in the air.
Tavalor, Emberfist and Luneth stood together. After discussion they were the first to step forward.
They walked towards the Vallen of Knowledge. Tavalor spoke. His voice was firm: ‘We choose you.’
The ancient Vallen’s form flickered for a moment, his aged hands trembling as he extended them towards the group. ‘So be it. Your journey will be one of discovery, but not without peril. The mind can be a terrible prison. Choose wisely.’
The group nodded. A magic barrier shimmered into existence around them, marking the boundaries of their path. No turning back.
The other teams began to make their own decision.
Dorian’s crew hesitated for only a moment before stepping toward the Vallen of Strength, his booming voice echoing in the vast space. ‘We’ll prove our worth,’ he declared, voice full of bravado.
The Vallen, the Unyielding, gave a small smile of approval. ‘So, you seek to prove your strength. But remember, even the strongest can fall.’
Kethar and Auris exchanged a look before stepping forward to choose the Vallen of the Sage. They were a measured group, disciplined in mind and spirit, and the calm energy of the Sage was exactly what they sought.
‘We choose peace,’ Kethar said, the words heavy with meaning.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
With a wave of his hand, the pathways began to form. Doors shimmered into existence along the edges of the hall, each one leading into a separate, unknown journey. The team’s chosen Vallens stepped aside, their forms fading as the paths ahead solidified.
Some doorways seemed nicer. Some seemed dark and strange. Tavalor’s group, still silent, faced the most daunting of the doorways—the one that led into the dark, oppressive depths of Vallen’s trial of intellect. The doorway, made of a dark, obsidian-like stone, loomed ahead, an unnatural darkness pouring from within. It looked like an open mouth.
Tavalor and his team walked towards the dark maw.
‘Remember that each choice has consequences,’ the Vallen of Knowledge intoned from behind them. ‘What you seek will find you, but be wary of what you become in the process.’
Without a word Tavalor stepped forward, the first to step in the the darkness. Emberfist glowing gauntlet lit the pathway as she followed along.
The entrance sealed itself shut.
***
The corridor stretched out before Kethar and Auris, its dark stone walls adorned with faint runes that pulsed with a dim light. The air grew colder as they ventured further into the passage, and the echoes of their footsteps were swallowed by the oppressive silence. Kethar kept his hand on his weapon, his senses heightened. Auris, ever the observer, studied the surroundings with a careful eye, watching the way the shadows twisted unnaturally in the flickering light of their torches.
They were following the Vallen of the Sage, the guide who had promised to lead them on a trial of spirit and peace. But already, the calm was slipping away. There was an undeniable tension in the air, a suffocating heaviness that seemed to be growing with every step.
‘This place feels wrong,’ Kethar muttered under his breath, his voice low and tense.
Auris nodded but said nothing, his sharp eyes scanning the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. His brow furrowed as they continued down the narrow hallway. The further they walked, the more the sense of dread grew, until it was a tangible presence. Then, suddenly, a faint click echoed through the stone. The floor beneath their feet shifted slightly, and the ground rumbled ominously.
Before they could react, a massive stone blade shot up from the floor, its edge gleaming with malice. Auris’s instincts kicked in. He lunged forward, pushing Kethar out of the way. The blade missed by a hair’s breadth, slicing through the air where Kethar had stood just moments before.
Kethar’s heart pounded in his chest, and his breath hitched as he saw the glint of steel sink back into the floor, leaving behind nothing but a shuddering silence.
‘That… was too close,’ Kethar said, his voice shaking with the adrenaline still rushing through his veins.
Auris, his face expressionless as always, crouched beside the trap mechanism. His hands moved with precision as he examined it closely, running his fingers along the ancient stonework. ‘It’s a pressure-triggered blade trap. Hidden deep within the floor. Simple.’
‘Too simple,’Kethar replied, his eyes scanning their surroundings warily. ‘This place is designed to kill.’
Auris stood up, brushing his hands off. ‘Indeed. But these traps are likely meant to deter the weak. We need to be more careful.’
But even as he spoke, the air grew heavier still, and the sense of dread mounted. Kethar felt something shift behind him. He turned just in time to see shadows flickering along the walls.
Out of the dark stone, they emerged—shadow gargoyles, their wings unfolding with a menacing screech as they dropped from the ceiling. The creatures’ eyes glowed with an unnatural yellow light, their jagged stone bodies shifting and moving in the dim torchlight. Kethar unsheathed his sword, his muscles tensing as the first gargoyle screeched in fury, launching itself at him.
He swung his blade in a fluid motion, meeting the stone creature’s claws with a resounding clash. The force of the strike knocked the gargoyle back, but it quickly regained its balance, its stone talons scraping against the floor with a terrible screech.
Auris was already moving, drawing his own weapons—a sleek dagger imbued with magic and a wand—and darting toward the other gargoyle, which was advancing on him from the shadows. With quick precision, Auris fired a spell to stun it, then slashed at the creature’s wings, cutting through the stone-like appendages with ease. But the gargoyle didn’t falter. Instead, it retaliated with a flurry of jagged strikes.
The battle raged on, the sounds of stone against metal filling the air as Kethar and Auris fought tooth and nail against the relentless creatures. They were quick, too quick for their own comfort, and each strike felt like it would be the one that shattered their defences.
As Kethar parried another attack from his gargoyle, he heard a sharp gasp from behind him. Auris’s form jerked back, and Kethar turned just in time to see the dagger slip from his friend’s grip. A deep, jagged crack ran through his chest, stone carving into the flesh beneath his armor.
‘NO!’ Kethar shouted, lunging toward him, but the shadow gargoyle took advantage of his distraction. It lunged forward, sinking its stone talons deep into Kethar’s side. He gritted his teeth against the pain, his vision blurring as he tried to reach his fallen comrade.
Auris, blood streaming down his face, managed to drag himself away from the creatures, but it was too late. His hand reached for Kethar, his eyes wide with shock and pain, but the gargoyle’s claws tore through his body, and in the final moments, he fell silent.
‘No… no!’ Kethar cried, his voice hoarse with grief and fury. He swung his sword with a brutal force, severing the gargoyle’s head from its body in a final, desperate strike. But the damage was done. Auris was gone.
The last of the shadow gargoyles crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but the sound of Kethar’s ragged breathing in the aftermath. He stood there for a long moment, staring at the remains of his fallen comrade, the weight of failure settling heavily on his shoulders.
‘You failed,’ came the cold voice of the Vallen, reverberating throughout the chamber.
Kethar’s head snapped up, his rage flaring at the words. ‘What do you mean, failed? We were—’
‘The trial is not meant to be conquered with strength alone,’ the Vallen interrupted, his voice echoing with the ancient authority of the ages. ‘You chose the path of intellect, yet you lacked the wisdom to anticipate the consequences of your choices. Your failure is not one of force, but of perception.’
Kethar stood still, the weight of the words sinking in. He could feel the crack of tension spreading through their team, the silence now stretching longer than it ever had before.
As they moved into the next chamber, the air grew heavier still. The faint light dimmed further, and the walls seemed to close in around them. The room stretched endlessly in all directions, ancient magic thickening the atmosphere. And as they walked deeper, they could feel the magic rising, oppressive and tangible.
Something was wrong.
Their already-fractured team was beginning to feel the strain. Kethar’s gaze kept darting around, paranoid and unsure. Could Auris have been saved? Had there been anything they could have done? Would they, too, be next?
The trial of intellect had become a trial of survival. But no one seemed to have the answers anymore.
***
Luneth crouched in front of an ornate treasure chest. Her brow furrowed in deep concentration. Her long elf ears twitching. The lid was slightly ajar, the chest’s edges decorated with carvings of twisting vines. The dim light of her torch cast long shadows, making the room feel claustrophobic.
Luneth paid no attention to that; her fingers were probing the chests lock.
Emberfist remarked from behind her: ‘It’s a bit too obvious, isn’t it?’ Her tone dripping with sarcasm. ‘It’s a treasure chest, and we’re in a dungeon full of traps. What could go wrong?’
Luneth waved her off, her focus unwavering. ‘I know it’s in here. I can feel it.’
Tavalor who had been trailing behind, taking a more exploratory approach, raised his eyebrow. ‘If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re searching for something that doesn’t exist.’
‘Trust me,’ Luneth said, as she used a lock-pick. ‘It’s in here. I can feel the presence of something powerful.’
With a creak the chest fully opened, revealing only a pile of gold coins, a few faded jewels and an ancient-looking scroll. Luneth’s eyes sparkled with excitement, as she immediately began digging through the treasure.
‘That’s … it?’ Emberfist snorted. ‘A scroll and a pile of junk.’
Before Luneth could respond, the trap triggered. The floor beneath her feet gave a sharp snap, a net shot from the ceiling, entangling her. She let out a frustrated groan as she flailed around, completely caught in the snare.
‘Ugh! Damn it!’ Luneth growled. He face all the way to the tips of her ears glowed red in embarrassment. ‘It was too easy.’
Tavalor smiled at them bemused. He stepped over the triggered trap. ‘Good instincts,’ he said dryly, throwing a glance at Emberfist. ‘Maybe, stop looking for fake treasures in a fake chest.’
Luneth cut herself out quickly. ‘There’s something here!’ she protested. ‘Got it. She pulled the scroll out and waved it triumphantly before dropping intot eh net in defeat. ‘This thing has to be important.’
Emberfist rolled her eyes. ‘It’s a scroll. In a dungeon. Probably nonsense.’
Tavalor had a different mission in mind. It was after all his first dungeon. His mission was to explore every nook and cranny.
His eyes glowing as he used [Dragon Sight], scanning the walls. ‘Interesting,’ he muttered to himself. There was something there. A very thin almost invisible circle in a corner.
He walked over, pushing a stone.
The walls crumbled with a deafening roar, chunks of stone falling away, revealing a hidden chamber bathed in a purple glow.
The air was thick with dust. The space was vast, stretching farther than the eye could see in the dim light, with a high, arched ceiling that vanished into shadows.
At first, the glow was faint, barely noticeable, but it gradually brightened, casting a soft light over the moon. The crystals pulsed, responding to his presence.
The light revealed carvings. Lots of strange carvings. Some defied logic – snaking lines that twisted into impossible shapes. Some patterns overlapping and shifting like they wanted to escape the stones. The word SIN repeated over and over again in draconic.
There were also faces, but they weren’t human. They didn’t belong to any species that he had seen or read about. They were distorted and elongated faces. Their eyes following his every movement, their expressions shifting between pain, malice and an eerie serenity.
Some carvings depicted celestial bodies – planets and moons moving in impossible orbits. Other sowed battles. Not fleshly battles. But battles of light and dark forms, spirits batting in a realm beyond the physical.
As Tavalor moved in to the chamber, the carvings dimmed as he stopped looking at them. Emberfist, Luneth and the ghost followed after him.
The floor was covered in a layer of dust. As Tavalor’s gaze drifted across the room, he spotted the altar. It stood in the centre of the room.
A large stone structure. Several rounded pillars, around waist height surrounding a larger main pillar that was shoulder height. There were many symbols in draconic carved into the pedestals. Each of the outer pedestals glowing different colours.
As he walked closer, he saw that there were different objects on each of the outer stone pedestals. A small, ornate box, a weathered blue tome, a dark metallic sphere. Each surrounded by a mini magic circle.
On the main pedestal, hidden the shadows, was a massive cracked mirror. Its surface covered in dust and webs, and it was off. It didn’t even reflect he current chamber.
Instead playing an old scene on loop.
He walked up the altar, then leapt onto the main pillar. It was round ten feet wide. It was an easy leap.
He saw the scene.
A battle of light and shadow raged within its glassy depths. Two forms clashed in an otherworldly landscape, light bending and twisting as dark figures surged forward, battling with such ancient magic that it warped the very world. Their movements were erratic, flickering in and out of focus, like a dream distorted by time and space.
‘That's... not right,’ Tavalor muttered, his voice low as he approached the mirror, his fingers brushing the dusty surface.
As his touch connected with the glass, the scene froze for a moment—each figure suspended mid-motion—before the reflection flickered, and the battle resumed, more intensely this time.
The faces in the mirror became clearer, revealing distorted, anguished expressions. Each form seemed to scream, yet no sound came from the glass.
Emberfist, Luneth, and the ghost finally caught up, stepping into the chamber behind him. Emberfist’s eyes immediately scanned the surroundings, her hand resting on her sword, ready for anything. Luneth glanced nervously at the dark, metallic sphere, then at the pedestal with the glowing blue tome. The ghost, always silent and unfathomable, floated nearby, its presence fading like a distant memory.
‘I don’t like this," Emberfist said, her voice sharp. ‘It feels like we’re being watched.’
‘No kidding,’ Luneth added, her voice a mix of curiosity and wariness. ‘Is anyone else noticing how... alive this place feels?’
Tavalor nodded.
The mirror flickered again, showing something new. This time, the figures clashed with greater violence, their energy flaring like storms.
Tavalor could barely make out what it was, before its formwas obscured by the chaotic scene, but he recognized the shape.
Snake like. Wings. Breathing fire, ice and all kinds of ancient magic. It brought up a memory from Old Tavalor.
‘That's... a dragon,’ he murmured, leaning closer, drawn to the figure.
Emberfist followed his gaze. ‘A dragon? But that doesn’t look like any dragon I’ve seen.’
Luneth furrowed her brow. ‘Why does it look so familiar?’
Another figure was revealed— a tall, ethereal being with flowing robes, holding an ornate staff crackling with light.
Tavalor's gaze followed hers, and just as he was about to speak, another figure appeared within the swirling shards of glass. This one was taller, more defined—a being of ethereal beauty, his robes flowing like liquid light, his face ageless yet full of purpose. He held an ornate staff, the top crackling with raw energy, the same energy that had surged through the mirror’s vision. But what struck Tavalor most was the unmistakable familiarity of the figure.
‘It's Vallen,’ he whispered, voice tight with recognition. ‘But younger... much younger. This... this is before his downfall.’
The image shifted again, revealing the dragon—the powerful, regal creature Tavalor had glimpsed before. But now it was fully revealed, its massive form curling through the sky in defiance, wings beating with the force of a storm. Its eyes glowed with a fierce, unrelenting energy as it stared down Vallen, the mage’s staff crackling with light as he prepared to meet the dragon’s assault.
Then the scene changed again. Switching to a first persons point of view.
Telling the story of a … servant?
***
I still remember the day I first met Vallen. The Mage, the Unbound, the great architect of the world itself. To the world, he was a genius—a visionary whose very existence seemed to bend the rules of nature.
He wielded magic like no other, weaving chaos and order into one, effortlessly crafting wonders that defied both imagination and reason. But to those of us who served him… he was a god.
He was a perfect being to us. Beautiful and remote.
At first, I admired him. At first, I wanted to be his disciple. He promised us knowledge—power—beyond anything we could comprehend.
His sanctum, a sprawling maze of arcane knowledge, was a reflection of his ambition, every corridor a testament to his genius. His eyes burned with a fire that would never be extinguished, and for a time, I thought it would be enough just to stand in the shadow of that brilliance.
But what do you do when you serve a god who demands everything?
Vallen, for all his greatness, had one fatal flaw: he expected loyalty, and loyalty in his eyes was absolute. A failure to meet his expectations, even once, meant you were a failure in his eyes. It was suffocating, maddening. I was just an apprentice—a lowly servant, barely allowed to glimpse his grand designs—but that was enough. He treated all of us as mere tools to further his relentless drive toward perfection. He saw nothing but his own desires, and those desires—those maddening, incomprehensible whims—became everything.
He didn’t care about us. Not really.
And then, one day, as his power grew immeasurable, he began to speak of the Mirror of Dominion—an artifact forged from his very soul. The key, he said, could unlock the deepest vault of his sanctum. But not only that—no. The mirror would allow its bearer to reshape the world itself, to merge the chaotic and the structured into one flawless whole. Imagine that, he said—imagine being able to control all magic, binding it under your will.
Imagine that, I thought. Imagine having that power.
The mirror was meant to be his final creation, the ultimate expression of his dominance. But it was more than just an object of power. It was a testament to his arrogance. To his belief that no one—no one—could ever be worthy to wield it except for him. He had crafted it so, to make sure no one could take it from him. But I… I had different ideas.
It wasn’t just about the power anymore. It wasn’t just about knowledge, or magic. It was about control. He had built this sanctum, this empire of knowledge, but it was his prison. The walls closed in with every passing day. He thought he was above all of us, above the need for loyalty or companionship, or even a moment of peace.
Every day, he grew more distant, more consumed by his own vision. And I… I began to see something different in the Key. It wasn’t just an instrument for his vision of the world. It was an instrument of tyranny.
He had become a dictator in all but name. A tyrant in his ivory tower, demanding absolute devotion, and punishing even the slightest hint of rebellion. His grand designs, his perfect order, were slowly suffocating me. And so, I made my choice.
I betrayed him.
There was no ceremony, no fanfare. I had learned the language of the mirror long before Vallen realized my true intentions. He had made the mistake of trusting me—of thinking me loyal—and I had used that trust against him. The mirror responded to me, rejecting Vallen’s magic as it had been bound to his soul. In that moment, as I grasped its power, I knew I had become its master. I would be the one to reshape the world. I would be the one to rule.
But as I wielded the Key, I felt it betray me in turn.
Vallen had anticipated my treachery. How could I have been so foolish to think I could steal from him? The moment I tried to claim its power, the mirror rejected me, stripping me of my very essence. The magic that flowed through me turned against me. It was a slow, agonizing death as my magic drained away, as my will and my body were consumed by the very artifact I had sought to wield.
I had become nothing but a hollow shell. A ghost.
The sanctum was in ruins, falling beneath the weight of our conflict. The dragons had come, their fiery wrath laying waste to everything. And Vallen, the fool, had not realized that his arrogance had cost him more than just an apprentice. It had cost him everything. The sanctum collapsed into the waters, the lagoons swallowing the remnants of his empire. And the Key, that precious artifact, was destroyed with me.
***
The mirror dimmed.
Tavalor’s mind raced when the fragmented vision of the mirror faded. The servants story and Vallens last battle with the dragon still fresh. Emberfist, Luneth, and the ghost stood silent behind him, processing the weight of the history they had just uncovered.
‘So, the servant, and the dragons … were all a part of this? And Vallen was fighting them?’ Luneth asked. Her voice tinged with disbelief.
Tavalor nodded.
‘He was fighting on two fronts,’ it was obvious why he couldn’t win.
Luneth’s eyes lit up, staring at the mirror. ‘So this is the mirror?’ She walked up towards it. Touching it.
But it didn’t do anything.
‘It was only a fragment.’ Tavalor said. He suspected that some of his magic had leaked out when he had touched the mirror, and that was what had powered it. ‘And it’s ancient now.’ He finished.
***
Luneth was in front again, her eyes scanning everything—treasures, traps, or whatever secrets this forsaken place might reveal.
‘Another chest,’ she muttered, her voice a mix of curiosity and a hint of impatience. ‘Let’s see what you’re hiding this time.’
The chest was sitting in the middle of a narrow hallway, just waiting for someone to take the bait. Luneth approached it with cautious enthusiasm, her fingers hovering over the clasp, her instincts more attuned to the treasure hunt than any danger.
Before anyone could stop her, she opened it. There was a slight click, a faint shift in the air, and then—a loud crack.
The floor beneath Luneth shifted violently, a hidden blade emerging from the wall,
Luneth leaned backwards and the blade sliced the air in front of her. It just narrowly missed her. The chest slammed shut with a resounding thud as if laughing at her misfortune.
Luneth yelped, stumbling back. “Oh come on,” she said, brushing off her tunic as if she hadn’t nearly had her life taken by a hidden blade.
Tavalor chuckled quietly, watching her dust herself off. He stepped forward, looking over the scene with a bemused expression. ‘Careful, Luneth.’
‘I’m not dead yet!’ Luneth shot back, with an infectious grin.
‘C’mon, focus,’ Emberfist said, through there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. She was getting impatient with Luneth’s obsession with treasure chests and Tavalor’s endless side quests. ‘We’ve got more important things to worry about.’ She said clenching her fists.
Tavalor, despite his growing amusement at Luneth's antics, kept his eyes sharp. His [Dragon Sight] let him see everything most people couldn’t: faint shifts in the air, subtle distortions in the light, and the telltale signs of traps—his sight warned him of impending danger. He had also discovered a side passage to the left, almost completely hidden behind a rock wall. It felt like an invitation.
‘Well, while someone is busy with chest hunting, I found a tunnel.’ Tavalor grinned and gestured toward the narrow opening. ‘It’s just... strange. I’ve never seen a tunnel like it.’
With a click, a silent mechanism slid open.
The group followed him, cautious but intrigued. As they entered the side passage, Tavalor’s sharp eyes spotted a glimmer against the dark stone walls—a faint glint of something metallic.
He crouched down, brushing some dust away from a nearby stone, revealing a small medallion embedded in the wall. It had intricate markings carved into it, an odd blend of elven runes and celestial patterns.
That was it. The only thing in the entire passage. A medallion embedded in the wall.
Tavalor gingerly pried the medallion from its resting place, holding it up for the group to see. ‘This... doesn’t look like any of the treasures we’ve seen before,’ he said, studying it carefully. ‘Seems almost too intentional.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Luneth said, leaning closer to get a better look. ‘What do you think it’s for?’
‘Good question.’ Tavalor turned the medallion over in his hands, his eyes narrowing. ‘It feels magical. Some sort of warding charm, perhaps... or a key to something deeper in the dungeon?’
‘You’re probably right.’ Emberfist shot him a sceptical look. ‘Let’s just be careful with that, yeah? We don’t know what it could trigger.’
As Tavalor slipped the medallion into his bag, Luneth, still itching for treasure, cast her gaze around the tunnel. ‘Well, this place has its fair share of weird stuff,’ she said with a wry grin. ‘I’ll bet there’s more hidden junk down here. This entire dungeon feels like a giant hoard.’
‘Focus.’Emberfist shot her a glance, but there was no real heat in her voice. She had long since learned to roll with Luneth’s oddities.
And just as Luneth began to peer into yet another small crevice in the wall, another trap sprung. This one was a spring-loaded spear that shot up from the floor with terrifying speed.
Luneth was quicker this time, ducking out of the way with a sharp roll to the side.
‘Really?’ Luneth groaned, brushing dust off her knees as she stood up. ‘Who builds these things? It's like they know I'm going to try to loot them!’
The group could only stare for a moment before all of them burst into a fit of laughter. Even Emberfist couldn’t keep the amused smile off her face.
‘You can’t say you weren’t warned,’ Tavalor said, a grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth.
‘You lot are impossible,’ Luneth muttered with a playful eye-roll, but her grin was wide, and she seemed more at ease now. The humour lightened the mood that had been growing tense in the deeper corridors.
‘You've certainly got a talent for finding trouble,’ Emberfist added dryly, shaking her head, though there was warmth in her tone.
‘It’s a gift,’ Luneth quipped back. ‘And you’re welcome for all the entertainment.’
Tavalor continued to pick up a mix of random oddities: the strange medallion, the enchanted box, the shimmering stone he had picked up earlier, each one a curiosity for later study.
‘Alright, alright, let’s focus,’ Emberfist said, clapping her hands once, a touch of exasperation creeping back into her voice. ‘We’re not getting anywhere just playing around. This dungeon won’t be killed with jokes.’
‘Hey, if we don’t laugh,’ Luneth said with a mischievous grin, ‘we’ll just end up dead.’
There was another beat of silence, and then, as if on cue, they all chuckled again. Even Emberfist’s tension seemed to melt slightly, though she quickly regained her stoic demeanour.
Tavalor smiled as he glanced over at Luneth, his eyes flicking to the path ahead.
Maybe the dungeon looked like a place darkness and danger, but they had each other. And for the first time since they entered, he felt the tension in his chest loosen.
Exploring dungeons wasn’t bad.
Together.
‘Alright,’ Emberfist said, her tone growing serious again. ‘Enough fun. Let’s move forward. ’
And so, the group moved forward again, their steps now lighter, their spirits a little higher.