“Look, I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me!” Karolen’s voice whispered in the dark of the Dungeon. Her patience had worn thin ages ago, and every additional gesture Lowe made was another fray to her nerves. He was, subtly, waving his hands about like a deranged puppet master, conducting some absurd pantomime that only made sense in the labyrinth of his overworked mind. “Can I ask, how long is this silence debuff supposed to last? It’s a bloody pain in the arse trying to communicate like this.”

Lowe shot her a grimace, the tension visible on his face. His eyes darted to Preece and Gral, who were walking a few paces ahead, seemingly oblivious to Lowe’s desperate performance. Then, with barely a moment of hesitation, he started up another round of gestures—this time pointing at Preece with exaggerated care, then flexing his arms dramatically like a bodybuilder mid-pose, and finally saluting before mimicking a punch to the air.

Karolen blinked, utterly bewildered. “Whatever buff that Essence has given you, it hasn’t made you any good at charades. I get it. You’re worried about something to do with the . But what about him?” she whispered, looking at Lowe as if he were a puzzle she was meant to solve with half the pieces missing. His eyes were wild with frustration, which she completely understood. For the umpteenth time, Karolen looked around the corridors for something the Inspector could write on. They were in a museum! Surely there had to be any number of bits of paper lying around. But no. The route Preece was leading them down seemed to be the exception to that rule. It was just an epically long, empty passageway stretching ever downwards towards the museum's cellar. To be honest, Karolen was already thoroughly on edge without Lowe pawing at her sleeve and gesturing like a madman.

Lowe, growing more frantic, started a new series of movements—this time, he mimed pulling something heavy over his head like a hood and then suddenly jerked his hands forward as if revealing something grand. His eyes darted toward Preece again, then back to Karolen.

She threw her hands up in exasperation. “Okay, so Preece is hiding something. Am I supposed to guess what it is now? Is this a game of fucking Twenty Questions?”

The inspector stomped his foot, and if he had the ability to speak, Karolen had no doubt he’d be cursing her out right now. Instead, he slapped his forehead, then frantically gestured downward as if pulling something invisible toward the ground.

“Okay, okay. Let me think. Preece is hiding something... below us?” She raised an eyebrow, hoping for a nod, but Lowe shook his head. “Preece... is pulling something down?” Another shake.

In something akin to a fit of desperation, Lowe pantomimed lifting something heavy again, only to fall into an exaggerated fighting stance, fists raised like a boxer. He then mimicked stomping, as though driving something into the ground with tremendous force.

Karolen stared at him, blinking rapidly. “Preece... is... a fighter? No, that doesn’t make sense. Preece is… oh!” Her eyes widened in a flicker of understanding. “You think he’s stronger than he’s letting on?”

Lowe’s frenzied nod nearly dislodged his own head.

“Well, we know that don’t we?” she said, eyes narrowing as she glanced at Preece ahead of them. “He’s been open and honest that he was a Dungeon Delver before he changed his Class into being a . But he’s not lying about his Level, is he? If he was stronger, we’d have known that when we partied up. What exactly are you trying to tell me, though? Is he dangerous?”

Lowe mimed an explosion with his hands, eyes wide in warning.

Karolen felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. “An explosion? You think he’s going to blow up? Or that he’s something big?” Lowe nodded again, his urgency clear, though the gestures were growing increasingly erratic.

They walked deeper into the Dungeon, the narrow corridors becoming more constricting. The strange, hollow silence that filled the space gnawed at Karolen’s nerves. Normally, Dungeons thrummed with life—or at least the constant lurking presence of things waiting to tear you apart—but this place was eerily still, like a tomb waiting for its last visitor.

Preece’s voice rang out ahead of them, pulling Karolen out of her thoughts. “From what you know of things, are we getting closer to the Core? This place just keeps winding down.”

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“Probably not far now,” Gral replied smoothly, his tone controlled and even. Too controlled, if you asked Karolen. Gral was always a wildcard—a lawyer who played both sides, always too polished, too poised. She didn’t trust him either.

Lowe pulled at her sleeve again, forcing her attention back to his dumbshow. This time, he pointed toward the ground, mimicked slow, deliberate steps, and then pointed to Preece, making the same walking gesture.

Karolen frowned. “A trap. You think he’s leading us into a trap.” Lowe’s exaggerated nod and urgent pointing drove the point home. She could practically feel the heat of his unspoken frustration. Her thoughts were swirling now. Lowe, who had been blocked from speaking thanks to the Essence of Silent Thought, had been trying to warn her for the past half-bell that something wasn’t right. But Preece? The idea that he was more than he seemed—that he was leading them into danger—didn’t just sit wrong, it screeched wrong. “You’re telling me he’s hiding something,” Karolen said, more to herself than Lowe now. “And that whatever it is, it’s big enough to put us all in danger. What else am I missing?”

Lowe mimed pulling a hood over his face again and then threw it back with the kind of drama reserved for actors on a stage.

“A disguise,” Karolen muttered, her eyes narrowing. “He’s hiding behind a disguise?”

Lowe’s eyes gleamed with silent desperation. Finally.

Karolen took a steadying breath. It wasn’t that she trusted Preece to begin with, but this... this had the potential to be huge. She glanced at Gral, who seemed as unreadable as ever. It felt like they were walking into a trap, and if Preece really was the one leading them there, they were in deep.

And there was nothing Lowe could do to tell them more. He had already played his hand, and now Karolen felt the burden of that knowledge alone.

However, before she could act on any of it, the floor beneath them trembled violently. A deep, shuddering rumble that made the stone walls groan in protest. Karolen’s hand was immediately filled with he manifested blade.

Preece froze, turning back toward them, his face carefully composed. “Did you all feel that?”

Lowe nodded, his body tense, pointing frantically toward the ceiling as dust and loose debris began to fall. Karolen’s mind raced. Was this it? Was this the trap Lowe was trying to warn her about?

“We need to move—” Gral began, but his voice was drowned out by a deafening crack.

The wall beside them exploded inward.

Karolen ducked, dragging Lowe down with her as chunks of stone crashed through the corridor like shrapnel. The sound was overwhelming—stone grinding against stone, the thunderous echo of whatever force had just blown a hole through the wall. Her heart raced as thick dust clouded the air. For a few moments, she couldn’t see anything, only the sound of debris settling and the distant rumble of the Dungeon’s shifting mass.

Lowe coughed beside her, his grip tight on her arm as they both pulled themselves up. “What—what the hell was that?” Karolen yelled, brushing dust from her face. The hallway had collapsed inward, revealing an opening in the wall. No. Not just an opening—a hole large enough for someone - or something - to have forced its way through.

And that’s when Karolen saw it: a figure emerging from the smoke, still obscured by the swirling chaos. Cloaked, hood drawn low, striding through the debris projecting an aura of immense power. The ground seemed to ripple beneath each step, and a strange, all-encompassing energy pulsed around it as it moved. Karolen’s stomach sank. Whoever this was, they were more than just another Dungeon monster. This was the kind of power that warped reality itself.

The figure moved with the precision of someone who knew they had already won.

Preece and Gral stood frozen, eyes locked on the new arrival. Karolen wasn’t sure if they were terrified or in awe—either way, it wouldn’t matter.

The cloaked figure didn’t hesitate. With a wave of their hand, a bolt of raw, crackling energy shot from the palm of their hand, obliterating . . . a series of lurking Dungeon beasts that had been hiding in the newly revealed passage. The creatures barely had time to shriek before they were vaporised, reduced to ash and scattered dust.

The figure stepped forward, the shadows around them swirling like a living thing, clinging to their form. Another flick of the wrist, and more creatures were reduced to smouldering ruin. There was no hesitation, no mercy. Whoever this was, they weren’t just strong—they were beyond strong. Karolen’s pulse pounded in her ears. She couldn’t take her eyes off the figure. She needed to see their face, to know who had just torn through the Dungeon like it was made of paper.

The figure paused, standing tall in the centre of the wreckage, surveying the destruction with a kind of grim satisfaction. Slowly, with an almost theatrical motion, they raised their hands to the hood that concealed their face.

The air in the corridor seemed to still, every breath hanging in the silence.

With deliberate care, the figure lowered their hood.

Karolen’s breath caught in her throat.

It was Director Nuroon.