As I sit cross-legged just outside the cave, eyes fixed on its dark mouth, my body unmoving except for the steady rise and fall of my breath. The chill of the stone on the mountain seeps up through me, grounding me, and keeping me centered as I wait. It’s just me here, alone on the edge of the unknown, and this is how it has to be. My only weapons are patience and calm, and I have to wield them well.

Slowly, I gather the energy inside, feeling my mana stir like the embers of a low fire. It’s there, just enough, and I shape it with practiced care, focusing on the image in my mind. Me, but not me. The duplicate looks back at me with a faint nod. It knows its purpose. Without a word, it turns and strides into the cave, disappearing into the darkness without a backward glance. All I can do now is wait.

The night stretches around me, and I let it settle, letting everything fade except the dull ache in my chest where that invisible connection still holds. Each attempt, each life, gets me a little closer to mapping out the cave and its dangers. So far, every clone has found its end somewhere in that labyrinth of shadows. Some in brutal ways, some barely taking a few steps before falling into traps.

My mind drifts over what I know, replaying those scattered fragments of memory from the lives I’ve already lost. I remember the layout of each discovered trap. Tripwires, spikes, pressure plates, and more. I can see the goblin patrols, their green faces twisting in malice, the way their chittering voices echo just far enough to give warning. Each attempt has etched those details into my mind, forming a map that’s still frustratingly incomplete but growing clearer with every death.

I stretch out my senses, hoping, waiting for any trace of the duplicate’s progress. I close my eyes, thinking back to each one learned. Like the hidden chamber, one clone stumbled upon the strange carvings, the ones that seemed to call to me. Those ancient symbols had a weight to them, and allure, but the clone hadn’t lasted long enough to understand why.

Then it hits me. A faint, almost imperceptible snap, like a thin thread breaking. The duplicate is gone, and I get a flash of its final moments. Dodging a trap, but not the goblins waiting just beyond it. I grind my teeth, letting the frustration pass, absorbing what little I learned. That path is marked in my mind now, another piece added to the puzzle. It’s progress, even if it’s maddeningly slow.

Again, I let my man replenish just enough to send in another. My fingers twitch as I shape the next clone, the process a little slower this time, my mana starting to feel thin. I can’t keep this up forever, but each new attempt builds on the last. The cave is becoming more familiar to me with each attempt, and each death. Each duplicate’s life sharpens my instincts for the paths and the threats ahead.

The duplicate blinks into being, and we share a look. Determination meeting my own in its gaze, knowing how many have fallen before it. I nod, and it strides forward into the dark, while I stay behind, sinking back into the meditative calm that’s the only thing keeping me focused and sane through all this.

I feel that pull again, that nagging sensation that something deeper within the cave is calling out to me. It’s faint but persistent, a kind of rhythmic pulse that grows stronger every moment I sit here. I don’t know what it is yet, only that it’s tied to me and my skill.

I shift my weight slightly, legs going numb from sitting so long on the stone, but I keep my mind steady, my breathing calm. There’s no use in rushing. That’s something I learned after the first dozen attempts. Impatience gets you nowhere in a place like this.

The wait drags on, the minutes blending into an endless stretch of quiet. Then, I feel it, the clone is gone. I catch another impression, a hazy sense of its death in a flash of movement, claws and green skin in the shadows but nothing specific enough to change my approach. I close my eyes, replaying every scrap of information I can recall, adjusting my mental map once more.

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I only have enough mana for one more, before I need to rest and recover. I haven’t eaten or slept in over twelve hours, getting lost in my determination to find the end of this cave. Soon I’ll need to head back to the village nearby, eat something at the inn I’m staying at. But, before that, I conjured another duplicate.

It’s nearly automatic now, a well-rehearsed process. This time, I added a new directive. To seek out that hidden chamber with the carvings. If it can get there, maybe it’ll find a clue to the deeper mysteries of this place.

I watch the duplicate go, feeling the echo of its resolve. This time, it lasts a bit longer, dodging the early traps, and slipping past the goblins that lurk in the shadows. Then, just as I start to hope the thread snaps. Another failure.

I sat back, letting the frustration wash over me before pushing it aside. I’m close—I know I am. Each loss is building toward something. Maybe some food and sleep will help me find what I am missing.

The mountain air is sharp in my lungs as I leave the cave behind, making my way down the rocky path toward the village nestled in the valley below. My mana is spent, and fatigue has settled deep in my bones. With every failed attempt, the cave has worn me down little by little, testing not just my power but my patience. But for now, I need a break. A night to gather myself, to let the memories of my duplicates fade into my mind.

As I descend, the dim lights of the village come into view, warm and inviting. It’s strange, but after the darkness of the cave, those lights are almost comforting, a reminder of life outside that grim labyrinth.

The village is quiet at this hour. A few voices drift from the inn, blending with the sounds of livestock settling in for the night and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. I push open the door to the inn, greeted by the crackling of the hearth and the smell of roasting meat. The innkeeper nods at me, recognizing me as one of the dungeon delvers, and gestures for me to take a seat.

I settle into a corner, my back to the wall, the weight of my journey settling into my muscles as I let myself relax. The warmth from the fire seeps into me, easing some of the tension I didn't realize I; 'd been carrying.

A serving girl brings over a plate of food. A thick stew, fresh bread, and a pint of ale. As I eat, I let my gaze drift over the other patrons, a mix of villages and travelers, most of them rough and weary, much like myself. I can hear snippets of conversations, talk of bandits on the roads, a recent bad harvest, and even the dangers lurking in the mountain above.

It’s not long before I overhear a conversation about the cave. I focus, listening closely without drawing attention. One man, old and weathered, is speaking in a hushed tone to his companion.

“They say the cave holds secrets older than the mountains themselves,” he says, his voice heavy with mystery. “Few who go in ever come back, and those that do speak of an unending pull. Dragging them deeper, and deeper inside. Like something calling to them.”

The other man shakes his head, clearly uneasy. “It’s cursed, that’s what it is. Those who get close enough to the cave become obsessed, muttering about symbols.”

I am stiff. Symbols, like the ones I’d glimpsed through my clones? What could they mean? And why do I feel this unexplainable pull toward them?

My thoughts drift back to the cave, the rhythmic pulse I’ve felt, the strange allure of the symbols carved into its walls. What lies at its center? What is it that’s calling to me? I push the thoughts aside and finish my meal in silence, but the curious gnaws at me.

After paying for the meal and room, I head upstairs, my footsteps heavy with exhaustion. I collapse onto the small, hard bed, expecting to fall asleep instantly. But the moment I close my eyes, visions from the cave flash before me. Glimpses of dark corridors, lurking shadows, and the brief, fragmented memories of each duplicate's final moments.

Sleep is elusive, but eventually, I drift off, slipping into a restless, nightmare-filled slumber. Who knew getting killed a thousand times would cause such fitful sleep?