Erik’s breath or the mimic equivalent came in ragged bursts as he sat motionless in the corner of the chamber. The cold, slick stone walls of the Dungeon of Sorrow pressed in around him, casting jagged shadows in the flickering torchlight. Though he had no lungs, his mimic form imitated the rhythms of human panic, a cruel irony he hadn’t yet learned to control.

The trio of adventurers who had spared him huddled across the room, speaking in low voices. They hadn’t killed him, but that didn’t mean they trusted him. And Erik couldn’t blame them. Even now, he could feel the pulse of their life essence the tantalizing warmth that beckoned to him like a siren’s song. The hunger was always there, gnawing at the edges of his mind, threatening to drown out the shreds of humanity he clung to.

His body ached, or at least the mimic’s approximation of pain like a constant grinding tension that radiated from the core of his being. He could still feel the sword strike from earlier, a phantom sensation where the adventurer’s blade had cracked through his chest before the cleric's healing magic had repaired the damage.

“You’re lucky we didn’t finish the job,” a sharp voice snapped, yanking Erik from his spiraling thoughts.

The woman, whom the others had called Kaelith, loomed over him. Her leather armor was scratched but well-kept, and the twin daggers at her sides glinted with a readiness that made Erik’s mimic instincts scream “danger.” Her expression was colder than the dungeon walls, her pale green eyes boring into him with a mix of suspicion and barely concealed disgust.

“I didn’t ask for your mercy,” Erik said, his voice low and hollow, echoing unnaturally in the room. He winced at how inhuman it sounded.

“No,” Kaelith said with a sneer. “You didn’t. I suppose we should’ve expected something more clever from a mimic, though. Pretending to have a conscience”

“That’s enough,” a calmer, deeper voice interrupted. The warrior Edrin, if Erik remembered correctly stepped forward. His armor bore the scuffs of countless battles, and the hilt of his longsword protruded from his back like a warning. Unlike Kaelith, his expression held no malice, only measured caution.

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“He hasn’t attacked us,” Edrin said, “and he saved us from the trap in the southern corridor. We wouldn’t have made it this far without his help.”

Kaelith scoffed. “Saved us? He probably knew about the trap because it’s his dungeon.” She gestured at Erik’s box-like form, her lips curling. “Don’t think I didn’t notice how you lingered behind, waiting to see if we’d spring it. And let’s not forget what he is. That thing isn’t human anymore, Edrin. It’s a monster, plain and simple.”

Erik flinched at her words, though he tried to hide it.

Edrin didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied Erik with a long, searching look. Erik met his gaze, forcing himself to sit still despite the nervous energy coiling within him.

“Maybe he’s not human,” Edrin said finally, “but he hasn’t tried to kill us. And right now, I’d rather have him as an ally than another enemy in this damned dungeon.”

Kaelith looked unconvinced but said nothing more.

The cleric, a young man with an air of quiet nervousness, finally spoke up from the corner where he was studying his spellbook. “If we’re keeping him around, we should give him a name,” he said. “Calling him ‘mimic’ all the time feels... odd.”

Erik blinked. “I already have a name. It’s Erik.”

Kaelith rolled her eyes. “Of course it is.”

Before anyone could argue further, the room shuddered. A low, rumbling groan echoed through the dungeon, sending loose bits of stone crumbling from the ceiling. The torchlight flickered violently, casting the room into near darkness for a heartbeat.

“What was that?” Kaelith demanded, her daggers already drawn.

“The dungeon’s shifting again,” Edrin said grimly. “Stay sharp.”

Erik had felt it too an unsettling ripple in the air, like the dungeon itself was alive and breathing. He didn’t know how he knew, but something deeper within the labyrinth had stirred.

The hunger flared within him, sharper and more insistent than before.

“Something’s coming,” Erik said, his mimic voice cracking. He pushed himself upright, his mimic shape oozing unnaturally as he tried to steady himself. “Something big.”

Edrin nodded, already gripping his sword. “Then we’ll face it together.”

Kaelith snorted. “Together. Right. Just make sure it stays in front.”

The rumbling grew louder, and Erik felt his mimic instincts surge in response an overwhelming urge to fight, to consume. He clenched what passed for his jaw, forcing himself to focus. He wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t let himself become one.

But as the ground beneath them cracked and the walls began to warp, Erik couldn’t shake the feeling that the Dungeon of Sorrow had other plans.