Chapter 3: The Dragon's Contract

Lance's footsteps echoed through the marble halls of the Hallowed Grounds as he searched for answers. The conversation with Zima still weighed on his mind, but something else pulled at him-a familiar presence he couldn't quite place, like a half-remembered dream.

The air suddenly grew heavy, crackling with divine energy. Lance turned a corner and found himself in a vast circular chamber where two gods stood in confrontation. One was Cha, the God of Wrath, his form wreathed in flames. The other was a figure shrouded in darkness, smaller but radiating an ancient power that made the very air tremble.

"He's mine to claim," Cha snarled, his voice echoing off the walls. "The boy has rage in his heart. He belongs with the God of Wrath!"

The shadowed figure's response was quiet but carried weight that made Lance's bones vibrate. "You mistake rage for purpose, Cha. The boy is meant for greater things."

Cha's flames roared higher. "And who are you to decide, Moga? You're nothing but a relic, a forgotten god of abandoned places!"

The chamber grew darker, shadows writhing along the walls. The small figure's form began to change, expanding, transforming. Where once stood a man in a black cloak now rose a massive dragon, scales black as midnight and eyes burning with ancient power. His wings spread wide, filling the chamber, each scale gleaming with otherworldly light.

"I am Moga," the dragon god's voice thundered, "God of Dungeons, Master of the Deep Places, and Guardian of Forgotten Power." His tail lashed out, faster than thought, sending Cha crashing into a pillar. "And you would do well to remember your place."

Lance stood transfixed as Moga's massive head turned toward him, those ancient eyes studying him with keen interest. The dragon's form shifted, condensing back into the cloaked figure, though now Lance could see the power barely contained within that simple shape.

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"We meet again, Lance Seraphis," Moga said, his voice carrying echoes of his dragon form. "Though you don't remember our last encounter."

Lance's heart skipped. "What do you mean?"

Moga gestured, and the shadows around them deepened, forming images-glimpses of past lives, of power and purpose. "The gods have been waiting for your return. In your past life, you were something... extraordinary. A ruler of the deep places, a master of forgotten powers."

"The Dungeon King," Lance whispered, the title rising unbidden to his lips.

Moga's eyes gleamed. "Yes. Though that knowledge isn't mine to reveal fully. What matters is the choice before you now." He extended his hand, and a ring materialized-black metal set with a blood-red stone. "I offer you dominion over dungeons. The power to summon, to control, to build. But the price..."

"Tell me," Lance said, his voice steady despite the weight of the moment.

"The world I would send you to is harsh. Your powers would be sealed until you come of age. And each dungeon conquered requires tribute-power has its cost." Moga's form flickered, showing glimpses of scales beneath his cloak. "But more than that, you would walk a lonely path. The deep places call to their own, and few understand their song."

Lance thought of his mother, of the mysteries surrounding her death. "And if I accept?"

Moga's eyes narrowed. "Then I grant you a fragment of my divinity. The Ring of Summoning. It allows you to call forth beasts from any dungeon in your world-though what answers may not always be what you expect."

The chamber grew darker still, the air heavy with potential. "But know this, Lance Seraphis-this path is not for glory or revenge alone. The dungeons hold secrets older than the gods themselves. Secrets some would kill to keep buried."

Lance reached for the ring, feeling its cold weight in his palm. "The man who killed me... who killed my mother... he mentioned the dark ones."

"Ah," Moga's voice grew colder. "Now you begin to understand. The dark ones serve gods who feed on death, on the cycle of souls. They feared what you might become... what you might remember."

Lance slipped the ring onto his finger, feeling its power pulse in rhythm with his heart. "Then let them fear."

Moga smiled, a flash of sharp teeth in the darkness. "Do you accept my contract, Lance Seraphis? Will you walk the deep paths once more?"

Lance met those ancient eyes without flinching. "I accept."

The shadows surged around them as Moga extended his hand. When Lance grasped it, power flooded through him-ancient, primal, and familiar in ways he couldn't explain. The contract was sealed not with words but with the weight of destiny itself.

"Come," Moga said, his form shifting between man and dragon as they walked. "The Hall of Blessings awaits. And after that... after that, you begin your journey home. To a world that has forgotten what it means to fear the dark."

As they left the chamber, Lance glanced back to see Cha watching them, his flames dimmed but his eyes burning with barely contained rage. The God of Wrath's words followed them down the corridor:

"You've chosen poorly, boy. The deep places swallow all who dare to rule them."

But Lance felt only certainty as he followed Moga. He had chosen his path, accepted his destiny. Whatever waited in the depths, whatever secrets lay buried in his past, he would face them.

The Dungeon King would rise again.