The rain was unrelenting. Sheets of water poured from the perpetual stormcloud that loomed over the mountain, but strangly staying perfectly over the caldera the dungeon was located in. Lightning crackled across the dark sky, its light illuminating the bustling activity below, though the bolts never struck the ground. Workers scurried to erect the academy’s central structure, their voices carrying over the storm as they shouted orders and instructions.
The tavern tent, set up hastily by a clever entrepreneur, was alive with noise. Adventurers swapped tales of their dungeon runs, laughter and boasting mingling with the occasional clink of mugs. In a quieter corner, the surviving members of the young adventuring group sat hunched over their drinks.
The stout shield-bearer muttered, “If I’d been faster… maybe…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
The mage across from him stared into his mug. “It’s not on you. It’s on all of us. We weren’t ready, and he… he paid for it.”
A heavy silence fell over the table. One of the archers raised her mug half-heartedly. “To Darrek,” she said, voice cracking. “He deserved better.”
The others murmured their agreement, clinking their mugs together with a muted sense of finality. Nearby adventurers glanced their way, recognizing the ritual for what it was, but none interrupted. Loss was a quiet, sacred thing in their world.
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Outside the orientation tent, Ulrick and his team stood under a makeshift awning, rain dripping from the edges. The tent itself was packed with adventurers eager for guidance, their muffled chatter audible even over the storm. A rough map of the dungeon’s first floor hung on a stretched cloth inside, illuminated by the flickering glow of lanterns.
“You ready?” Ulrick asked, his voice steady.
“As I’ll ever be,” Brill replied with a grin, though his eyes flicked toward Nole. She was adjusting her form-fitting, comfortable clothing, the wet fabric clinging just enough to accentuate her figure. Brill coughed and quickly looked away when she caught him.
“Don’t get distracted,” Nole teased lightly, her smirk making him blush.
Gale fidgeted nervously, his hands trembling slightly as he checked his gear for the third time. “D-do we really have to speak? I mean, they’re here to listen to you, right?”
Ulrick placed a reassuring hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “You’ve got something important to say. They’ll listen.”
Vin was already muttering to himself, his sharp mind sorting through the details he wanted to share. “Group close. Splitting up—no. Mistakes. Death. Unity, survival.”
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The tent grew quiet as Ulrick stepped to the front, his presence commanding attention. He let the silence stretch, the weight of the storm outside underscoring his words when he finally spoke.
“The dungeon doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t care how strong or smart you think you are. It’s a predator, and you’re its prey. It’s already taken one life.”
The room tensed. Even the cockiest adventurers shifted uncomfortably under his piercing gaze.
Brill stepped up next, gesturing toward the map. “Let’s talk about what you’re up against. First floor’s got plenty to kill you if you’re not careful. Flesh Crawlers? They’re quick, aggressive, and they’ll tear you apart if you’re not paying attention. But the real killers are parasites.” He paused, letting the word sink in. “We even saw on Parasite reanimate a dead beast. We killed the beast in our first run of the dungeon, only to be chased by it in the second run.”
Nole took her turn, her movements smooth and confident as she stepped forward. Her voice was sharp, commanding. “Your best chance at surviving? Landmarks. That powerline in the swamp? The waterfall? Use them. Don’t wander blindly, or you’ll end up lost—or worse. Oh, and if something glows, don’t touch it unless you’ve got a death wish.” She flipped her hair casually, a few adventurers clearly captivated by her presence.
Vin followed, speaking in his distinct, fragmented style. “Landmarks—important. Always. Glow… no touch. Group—close. Split, bad. Mistakes—deadly.” Some adventurers exchanged confused glances, but his team nodded along as if he were reciting scripture. His words carried weight, their strange cadence adding an air of intrigue.
Finally, Gale hesitated as he stepped forward, his voice trembling. “I-I... um… when I first started, I made a lot of mistakes.” He took a shaky breath, then continued, his confidence growing. “But mistakes in there don’t just hurt you. They hurt everyone. And sometimes… they kill. So don’t rush in thinking you’re invincible. You’re not.” His honesty resonated with the newer adventurers, who nodded earnestly.
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During the Q&A, a cocky adventurer spoke up, his voice laced with arrogance. “If it’s so dangerous, why’d you even go in? Sounds like you’re just scared of the place.”
Ulrick’s glare could have cut steel. “We already lost one person up there. If you think you know better, by all means—prove me wrong. But don’t expect us to carry your corpse back.”
The man wilted under Ulrick’s gaze, muttering something incoherent. The rest of the room remained silent.
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As the class ended, the adventurers trickled out, some lingering to ask questions. Ulrick and his team stood near the entrance, answering inquiries and offering advice. Brill nudged Ulrick as they watched the young adventuring group leave, their grief still etched on their faces.
“Think they’ll listen?” Brill asked quietly.
“Some will,” Ulrick replied. “The smart ones.”
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Night fell over the academy. The stormcloud continued its endless deluge, lightning flashing intermittently above. Ulrick stood under the awning of the orientation tent, watching the distant peak of the mountain.
“We’re building something here,” he murmured. “Let’s hope it lasts.”
Everveil:
The grand hall of Everveil’s royal palace was a marvel of artistry. Columns of white marble stretched toward a vaulted ceiling painted with scenes of Ashenvail’s storied history. King Aldemar Valenridge sat upon the throne, his posture poised, though his expression carried the weight of leadership.
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Chad Gepit entered with his characteristic brisk stride, a stack of scrolls tucked under one arm. “Your Majesty,” he began, bowing briefly. “I bring news from the southern territories. It appears we have... a new addition to the kingdom.”
Aldemar raised an eyebrow. “A new addition? Do tell, Chad.”
Chad unfurled a map, spreading it across the polished table before the throne. He tapped a spot near the mountain where Adrian’s dungeon had appeared. “A dungeon, Your Majesty. Recent reports confirm its emergence near the village of Mar.”
The room grew silent as the assembled nobles and advisors leaned in. Aldemar’s gaze sharpened. “A dungeon? And the guild? What is their response?”
Chad smirked faintly. “They’ve wasted no time, as expected. A guild academy is already under construction at the mountain’s base. Adventurers are flocking to the area like moths to a flame. However...” He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. “This dungeon is... unusual.”
Aldemar’s tone grew serious. “Unusual how?”
“The stormcloud,” Chad said, gesturing to an artist’s rendering of the dungeon’s surroundings. “It does not move. It rains incessantly, and lightning flashes but never strikes the ground. Witnesses report creatures within the dungeon that exhibit parasitic behavior and, in one case, reanimated a beast killed by adventurers.”
Murmurs broke out among the council, some voices alarmed, others intrigued.
Aldemar raised a hand for silence. “What are the guild’s intentions?”
“They intend to study it, of course,” Chad replied. “And profit from it. But they are not equipped to handle something of this scale should it spiral out of control.”
The king frowned. “And your assessment?”
Chad’s smirk returned, tinged with seriousness. “It is both an opportunity and a threat, Your Majesty. Properly managed, it could bring wealth and prestige to Ashenvail. But left unchecked...” He let the unspoken words linger.
Aldemar leaned back in his throne, steepling his fingers. “Send a delegation to the guild academy. I want a full report on their progress and a detailed account of the dungeon’s nature. If this dungeon poses a danger to the kingdom, we will act accordingly.”
“As you command,” Chad said, bowing once more. He allowed himself a small, wry smile as he left the hall. “Adventurers and their dungeons,” he murmured under his breath. “What delightful chaos...”
Adrian:
Adrian’s attention was drawn to the Wendren as they huddled around the fire. His oculnid perched high in the cavern, its unblinking gaze capturing every detail of the strange gathering. The skeletal humanoids sat in a loose circle, their thin frames silhouetted against the flickering orange glow.
The one who had sparked the flame sat closest, its glowing eyes fixed on the small blaze as it fed dry moss and branches into the fire. Around it, the others watched in silence, their heads tilting with a strange, almost childlike curiosity.
And then, the first sound came—a low, drawn-out hum, soft and tentative. The Wendren closest to the fire swayed slightly, its skeletal head bobbing in rhythm with the noise.
Adrian’s thoughts sharpened. What are they doing? This isn’t communication as I’ve seen before...
Another Wendren joined in, its hum dissonant yet complementary to the first. Soon, a third added its voice, followed by a fourth. The cavern filled with a strange, chaotic symphony of hums and clicks. The sounds were uneven at first, a discordant cacophony, but then something shifted. The noises began to align, finding a rhythm—a pulse that matched the soft beat of the fire’s crackling embers.
Adrian watched in stunned silence. The Wendren weren’t just making noise; they were singing.
The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard—low, guttural hums and sharp, staccato clicks, layered and weaving together into an alien melody. It was primal yet hauntingly beautiful. It reverberated through the cavern, carried along the damp, stony walls.
From the shadows, a few of the deer-creatures stirred. Their glowing eyes blinked open as they raised their skeletal heads to watch the Wendren. After a moment, they lowered their heads back down, unbothered, and returned to sleep.
The Wendren continued, their song growing more deliberate, their voices rising and falling as if testing the limits of this new form of expression. Their glowing eyes reflected the firelight, giving the scene an almost reverent quality.
For the first time in his existence as a dungeon heart, Adrian felt something he couldn’t quite place. They’re creating... no, they’re evolving. He could sense it in the very essence of the dungeon—the Wendren were changing, growing into something he hadn’t anticipated.
As the fire burned low, the song faded into a quiet hum, a lullaby that echoed softly through the cavern. The Wendren remained seated, their skeletal frames bathed in the dying firelight.
And that night, for the first time, Adrian’s dungeon resonated with something other than danger or fear. Deep within its caverns, a quiet song was born.
The day had been relentless, as it always was. Adrian could feel the constant presence of adventurers roaming the swamp floor of his dungeon, their clumsy movements stirring ripples through his sensory network. Every step they took, every beast they felled, tugged at his awareness, demanding his attention.
It was infuriating.
Adrian grumbled to himself as he reviewed the influx of bio-matter his collectors had harvested. The adventurers rarely died—just as well, since a high death rate would only invite stronger, more prepared parties to his doorstep—but the creatures they slaughtered provided a steady income.
Bio-Matter: 746/2000.
Not bad, but not great either. Enough to keep the ecosystem replenished and spawn more creatures, but it came at a cost: his time. Managing the dungeon was a full-time occupation. If it wasn’t adventurers trampling through his floors, it was rebalancing the ecosystem or directing his collectors. The constant interruptions left him precious little time to focus on what he truly wanted: experimenting, studying, and pushing the boundaries of what he could create.
As the night settled in, the swamp above grew quieter. The latest group of adventurers had retreated, leaving behind a trail of carcasses and scattered loot that his collectors were already sweeping up. Finally, a reprieve.
“This should do,” Adrian muttered to himself, his voice echoing faintly through his chamber. The fleshy walls of his heart room pulsed softly, mirroring his heartbeat. It was time to test the evolution chamber.
He reached out through his network, summoning the creature he had chosen for the experiment. A Venomwing Striker buzzed into the heart chamber moments later, its insectoid body glistening faintly under the red glow of the room. Its wings flickered with bioluminescent light, casting erratic patterns on the uneven ground.
Adrian’s focus shifted to the evolution chamber itself—a pulsating pod-like structure nestled against one wall. It throbbed rhythmically, its surface slick with a faintly glowing liquid that pooled at its base.
“Inside,” he commanded. The Striker obeyed without hesitation, skittering toward the pod and slipping inside through a thin membrane that sealed shut behind it.
The chamber came alive, glowing brighter as it began its work. Adrian’s vision was immediately flooded with a system info box:
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Subject: Venomwing Striker
Available Mutations:
1. Acid Glands (Cost: 10 Bio-Matter) – Introduces specialized glands for spraying acidic venom.
2. Armored Carapace (Cost: 7 Bio-Matter) – Enhances durability with reinforced exoskeleton plating.
3. Overseer (Cost: 500 Bio-Matter) – Unique mutation. Can only be applied once.
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Adrian’s focus locked onto the third option.
“Overseer,” he murmured, intrigued. The description was sparse—no further details about what the mutation entailed—but the cost alone was enough to catch his attention. Five hundred bio-matter? That was an absurd amount compared to the other mutations, which barely cost a fraction of that.
“What makes you so special?” he mused, his curiosity growing. The label “Unique” added another layer of mystery. Unlike the other options, this mutation could only be applied once—meaning he would have to choose carefully if he proceeded.
His heart pulsed faintly as he mulled over the decision. The Venomwing Striker was a capable creature, but this… this could be something entirely new. Something that might finally ease the burden of managing his dungeon alone.
Adrian lingered on the thought, the glowing system box hovering in his mind.
“Overseer,” he said again, the word lingering in his thoughts like an itch. You’re going to be interesting, aren’t you?