As Godfrey leaned over to check if Karlos was conscious, the boy’s head lolled to the side, his eyes rolling back. “Yup,” the knight muttered dryly, standing and dusting off his armor. “He’s out cold.”
The dungeon’s oppressive atmosphere weighed heavier than ever as the knight shifted his gaze to the rest of his surroundings. Merlin, leaning heavily against the cracked wall, was pale, clutching his leg where a of violet crystal spear protruded. His breaths came shallow and labored, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead. Godfrey narrowed his eyes, taking in the sight of his battered comrade.
“Merlin,” Godfrey barked, stepping over Karlos’ limp form to kneel beside the mage. “How bad is it?”
Merlin grimaced, managing a dry chuckle despite the situation. “Bad enough,” he hissed through clenched teeth. His usual composure was cracking under the pain. “I’d ask you to pull this out, but unless you’re also trained in magical surgery, I’d rather not bleed out here.”
Godfrey’s lips pressed into a thin line as he assessed the wound. The crystalline shard pulsed faintly, the same violet hue as the flames that danced mockingly around the enormous drum in the center of the chamber. He had no idea what pulling it out would do, but leaving it in was clearly draining Merlin’s strength.
Before he could respond, the violet flames crackled with renewed intensity, interrupting the knight’s thoughts. Four massive hands, each wielding drumsticks made of flickering fire, started their theatrical performance, striking an enormous drum with thunderous precision. The shockwaves rippled through the air, vibrating the stone beneath their feet. Godfrey looked up sharply, his grip tightening on his sword.
“Two down, zero to go,” boomed the flame figure, its voice dripping with playful menace. “Can I get a drumroll, please?”
Godfrey’s jaw clenched. Karlos was unconscious, Merlin was wounded, and their rogue—damn it, where was the rogue? His stomach dropped as the realization hit him. The demon. It must have taken them. A bitter curse escaped his lips as he scanned the room for any sign of their missing companion, but the only answer was the relentless drumbeat and the mocking flames.
“You’re kidding me,” Godfrey muttered under his breath, rising to his feet. He glanced back at Merlin. “Stay here. I’ll deal with this.”
Merlin snorted weakly. “Not exactly in a position to argue.”
The drumroll intensified, the sound reverberating through the chamber. The figure in the flames seemed to revel in the chaos it was creating, its fiery hands moving faster and faster until the final, thunderous bang rang out, silencing the room. The air grew thick and cold, the oppressive energy suffocating.
Then came the voice again, cutting through the silence with infuriating smugness. “Would you like to leave a ten-star review? Hint: if you give me less than a 10, I’ll keep you here long enough for your mage to read that book 10 times over. .”
Godfrey turned slowly, his expression a mask of cold fury as he faced the mocking flames. “You’re joking,” he said flatly.
The flames shifted, forming the vague silhouette of a shrug. “Oh, I’m very serious. Ten stars, knight. That’s the minimum for expedited service these days.”
Godfrey glared at the flickering entity. “You’ve knocked out one of my mages, injured the other, kidnapped my rogue, and now you’re extorting a review out of me? For what, exactly? Your resume?”
The flames pulsed brighter, their glow radiating smug satisfaction. “A career dungeon flame needs credentials, you know. You think this job comes with perks? No. I have to earn them.”
Godfrey’s patience, already worn thin, snapped. “Fine. Ten stars. Whatever gets you out of my way.”
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A long pause. The flames tilted as if considering his response. “No, no, no,” the entity chided. “That won’t do. Say it like you mean it, knight. Conviction, enthusiasm! Think of it as… a performance review.”
Godfrey’s grip on his sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. “Fine,” he growled through gritted teeth. “Ten. Stars. This was the most… enlightening experience of my life. So give me back the rogue.”
The flames erupted into laughter, the sound echoing through the chamber. “Now, that’s more like it! Sir Ten Stars, your express checkout awaits!”
With a final, resounding crash of the drum, the flames exploded into a cascade of violet sparks, illuminating the chamber in brilliant light before fading into darkness. The oppressive air lifted, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.
Godfrey sheathed his sword, turning back to Merlin and Karlos. The mage was pale but stable, his breathing shallow. “We need to get moving,” the knight muttered, slinging Karlos over one shoulder. “And we’re getting our rogue back.”
Merlin raised an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the pain. “Always the optimist.”
“Call it stubbornness,” Godfrey replied, starting down the darkened hallway. “I’m not leaving anyone behind.”
As they emerged from the dimly lit corridor, the tension in the air shifted. The oppressive energy that had suffused the dungeon began to dissipate, replaced by something lighter, almost mischievous. Godfrey adjusted Karlos’ unconscious form on his shoulder and glanced back at Merlin, who hobbled along, leaning heavily on the cracked staff he’d conjured from his remaining energy. Despite his injury, the mage’s sharp eyes scanned the area, a flicker of suspicion etched across his face.
The entrance of the dungeon came into view, and the scene awaiting them was so absurd it almost made Godfrey drop Karlos.
The once-mighty flame figure, with its dramatic drumming and booming voice, was now the size of a small, floating ember. Its violet hue flickered faintly as it zipped around like an overexcited firefly. The sight was almost… adorable, if one ignored its earlier theatrics. It darted in circles, chittering nonsense like an overeager child who’d consumed far too much sugar.
Hovering nearby, the imposing figure they had assumed to be the flame’s master—or perhaps a tormentor—stood leaning against the dungeon’s jagged wall. The figure, clad in shadowy armor that shimmered with streaks of molten red, was doubled over in laughter. Its voice, a deep and gravelly rumble, reverberated across the chamber as it watched the flame’s antics.
“Casper, you idiot,” the figure wheezed between guffaws, clutching its sides. “You’re going to burn yourself out if you keep flitting around like that!”
The flame, now apparently dubbed Casper, zipped right up to the armored figure’s face. “But I did so good! Ten stars! TEN! Do you have any idea how long I’ve been waiting for a knight to actually say that?”
The figure only laughed harder, its helm tilting back as it slapped the wall for support. “You’re killing me, Casper. Ten stars? That’s your peak accomplishment?”
Godfrey cleared his throat loudly, drawing their attention. Casper froze mid-flight, its tiny form trembling with excitement as it spun to face them. “You’re back! Did you miss me already? Want to give me another review? Maybe an eleven this time?”
“Where’s our rogue?” Godfrey growled, his voice low and dangerous.
As if on cue, a rustling sound came from behind the shadowy figure. The rogue—dusty, disheveled, and clearly trying to fade into the shadows—was doing a spectacularly poor job of sneaking away. Every step they took sent small rocks skittering across the floor, the sound echoing loudly in the now-silent chamber.
The flame figure’s laughter turned to gleeful chirping. “Oh, there they are! Silly rogue thought they could sneak past me. Casper sees all!” It darted toward the rogue, its faint heat making them flinch.
The rogue froze, throwing their hands up in mock surrender. “All right, all right! I wasn’t running, just… stretching my legs after being tied up. You know how it is.”
“Stretching, huh?” Godfrey deadpanned, his expression unimpressed. “You looked like you were about to bolt.”
“Me? Run? From this?” The rogue gestured vaguely at the dungeon, the flames, and the still-laughing shadowy figure. “Never.”
“Liar,” Merlin muttered, his voice hoarse but sharp. “And you’re terrible at it.”
The rogue smirked, brushing some dirt off their leather armor. “I’d like to see you do better with a violet flame breathing down your neck and this lunatic telling bad jokes.”
“Hey!” the armored figure barked, mock indignation replacing their laughter. “My jokes are excellent. And for the record, I didn’t tie you up—that was all Casper.”
Casper zipped in triumphantly. “They were wriggly! And I didn’t want them ruining my perfect ten-star moment!”
Godfrey set Karlos down gently against the wall and stepped closer, towering over the rogue. “Are you hurt?” His tone left no room for evasion.
The rogue blinked, surprised by the knight’s blunt concern. “No. Just my pride.”
“Good. Then you’re walking.” Godfrey turned back to Merlin, whose breathing was still labored. “We’re leaving. Now.”
The rogue opened their mouth to protest, but the flame flitted closer, bobbing like an eager puppy. “Wait! Before you go, don’t you want to sign a official review. ? It's a official review and you didn't get me anything for my last birthday. So this would be the perfect present.”
Godfrey stared at the flame—Casper, apparently—in utter disbelief. His patience, already tested to its breaking point, teetered on the edge of imploding. He glanced over at Merlin, who looked as though he might keel over any second, then at the rogue, who was smirking as if enjoying the absurdity of the situation. Karlos remained unconscious, blissfully unaware of the chaos around them.
“Official review?” Godfrey repeated, his voice flat and dangerously calm.