As the thought of Cael crossed her mind, Lyla glanced toward Jack, who was still marveling at Aetherspire, the spear’s crystalline head gleaming faintly in the dim light of the Treasury. Erydan must have noticed the change in her expression because his gaze softened slightly, and he inclined his head in a gesture of understanding.

“You are concerned for your companion, the Goblin,” Erydan said. His voice carried a knowing tone, as though he could see the bond between the siblings without her needing to say it.

Lyla nodded, her grip tightening slightly around the ring and the Locus Gem. “He’s not like us—Jack and me, I mean. Cael’s tough, but he doesn’t have the kind of power we do. He’s... resourceful, sure, but I feel like he’s at a disadvantage. His armor is strong but it's light. A strong enough impact could still incapacitate him. If we’re going into danger together, I need to make sure he has something to protect himself.”

Erydan turned and began walking toward another section of the Treasury, this one filled with a variety of compact artifacts—small weapons, trinkets, and tools that seemed designed for quick use or versatility. “Cael’s strength lies not in brute force but in adaptability, does it not?” he asked as he walked.

Lyla followed, her brow furrowed in thought. “Yes. He’s a Rogue—he’s great at getting in and out of places without being seen. He’s quick on his feet and sharp, but he doesn’t have the raw power that Jack and I do.”

Erydan stopped in front of a pedestal where a small, sleek dagger rested. Its blade was dark, almost black, with faint runes etched along its edge that glimmered like starlight. Next to it was a bracelet made of interlocking silver segments, its surface engraved with intricate patterns resembling flowing water.

“These may serve him well,” Erydan said, gesturing first to the dagger. “This is Shadowfang. It is not a weapon meant for direct combat, but for precision. Its blade can disrupt magical energies upon striking a target, temporarily hindering their ability to cast spells or use enchanted abilities. For someone who values subtlety and speed, it can tip the scales in his favor.”

He then picked up the bracelet, turning it in his hand. “And this is a Phantom Step Bracelet. It grants its wearer the ability to phase briefly out of physical reality, making them intangible for a few seconds. It is not long enough for prolonged invisibility or evasion, but it can allow its wearer to avoid a fatal blow or pass through barriers. The ability requires careful timing, but for one with sharp instincts, it can be invaluable.”

Lyla stared at the two items, her mind racing. Both seemed perfectly suited for Cael’s style—tools that played to his strengths and compensated for his vulnerabilities. She could already imagine him wielding the dagger, slipping into the shadows with the bracelet’s aid to outmaneuver enemies or bypass obstacles.

“These are perfect,” she said softly, reaching out to touch the bracelet. “They’re exactly what he needs. Thank you, Erydan. This means a lot—to me, and to Cael.””

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The dense, oppressive forest began to thin, its towering trees giving way to a clearing shrouded in an unnatural mist. At its heart stood a crumbling crypt, ancient and foreboding. The structure’s weathered stone walls bore carvings of intricate runes, their edges softened by centuries of decay. Vines snaked across its surface, their grasp almost seeming deliberate, as if trying to pull the crypt back into the earth. A heavy iron door, its surface blackened with rust, stood slightly ajar, revealing a gaping darkness beyond. The clearing itself felt unnaturally still, the usual cacophony of forest life muted into an uneasy silence.

Celia’s boot crunched softly against the mossy ground as she halted just outside the crypt’s perimeter. She adjusted her crimson robes, brushing away a few stray leaves that had clung to the fabric during their trek. Her dark eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the crypt, noting every detail. “This has to be it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper but tinged with a mix of relief and apprehension.

Faraun stepped beside her, his pale, slender fingers tracing the faint glow of runes etched into the crypt’s doorway. His lips curled into a thin smile as he examined the markings. “Yes,” he murmured, his voice smooth and sardonic. “This is undoubtedly the work of Dungeon magic.”

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“Then let’s get on with it,” Irivan interjected, his deep voice cutting through the tense silence. He leaned his warhammer against his broad shoulder, its metal head still streaked with dried blood from their earlier skirmish. His mismatched eyes, one brown and one a faint, glowing gold, locked onto the crypt with a soldier’s focus. “We didn’t fight our way through all those be astsjust to stand around gawking at a door.”

Celia held up a hand, halting him with a glare. “Not so fast. If this is a Dungeon entrance, it’s may be protected. Let’s test it first. I don’t want any of us triggering a trap because you were too impatient to think.”

Faraun smirked, the faint moonlight catching the sharp angles of his elven features. “Prudent. Though I wonder, Celia, are you afraid for yourself or for the little scrap of favor House Hightower still affords you?”

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t rise to the bait. Faraun’s jabs were nothing new, and she refused to let him see how deeply his words cut. As the only member of her immediate family without a Light attunement, Celia’s position within the Hightower hierarchy was precarious at best. She knew full well that her family had sent her on this mission not because they trusted her to succeed, but because she was expendable. If she failed, the loss of a talentless cousin would scarcely register. Yet here she was, determined to prove them wrong.

She stepped closer to the doorway, her crimson rod gleaming faintly as she raised it. With a murmured incantation, a tendril of flame arced from the rod and struck the runes. The clearing lit up briefly as the flame collided with an invisible barrier. For a moment, it seemed to push through, but then the energy rebounded, sending a ripple of force outward. Celia staggered back, barely maintaining her footing.

“Blast it,” she hissed, shaking off the sting in her hands. “It’s shielded. And not just by any common ward. This is... sophisticated.”

Faraun’s eyes gleamed with interest as he extended his hand toward the crypt. Whispering an incantation, he sent a pulse of silvery magic toward the doorway. The runes flickered faintly before fading again, as if mocking his attempt. “Ah,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “This isn’t just a barrier. It’s attuned. The Dungeon is already occupied.”

Silence fell over the group as the weight of his words sank in. Celia’s brow furrowed, her mind racing through possible scenarios. If someone had already claimed with the Dungeon—or worse, was in the process of doing so—their mission had just become significantly more complicated.

She turned to Tanner, the collared human servant who had led them here. His shoulders hunched under her scrutiny, and he averted his gaze. “You said this was a newly born Dungeon,” she said sharply. “If that’s true, then how did someone get here before us. Explain.”

Tanner responded hesitantly, his voice trembling slightly. “I- I don’t know, Mistress. It must have been luck. They must have stumbled across the entrance by accident.”

Faraun’s smile widened, though there was no warmth in it. “Well, that’s interesting. And inconvenient. If they claim the Dungeon as their own, dislodging them will be... unpleasant. For us, at least. House Hightower doesn’t care much about what happens to you or your little expendable friend here.” He gestured lazily toward Irivan.

The half-elfs expression darkened, though he said nothing. His half-human heritage had always made him an outcast among the highborn, and he knew all too well that his role in this expedition was less about achieving glory and more about being a disposable tool. In that way, he was a lot like Celia. She glanced at him briefly, seeing the tension in his stance, but offered no words of reassurance. She couldn’t afford to. She had her own precarious standing to maintain.

“If someone’s inside, we can’t let them leave,” Celia said, forcing her voice to remain steady. “We need to control this Dungeon. Not just for the wealth, but for the influence it brings. The Hightowers didn’t send me here to play second fiddle to some nameless adventurers.”

“Control,” Faraun echoed, his tone mocking. “And how exactly do you propose we achieve that when we can’t even step inside?”

“We wait,” Celia snapped, her patience fraying. She knew what Faraun wanted her to say. It was the only option they had “Whoever’s in there has to come out eventually. When they do, we take them by surprise. If they’ve already laid claim to the Dungeon, we’ll... renegotiate ownership.”

Irivan smirked grimly. “Renegotiate. That’s one way to put it.”

Mauvim folded his thick arms, his muscles rippling beneath his jaguar pelt. The Dwarf had an impatient look on his face. “I don’t like waiting. The longer we linger, the more likely someone else stumbles on this place. But if this is your plan, I’ll trust your leadership. For now.”

Faraun’s sneer deepened. “A rare display of faith from our resident beast. Let’s hope it’s not misplaced.”

Ignoring the tension between her companions, Celia began issuing orders. “We’ll set up an ambush. Irivan, Mauvim, you’ll take the front line. Faraun and I will provide magical support from the rear. Tanner, stay out of sight and alert us if anyone approaches. We can’t afford to miss our opportunity.”

“And if they don’t come out?” Mauvim asked, his impatience evident.

“They will,” Celia said firmly. “As long as they don’t die. No one stays in a Dungeon forever. They’ll need food, water, or reinforcements. When they emerge, we’ll be ready. And if they do perish, that just makes our job all the easier.”

The group moved into position, each member finding their place in the shadows of the clearing. As they settled in, the mist around the crypt seemed to thicken, swirling ominously as if the forest itself were conspiring to conceal the secrets within. Celia’s eyes remained fixed on the doorway, her thoughts churning with plans and contingencies.

Failure wasn’t an option. Not for her, and not for anyone who sought to stand in her way.