The boy chuckle echoed faintly against the cavern walls, the sound grating against Emma’s raw nerves. He stood, brushing dust from his trousers with deliberate nonchalance. The magical lamp he had been holding was left behind, its dim glow casting long, wavering shadows.

“I’m leaving,” he said simply, his tone as casual as if announcing a stroll through a park.

Emma’s gaze didn't waver. “You’re not.”

Her voice carried a quiet, simmering fury, enough to halt the young boy in his tracks. He turned slightly, his deep blue eyes reflecting the lamp's flicker, but he remained silent.

“I said who are you?” she demanded again, her voice calm but laced with rising anger.

He tilted his head, bemused, but didn’t answer.

Her patience broke. She began to stride toward him, each step deliberate, her boots striking the stone with purpose. “This dungeon. The carvings on the wall. That thing—the crying baby that turned into a monster. And most importantly,” she said, now standing directly in front of him, her voice low and menacing, “the endless loop.”

Her unique white eyes bore into his, demanding answers. “What is it?”

His met her gaze without flinching. His expression, maddeningly calm, turned to one of faint amusement.

“Would you like to know?” he asked, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Her hand shot out, grabbing the front of his shirt and twisting it in her grip. She yanked him closer, their faces inches apart. “Why am I here?” she snarled.

The boy didn’t resist. He merely raised an eyebrow before brushing her hand away with surprising ease, the motion almost dismissive.

“This is a special-grade sealed dungeon, it's history is unknown” he began, his voice even, as if reciting a lesson. “It belongs to my clan, one of our most guarded artifacts. It was stolen by a traitor—a betrayal that cost us dearly.”

Emma listened on.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“I’ve been tracking it for months,” he continued. “It surfaced in a black market, passed off as an artificial dungeon. By the time I found the buyers, they’d already activated it, and…” He gestured vaguely to their surroundings. “...that’s how I ended up here.”

Emma studied him, her expression unreadable. “And your clan just sent you to retrieve it? Alone?”

His lips curled slightly. “You don’t need an army to track a rat.”

Her lip curled, but she let the jab slide. “And this loop?”

At that, his smile faded. He glanced at her, something flickering in his eyes—hesitation, or perhaps unease. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Emma wasn’t convinced, but she let it go for now. “Your name,” she pressed.

He sighed, as though indulging a child’s persistent questions. “Maverick,” he said finally.

“Maverick,” she repeated, tasting the name like a sharp-edged weapon in her mouth. “Fine. For now, I’ll be satisfied with that.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and grabbed the magical lamp he had left behind. Its soft light provided little comfort, but she wasn’t about to leave it in his careless hands.

Maverick resumed walking without another word, his movements unhurried. Emma fell into step behind him, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t yet voice.

The air grew heavier as they traversed the familiar path, the dungeon’s oppressive silence broken only by the occasional drip of unseen water. The atmosphere seemed to thrum with a life of its own, as if the walls watched their every move.

Emma’s gaze lingered on the intricate details of the rock formations, the jagged edges and natural patterns that seemed almost… deliberate. This place was more than a dungeon. It felt ancient, alive, and hostile.

“Do you know why it loops?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Maverick’s steps faltered briefly, but he recovered quickly. “No,” he said, his tone clipped.

She didn’t believe him.

They approached the section where the carvings had been—the throne, the warriors, the river, the broken ring. Emma quickened her pace, eager to show Maverick what she had seen before.

“We’re here,” she said, gesturing to the wall. “Look at this.”

But when she turned, her breath caught in her throat.

The wall was bare.

The carvings, once so vivid and haunting, were gone. The throne, the bowing warriors, the river dividing the broken ring—all of it had vanished, leaving only smooth, unmarked stone.

“What—” she began, her voice trembling.

Maverick raised an eyebrow, his expression one of faint amusement. “Is this where you show me something important?”

“It was here,” Emma whispered, stepping closer to the wall. Her fingers brushed against the cold surface, searching for any trace of the engravings. “I saw it. The carvings, the words—‘Looping Fate.’ It was all here.”

“Was it?” Maverick asked, his tone maddeningly indifferent.

Emma turned to him, her frustration boiling over. “You think I’m lying?”

He shrugged. “I think you’re imagining things.”

Her hand balled into a fist at her side, but she said nothing. She turned back to the wall, her mind racing. Why had the carvings disappeared? Was it part of the dungeon’s trap, or something worse?

The weight of the loop pressed down on her. She was the only one who had seen the carvings. The only one who knew.

And now they were gone..

Like it never even existed.....