The time was close to evening, and most of the children had already returned home.

  The orphanage hallway wasn’t twisting anymore, and the overhead yellow lights had flicked on, casting a warm glow across the floorboards of the orphanage. June saw two girls walking past, chatting about something from school. From another room, he could hear laughter, light and easy, as if someone had just told a string of jokes. Farther down the hall, a movie played behind a closed door, he could make out the low rumble of voices, dialogue exchanged between two actors.

  Though the orphanage had always looked dull and grey in his eyes, it did have color. He realized now it wasn’t the building that lacked warmth, it was him. His eyes just didn’t have the ability to see it before.

  The dungeon house seemed dormant now, as if unwilling to hurt the other echoes. June moved on his heels, not wanting to become sentimental. He headed toward the stairs. He needed to reach the front door before the house changed its mind and everyone started attacking him, making escape impossible.

  As he was climbing down, he saw Kevin, his bunkmate, coming up. Their eyes met for a fleeting second. June quickly looked away, but a smile appeared on Kevin's face as the older boy stopped in the middle of the stairs. June's grip on the knife hardened. These echoes didn’t have powers. They were pitiful, trapped, nothing more than shadows of people who once existed. He didn’t want to hurt them, he never did, unless they gave him no choice.

  "It looks good in your hand," Kevin said, his smile gentle, unexpected.

  Confusion flashed across June's face. He looked down at the knife in his grip. Of course, Kevin had thrown it to him, but he couldn't figure out why. He only knew that Kevin had a hobby of carving knives. He saw him craft new ones every few months. The one in his hand was well-made and sturdy, with a leather hilt and a blade that caught the light.

  Kevin kept looking at him, the extended gaze making June uncomfortable.

  "I wanted to give it to you on your birthday," Kevin said softly, "but never got the chance."

  A moment stretched between them.

  Unexpectedly, June's eyes began to fill. He couldn't understand why Kevin would do this for him. As far as he remembered, Kevin had always given him the cold shoulder. But now that he thought about it—really thought, with his newfound ability to think, he recalled vague memories of Kevin scaring away his bullies on more than one occasion. Why was Kevin telling him all this now? Was this just another scheme of the dungeon house to keep him trapped?

  "Why?" June's voice came out hoarse, barely audible.

  Kevin took a step forward, June flinched. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

  "I once had a little brother like you… before our house burned down and everyone died, leaving me alone." His voice carried a heaviness June had never heard before. "He was your age and just like you—a little slow in seeing things through. Every time he had a problem, he'd come running to me for help, even over the smallest things."

  He paused, then gave a small laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Even though we lived close, and I saw you struggling everyday, you never asked for help. So, I thought you were braver than him.”

  His hand dropped back to his side.

  “But even the brave need something to protect them. There comes a time when a man also needs others' help, he should have people he could rely on.”

  He looked at June one last time and smiled again, soft and tired.

  “Alright,” he said. “You should keep this hidden unless you want to scare anybody. Also, don’t use it unless absolutely necessary.”

  Saying this, Kevin walked past, leaving June standing there with tears streaming down his face that no one would wipe away. He stood frozen for several seconds, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Then he quickly gathered himself, wiping his face with his sleeve. He glanced back, but Kevin wasn't there anymore, just an empty staircase. His grip on the knife's hilt tightened as he descended.

  As he reached the last step, he saw May coming around the corner. Their eyes met.

  Before, June had never thought much of this girl. In his old eyes, she just seemed broken. Someone so hurt she wanted to hurt herself. But with his new thoughts, he found her almost pitiful. It wasn’t that she wanted to stay in pain. Maybe the pain wouldn’t let go of her. Maybe it had sunk deep into her soul and bound her there. She looked like she was hiding something in her hand. June didn’t trust her. If she attacked, he had no real confidence that he could fight her off. Not with just a knife and his fear. But he had STASIS LOCK now, and he kept his senses sharp, ready to trigger it if she made a move.

  Still, part of his mind drifted, wondering if maybe, when she looked at him, she saw her brother. The one who had murdered their family. Maybe her brother had suffered, too. Maybe something in his head had gone too dark to come back from. Maybe that was what she saw in June now.

  He didn’t let his guard drop. He kept his eyes on her and finally crossed the last step. May lingered at the bottom, her body tight with hesitation, like she was stuck between two choices. Attack or let go. But it wasn’t night, and June figured she probably didn’t have the courage to strike when he could see her coming.

  He walked past her.

  The front door was just a few steps away.

  Sister Margaret was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. That was her usual duty in the evenings.

  But as he passed the dining hall, her voice rang out., "Come here, June. Come taste this and tell me how it is made?"

  She called to him gently, almost cheerfully, from the kitchen. June stopped dead in his tracks. He was already dreading this moment. He glanced at the front door once, so close now, and then turned over his feet.

  June walked into the kitchen where Sister Margaret stood over a large pot, steam rising in fragrant clouds. She turned as he entered, her face lighting up in a way that made his chest tighten. Taking out a wooden spoon filled with curry, she gently blew on it before extending it toward him.

  "Taste it," she urged, watching his face intently.

  June stared at her, feeling an inexplicable heaviness in his heart. Despite everything he knew about this place, about her being just an echo, not real, he took the spoon. The soup touched his tongue, and immediately his face brightened with genuine surprise. It was delicious, it tasted like real food, not the awful, wrong-tasting meals he'd forced down last night and in the morning. The flavors were rich and complex, the vegetables tender.

  "Our neighbor has a garden full of vegetables," Margaret explained, noticing his expression. "Seeing how you made faces while eating lately, I thought I should perhaps ask him for some fresh ones until ours grow back in our garden." She wiped her hands on her apron, looking pleased with herself.

  "It's very good," June said quietly.

  Sister Margaret beamed, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "I'm preparing your favorite dish today," she said, turning back to the stove. "The one with the cheese and potatoes you like so much."

  The statement only made June's heart heavier. His favorite dish. Was this place now using emotional tactics to keep him. Either way, the thought of leaving created an unexpected ache inside him. Yet, he couldn’t stay, he needed to leave so he could wake up from this nightmare.

  With that heavy heart weighing him down, he looked up at her. "Sister Margaret," he said, his voice small but steady, "I want to leave the house.”

  Sister Margaret's hands froze in mid-stir and she took a longer look at him. While making cross over her heart, muttering "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph" under her breath as if to ward off something unholy.

  "What are you talking about?" she asked, shrugging away his question with a wave of the wooden spoon. "Do you think you've grown up? Don't you know you have to be eighteen before you can even make your own decisions?" Her voice rose slightly, "You shouldn't have any thoughts of leaving, June. None at all."

  She set down the spoon and knelt before him, her eyes level with his, searching his face.

  "What are you lacking here?" she asked, her tone softening. "You get food, clothes, a roof over your head, and a good night's sleep. Do you know—" she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, "—how dangerous the world outside is? They kidnap children off the streets when they wander alone. Little boys like you." She straightened up, brushing imaginary dust from her apron. "You shouldn't say something like that again. Not ever."

  She talked to him as if he was still the same slow, understanding boy. June remained firm despite her trying to scare him. "What I desire, this house can’t give me," he said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. "I need to go out to find my answers myself."

  Sister Margaret's expression hardened, all warmth vanishing like a candle snuffed out. "Quiet this mind-wandering at once," she said, her voice turning harsh, the wooden spoon now pointed at him like a weapon. "Otherwise, I’ll make sure you receive harsh punishment from Sister Fawn."

  June's face stiffened at the mention of Sister Fawn's name. The knife in his pocket seemed to grow heavier. He forced himself to remain calm, knowing what had happened to the real Sister Fawn, knowing what he had done.

  "Please," he tried again, his voice softer but no less determined. "I need to go. Just for a little while. I'll come back." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he kept his eyes steady on hers

  Sister Margaret's hands gripped the edge of the counter, her knuckles whitening. The wooden spoon clattered to the floor as the first tremor ran through the house like a shiver passing through a living thing.

  "You don't understand what you're asking," she said, her voice deepening. "You can't leave us, June. You mustn't. It’s not safe out there. Who’s going to take care of you?"

  Meanwhile, June took a step back as he noticed something wrong with Sister Margaret. She seemed... larger somehow, her shoulders broadening beneath her habit, her height increasing by inches. The kitchen lights flickered overhead and the entire orphanage seemed to shake.

  "Do you feel you're not loved anymore?" her voice cracked with emotion, "Is that it? Have we sisters not given you everything? Have I not watched over you since you were small, terrified, and alone?"

  The walls around them groaned. A cabinet door swung open and slammed shut. The pot on the stove began to bubble too violently, the food spilling over its edges, hissing as it hit the burner.

  June didn’t answer. He didn’t know how. Sister Margaret continued to grow, her face stretching in unnatural ways.

  “I gave everything to this house,” she said, voice rising with something she hadn’t let show before. “And I gave everything to all of you. You think the world out there is waiting for you with open arms? You think it’s gentle? You think it’s kind? “

  She then broke down, tears tracked down cheeks, “You were always my favorite…. What more could you want than to stay with those who love you? The world out there will devour you, June. It has no mercy for lost children."

  "You're not her," June whispered like a mosquito, though his voice trembled.

  [VOICE IN HEAD]

  [Dungeon Heart: Exposed]

  [Choice: Escape / Stay / Terminate]

  The message appeared in June's mind like a beacon. He understood suddenly, Sister Margaret wasn't just an echo like the others. She was the core, the heart of this place. The thing that kept it all together. Samewhile, the kitchen was trembling now. The floor warped beneath his feet. Sister Margaret loomed taller, her eyes black around the edges, and the love in her face twisted with something desperate and devouring.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  “You don’t have to go,” she whispered back. “I can keep you safe. I want to. Just say the word, June. I’ll forgive everything. I’ll keep you warm. You won’t even remember the pain.”

  He stared at her. His lips parted. "I'm sorry," June said, and meant it despite everything."But this isn't real. And I need to find what is."

  Immediately, he made a beeline for the door.

  He couldn’t bring himself to hurt Sister Margaret, no matter what she’d become, no matter how twisted her voice or how much the dungeon had taken her shape and stretched it into something else. Somewhere deep down, the real Sister Margaret still lingered, or at least the memory of her did. He couldn’t raise his knife against that. And he couldn't choose to stay either. That left him with only one option. Without warning, the dozen chairs around the dining table screeched to life, rising one by one as their wooden legs twisted into sharp points. They galloped across the tiled floor, moving in unison, cutting off his path to the front door like a pack of hunting dogs. June leapt over the first chair.

  From above, the chandelier twisted and contorted, its metal arms extending like vines. One metallic tendril whipped down and caught June by the arm. He cried out, feeling the cold metal bite into his skin, but instead of panicking, he shifted his weight and spun, swinging with the momentum until the chandelier’s grip loosened and he crashed back onto the floor. He hit hard, the breath knocked out of him, but he moved anyway, scrambling to his feet.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other children gathered by the stairs, clustered like shadows, silent. They made no move to help or hinder him, their expressions showing only detached amusement, as if they were watching a circus performance rather than a fight for freedom. Some whispered to each other behind cupped hands. Kevin stood among them, his face the only one showing any hint of emotion, something like pride mixed with resignation.

  June gritted his teeth and turned toward the gap between the chairs, but before he could take more than two steps, Sister Margaret moved. She was towering, her habit barely covering her body, her face a strange mixture of human and monster, eyes full of something both loving and furious.

  She stepped forward with heavy, shaking force, the ground trembling beneath each footfall.

  “Stop this, June,” she said, voice split down the middle, one part motherly plea, the other a growl.

  “You don’t know what’s waiting outside.”

  June ignored her, leaping onto one of the chairs, trying to scale over.

  The chair beneath him bucked and twisted. Another slammed into his shin. He yelped and fell sideways, barely landing on his feet as the path narrowed.

  June darted between another two lunging chairs, sliding across the polished floor on his knees as a third chair snapped at the space where his head had been. He scrambled up again, the front door now just fifteen feet away.

  From his left, a new horror emerged. The toilet from the downstairs bathroom had somehow broken free of its pipes and was dragging itself across the floor, leaving a trail of water in its wake. Its bowl had transformed into a gaping mouth lined with porcelain teeth, and it gurgled menacingly as it maneuvered to cut off his path to freedom. The chairs tightened their circle around him, legs scraping on tile like claws on stone, moving in perfect sync, trapping him.

  He had no time left.

  “STASIS LOCK,” he whispered.

  The world around him in one meter of radius stopped. The air froze mid-vibration. The toilet halted mid-lunge, teeth inches from his chest. . Sister Margaret's face was fixed in a rictus of rage and betrayal, her arms extended but unmoving. The chairs stood locked around him like statues.

  Three seconds. That's all he had.

  June scrambled to his feet, stumbling once as his ankle screamed in protest, then pushed forward, his body running on instinct and panic. His heart pounded so loud it drowned out his thoughts, counting down each precious millisecond. One... He dodged between two frozen chairs. Two... He stretched his arm out, fingers extended toward the doorknob that seemed impossibly far away.

  Just as his hand closed around the cool metal of the door handle, the effects of Stasis Lock began to wane. The preserved monster behind him starting to vibrate, like reality was a photograph being shaken. Meanwhile, June twisted the knob desperately, throwing his weight against the door. For one terrifying moment, it refused to budge. Then, with a groan of protesting wood, it swung open. Behind him, everything resumed its normal flow. The toilet monster crashed into the spot where he had stood, porcelain shattering against the hardwood floor. Sister Margaret's inhuman scream tore through the air, the sound filled with anguish. The chairs clattered forward, colliding with each other in their haste to capture him.

  June flung himself halfway through the doorway into the darkness outside. But just as he crossed the threshold, something grabbed his ankle. He hit the ground hard, his palms scraping against the concrete. He kicked once, twice, and the grip loosened. But it didn’t let go right away. He looked back. Sister Margaret knelt in the doorway, half in shadow, half in light. Her face was no longer monstrous. No longer warped by the dungeon’s fury. Just tired. Just old.

  Their eyes met and seconds stretched into infinity.

  Her voice was quiet. “Will you really be okay out there, June?” she asked, “No one’s waiting for you. No one’s coming back.”

  June's chest tightened, her words finding their mark with painful precision.

  The truth of what she said washed over him like cold water. No one was waiting. No one had ever been waiting. Even before he fell into this strange dream, before the world became strange and the orphanage grew teeth, he'd always been the leftover boy. The one too slow. Too quiet. Too hard to place. The one teachers gave up on. The one donors overlooked. The one Sister Margaret had to explain away with soft sighs and tired eyes.

  What if she’s right?

  The thought slipped in like a splinter, small but deep.

  What if I’m running from the only home I’ll ever have?

  He pictured himself outside. Alone. Cold. Staring at a world that didn’t know his name and never wanted to. What if he made it out only to wake up and be the old June again? The dumb one. The broken one. Forgotten.

  Images flashed through his mind: Sister Margaret sneaking him extra dessert when he was younger; the Christmas she had found him a toy car when the donation box had been nearly empty; the time she sat with him all night during a fever.

  His hand curled into a fist against the floor.

  No. No— this isn't her. She’s not real.

  This house isn't real. It’s a copy. A performance. A trap wearing old comfort like a second skin.

  The real Sister Margaret… she's out there. She has to be. And even if she’s not—

  He swallowed, hard.

  I still can't stay here.

  Then other memories surfaced, the doorknob that tried to devour him, the blender monster, Sister Fawn's room, the blood on his hands. The taste of that wrong food, the vacuum's teeth, and the constant, gnawing feeling of being trapped. This place wasn't a home. It was a prison disguised as one.

  She's not real, he reminded himself again, but the thought brought no comfort. Real or not, echo or dungeon heart, this or other version of Sister Margaret was the only mother figure he'd ever known.

  Sister Margaret grip on his ankle loosened slightly and June finally pulled his feet away.

  He looked at her for the last time.

  And he said calmly:

  “I know.”

  Then he stood up.

  A white light flooded the house. Behind him, everything starts unraveling like old film dissolving. The house screamed. The children vanish. Sister Margaret stood in the doorway, her shape dissolving slowly, light pouring through her.

  And just before she disappeared, she smiled through the tears in her eyes, and called him for one last time—

  “My brave boy.”

  In the silence of night, June alone stood, Was he right in his decision? He was left to wonder.

  Then a voice rang out…

  [VOICE IN HEAD]

  [Dungeon Complete: Memory-Root Severed]

  [First Dungeon Cleared: Little Hope Spring Orphanage]

  There was a pause, a long breath of silence in his mind.

  Then more followed, rapid-fire now, cascading like quiet thunder:

  [REWARDS PROCESSED]

  EXP Gained: +[1250]+

  Radicals Extracted: +[25]+

  Title Earned: No Place Home– For escaping your origin : +[5]+ Willpower, [Zone Effects Negation] - Cannot receive buffs (but also cannot be debuffed)]

  Passive Characteristic Acquired: Caretaker's Gaze: Passive: You always know when something is watching you.]

  Memory Relic Acquired: A Parting Gift: Knife: Gain +[5]+ Strength Radicals.]

  [You may allocate EXP to increase level and Free Radical to increase personal radicals Points.]

  [Recommendation: Distribute Free Radicals to the most beneficial radical for adaptive survival…...]

  The voice finally quietened.

  June blinked. Unlike before, he could now feel the voice in his head materialize clearer, and more defined. The information about himself surfaced directly into his thoughts. It felt strange. Like he was reading a diary in his head.

  :::[June]:::

  Level: 6

  Class: [Unassigned]

  Titles: [Preserved], [No Place Home]

  [PERSONAL RADICALS]

  [STR] Strength: 3

  [DEX] Dexterity: 7

  [VIT] Vitality: 7

  [INT] Intelligence: (Thinker)

  [WIS] Wisdom: 7

  [WILL] Willpower: (Brave Heart)

  [CHA] Charisma: 10

  [LCK] Luck: 8

  [Skills]

  [STASIS LOCK]

  - Generate a localized temporal stasis field (3m radius). Immune to target above [Level 12]

  Duration: 18 seconds.

  Cooldown: 10 seconds

  [Zone Effects Negation]

  - Cannot receive buffs (but also cannot be debuffed)]

  [DEEP SLEEP]

  - Puts the user in a frozen recovery state for 12 hours.

  [PASSIVE CHARACTERISTIC]

  Cold-Tolerant I

  - Base resistance to cryo-environmental conditions and low temperatures.

  Cleansed Heart

  - Immune to “Decay,” “Rot,” “Fungal Infection.”

  Caretaker’s Gaze:

  - You always know when something is watching you.

  MEMORY RELIC

  A Parting Gift: Knife.

  [EXPERIENCE]

  Total Available EXP: +[146]

  Total Radical: +[25], +[5] WILL, +[5] STR

  Required for Level 7: 1529

  June read through everything carefully. Though he understood more now than before, a large part of the voice in his head still remained a mystery. Like the levels, he was currently at Level 6, but what did that actually mean? What changed? What did it allow? And his class still unassigned. What was that supposed to be? What would it turn him into? Could he choose, or did the voice choose for him?

  He had some idea about the personal radicals now. They seemed to reflect his physical and mental attributes. And the free radicals he had earned after escaping the orphanage or killing monsters could be used to strengthen himself, especially his body and mind, which still felt clumsy in many ways despite the boost. He figured if he used them right, he might not stay slow forever.

  Then there were the skills. Like magic spells from the books he used to flip through. That part honestly made him the happiest.

  His stasis ability could freeze things in a state of preservation. He’d used it once already but he wasn’t entirely sure what its real limits were. He’d have to test it eventually. Just… not recklessly. He didn’t have the experience, and his old self, the one with the slow, stumbling thoughts, still warned him to be careful. The second skill, Deep Sleep, apparently put him into some kind of recovery state. He wasn’t sure yet how useful that would be. Maybe if he was close to death. The third skill was too confusing for current him to understand anything from the info it provided, maybe later...he thought and left it there.

  Then there were the passive characteristics, and those… those were strange. They didn’t feel like spells. They felt like changes to his body like parts of him being rewritten. The only reason he hadn’t gotten sick from the food back in the orphanage was probably because of one of those traits. He was also immune to rot, decay, fungal infection and resistant to cryo temperature. And now, he had a new one: Caretaker’s Gaze. He hadn’t seen it pop up directly, but he was sure it came from Sister Margaret.

  Thinking of her made his thoughts fall quiet again.

  He stood there, under the wide, pale moon, the night stretching over the city like a blanket of glass. The wind whispered between broken streetlamps and empty buildings taken over by nature.

  June suddenly felt a warm light heat up his back. He turned his head quickly, eyes searching the shadows. Nothing. Only cracked pavement and long-dead houses. He glanced back at the orphanage, it looked drained now, faded. Like any other empty building in this broken city. The glow, the twisting walls, the voices, they were all gone. It had been cleared. And for now, that meant it was safe. He decided to stay the night. Not because he wanted to, but who knew what kind of monsters were hiding in the eerie darkness? If it was necessary to face them, he'd rather not do it until he had to.

  And the orphanage, quiet and defeated, was the only shelter he had.

  Tomorrow, he'd figure out his next step.

  Whatever this strange dream-world was, it wasn't finished with him yet.