The road began to change.

  It started slowly—little things. The grass grew thinner. The soil hardened, dry and pale like sun-bleached bone. The air felt too still, even when the wind moved. Shadows stretched longer than they should, even in midday light.

  Tessa noticed it when Larry hesitated at a crossroads. He lowered his head and sniffed the ground, then let out a quiet trill, feathers slightly ruffled. The fork curved left toward the outpost—she recognized the stone marker from the baker’s sketch. They pressed on.

  The birds had gone quiet. No crickets. No wind through the sparse brush. Just the steady sound of Larry’s steps and the occasional creak of the saddle straps.

  Then the trees started to change. Not in species or color, but in shape.

  Branches grew at wrong angles—some arcing downward, others twisting together like fingers in prayer. A few trees looked bent back, as if recoiling from something deeper in the forest. The bark peeled in curling layers, leaving behind pale streaks and strange, symmetrical scars.

  Tessa pulled her coat tighter and kept her eyes on the road. She told herself it was just natural decay. That maybe this part of the forest had caught a blight or a fire and never healed properly.

  But the air tasted wrong.

  Metallic. Cold.

  Not just magic—but pure mana.

  She’d grown up around enough enchantments to recognize the edge it carried. And this wasn’t the natural leaking aura of a place with a lot of magic acitivy. This was something else. She didn’t know how she knew that. She just… did.

  By late afternoon, they passed a broken stone fence that once enclosed a field. The ground inside was cracked and empty—but there were symbols carved into the rocks. Neatly etched, in shapes she didn’t recognize. Too smooth for weathering. Someone had made this.

  Larry slowed again, feathers puffed wide, eyes scanning the road ahead. Tessa put a hand on his neck. “Just a little further,” she murmured. “We’re close.” And they were.

  The outpost was only a few kilometers beyond the ridge. She could feel it—just on the edge of whatever had gone wrong here. She didn’t know what she expected to find. And whatever this was, it wasn’t just wild magic spilling into the land.

  It was anchored. The road narrowed as it crested the ridge.

  Tessa guided Larry between two leaning trees, their limbs curled like skeletal arms overhead. On the far side, the ground sloped down into a shallow basin—and nestled at the bottom was Outpost Vire. Or what was left of it. The outer wall had partially collapsed, its wooden palisades splintered and blackened at the base. A single watchtower leaned inward, its top half sheared clean away. The gate hung crooked on one hinge, and beyond it, Tessa saw half a dozen squat buildings, weather-stained and silent.

  No guards. No smoke. No movement. She slowed Larry to a cautious walk, scanning the area.

  It was quiet in the wrong way. Not just empty—unnaturally still, like the whole place was caught in a held breath. Even the wind had gone soft, brushing against her face like a whisper. They passed the broken gate. Then, without warning, the system chimed. A chill ran down her spine.

  [You have entered the Dungeon: ███████ ]

  She yanked on the reins. Larry stopped immediately, feathers flaring. Tessa stared at the notification, breath stuck in her throat. She hadn’t seen anything change. No gate. No glowing fog. No barrier or shimmer or flare of light. Just a flicker in the back of her mind, and now this—a dungeon. She wasn’t supposed to be in one. She wasn’t even level twenty. Her heart slammed against her ribs.

  “Stop. Just—don’t move,” she muttered to Larry, eyes darting around the outpost ruins.

  It looked like a settlement. Crumbling, sure, but normal. It didn’t have the unnatural terrain she’d heard about in other dungeons—floating stones, glowing plants, corrupted beasts. But the system wouldn’t lie. Somewhere between the ridge and the gate, she’d crossed a threshold. And now she was inside. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her badge. It still pulsed gently—she hadn’t failed the job. Not yet. The scroll was still safe in her coat. The outpost was still her destination. Tessa didn’t move for a long moment.

  The notification still pulsed faintly in her mind, the words etched behind her eyes.

  Dungeon.

  She sat rigid in the saddle, breath tight, heart hammering. She’d never entered one before. Never even been near the edge of one. Those places were for adventurers. Fighters. People with weapon skills and proper classes and teams. Not for couriers with needle calluses.

  Larry shifted beneath her, picking up on her tension. His head turned slowly, scanning the ruined buildings. No feathers fluffed this time. No warning chirp. But he was alert. Waiting for her signal.

  Tessa licked her lips. “Okay,” she whispered. “We’ll just take a look.”

  One look. Then she’d decide. She unclipped her crossbow from its side holster and checked the tension on the string. It was old, a little stiff, but functional. Then she reached into the side of her coat and pulled out a small bundle of bolts, sliding one into place with a soft click. She didn’t have combat class. But she knew how to run.

  She pressed her palm flat to Larry’s neck. “At the first sign of anything wrong,” she murmured, “we bolt. No hesitation.” He made a soft clicking sound in response.

  Tessa tightened her grip on the reins, guiding Larry forward with a subtle nudge of her heel. She didn’t dismount—if something went wrong, she’d need to move fast, and getting back on in a panic wasn’t a risk she was willing to take. They moved slowly through the ruined gate.

  Tessa scanned the outpost from her perch—half-collapsed roofs, sagging doors, buildings slumped inward like they’d been left to mourn themselves. Then she saw them.

  Tracks.

  Not fresh, but not yet faded. Wagon grooves pressed deep into the dry earth. Boot prints clustered around the edges—too many for an empty outpost. Someone had come through recently. A lot of someones.

  The whole outpost felt abandoned, but not old. There were no signs of scavengers. No wild overgrowth. It was like people had just… left. All at once.

  She followed the lines with her gaze, spotting faint bootprints beside them—enough to mark a group, not a crowd. The edges weren’t scuffed or broken like in a scuffle. Just… movement.

  Her fingers twitched around the reins. There’d been no sign of a fight. No blood. No bodies. No burnt buildings or smashed tools. So why had the system flagged this as a dungeon?

  And where had everyone gone?

  She shifted in the saddle and looked deeper into the outpost. The wagon tracks disappeared between two low structures with blank windows and shuttered doors. Larry snorted, feathers rising slightly.

  Tessa hesitated. Every instinct told her to turn around. This wasn’t what she signed up for. She was a courier, not a delver. She wasn’t armed for a fight, wasn’t trained to deal with monsters or missing people. But she still had the scroll. Folded and sealed, resting in the inner pocket of her coat like a heartbeat she couldn’t ignore.

  What if it was important?

  What if the person it was meant for was still here, waiting, wondering?

  She took a breath, slow and steady. “Just deliver the scroll,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “That’s the job.”

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  She gave Larry a gentle nudge.

  “Let’s see where they went.”

  The wagon tracks curved between two squat buildings and veered off the path entirely, cutting across a patch of dry brush and broken fence posts before dipping into the narrow trail that led out the back of the outpost—one she hadn’t noticed on her way in. Tessa followed, pulse steady but tight.

  The land sloped downward gradually at first, then steepened. The buildings vanished behind her as the road became more of a trail, flanked by weathered stone outcroppings and leaning trees stripped of leaves. The light dimmed, not from the time of day but from the terrain itself—as if the ravine ahead had swallowed the sun whole.

  Larry moved cautiously, head low, claws scraping lightly against loose stone. He didn’t protest, but the ripple of tension across his feathered back told her he didn’t like this place either. The tracks continued—fresh enough that dust hadn’t settled into them yet. There was no wheel squeal, no signs of damage. Whoever drove the wagon wasn’t fleeing. They were relocating.

  The path narrowed into a dry ravine, its sides rising high and uneven. The shadows deepened, the air cooling in unnatural degrees. The sound of Larry’s breathing echoed oddly off the stone walls. Then Larry stopped. Tessa blinked, squinting ahead. There were people—a group, huddled near a wagon at the base of the ravine, mostly concealed by a jagged rock shelf and a half-collapsed stone arch. They weren’t moving like people at rest. They were alert. On edge. Armed.

  She pulled Larry to a halt and leaned forward, trying to make out details. A glint of metal. A cloak. A low voice carried by the wind. Then someone turned. Their gaze snapped to her like a bolt of lightning. Too late. Tessa tensed.

  One of them raised a hand—not in greeting. Just as Larry gave a low, questioning chirp, she saw the rest of the group begin to move. Two figures broke off immediately, sprinting toward her from opposite sides of the ravine like wolves flanking prey. Tessa’s breath hitched.

  She gripped the reins tighter, her other hand inching to aim her crossbow but not daring to do it. Larry tensed beneath her, feathers ruffling as his claws shifted against the packed dirt. They weren’t yelling. They weren’t slowing. Too fast. Too coordinated.

  She didn’t know if they were from the outpost or something worse. Bandits? Trappers? Mercs? She hadn’t seen any sigils or banners.

  “Easy,” she whispered, mostly to Larry.

  The figures closed the gap in seconds. Tessa’s heart slammed in her chest. She considered turning Larry around, running, disappearing back up the slope—but they were nearly on her when one of them—a woman in half-leather armor—suddenly slowed.

  The other, a taller man with a heavy gauntlet on one arm, pulled up just short, squinting at her from beneath a sweat-damp hood.

  “…Wait,” the woman said, lifting one hand. “She’s… just a kid.”

  Tessa bristled but didn’t speak. Her pulse was still too loud in her ears.

  The man tilted his head. “She’s low level. Look.” A pause. “Level fourteen?”

  The woman’s posture relaxed a notch. “Gods, she looked like a scout for a second.”

  “I’m not,” Tessa said quickly, breath catching. “Just a courier. I’m not—whatever you thought.”

  She raised her badge with slow, deliberate fingers. “Registered with the Adventuring Guild. I took a job to deliver a scroll to someone posted at the outpost.”

  The man stepped closer, peering at the token, then at her face. His features softened—not apologetic, exactly, but more curious than hostile now.

  “Alone?” he asked.

  “I have my mount,” she replied, as if that was the same as backup. “And I didn’t know the place was flagged as a dungeon until I got there.”

  The woman gave a low whistle. “You’ve got some spine coming.”

  “No,” Tessa muttered, mostly to herself. “Just bills.”

  That earned a faint grin from the man.

  “Come on,” he said after a moment, jerking his head toward the ravine floor.

  Tessa gave Larry a quiet nudge, and he followed, claws clicking against the uneven stone path. The two strangers flanked her loosely—no longer aggressive, but not exactly casual either. Watchful. Professional.

  As they descended the final stretch of the ravine, the rest of the group came into view.

  They were gathered around a wagon, its front right wheel nearly splintered. The wood had warped badly, bulging at the rim, and the whole structure leaned precariously to one side. Two of the soldiers were crouched beside it, speaking in low tones and clearly trying to brace it with makeshift supports.

  Soldiers, all of them. She could tell from the way they held themselves—posture first, weapons second, and that quiet, practiced alertness she’d only ever seen in real combatants. Their armor wasn’t matching, but it was maintained. Personal. Functional. Not decorative.

  And then there was one who didn’t match the rest.

  A man standing just off to the side, arms folded. He wasn’t armored. Just wrapped in a muted cloak and light travel leathers, unassuming and forgettable.

  “Got another visitor,” the gauntleted man said, motioning toward her as they entered the clearing. “Courier. Says she’s delivering something to the outpost.”

  The group turned to look.

  Several pairs of eyes landed on her. One soldier stepped closer and frowned. “Alone? Through that?”

  Tessa nodded, stiff. “I didn’t know it was flagged as a dungeon until I got there.”

  A woman near the wagon let out a breath. “You’re lucky nothing jumped you on the way in.”

  “She has a mount,” the gauntleted man added, gesturing toward Larry.

  That drew a murmur.

  Someone muttered, “That’s not a standard runner.”

  Another: “Looks like a fat mea—like a fat something.”

  Larry chirped proudly and puffed his chest.

  “He’s fast,” Tessa muttered defensively.

  That earned a few quiet laughs. But not unkind ones.

  The quiet man finally spoke.

  “Level fourteen?” he asked. His voice was soft, smooth—measured in a way that made people listen without meaning to.

  He pushed off the rock he’d been leaning against and stepped forward. “You’re not a delver. That was reckless to walk into a dungeon.”

  “Didn’t seem like I had a choice,” Tessa said. “Scroll delivery. Job said to reach someone stationed at the outpost. So that’s what I’m doing.”

  The man studied her for a moment longer, then gave a short nod. “Commander Halric. I was in charge of the outpost.”

  “Tessa,” she replied, keeping her voice steady.

  “Welcome to the edge of nowhere,” one of the others said, shaking her head. “You’re the first outsider we’ve seen in days.”

  “And the only one bold—or unlucky—enough to walk into a dungeon,” someone added. They smirked, but the edge in their voice wasn’t unkind.

  Tessa tried to return the smile, but it came out thin and brittle.

  She stayed upright in the saddle, chin lifted despite the tension in her shoulders. “Well,” she said, “I’m here now.”

  Tessa slid down from Larry’s saddle, her legs a little stiff from the ride, and unslung her satchel.

  Halric watched her closely but didn’t move, arms folded across his chest.

  She reached into the inner pocket and pulled out the scroll—still sealed and unblemished. With a quick glance to confirm the seal matched the job details, she stepped forward and offered it to him.

  “Delivery from the Guild,” she said. “Marked urgent.”

  Halric took it without ceremony. “You came all this way… for this?”

  Tessa gave a tired shrug. “That’s the job.”

  He broke the seal and unfurled the scroll with a quiet rustle.

  Another soldier—taller, broad-shouldered—stepped up behind him and leaned in slightly, craning his neck to read over Halric’s shoulder. The commander didn’t move to block him.

  The soldier squinted. “…That’s it?”

  Halric said nothing.

  The man cleared his throat. “Sir, it’s… a requisition form. For socks.”

  Tessa blinked.

  The soldier looked at her. “You risked your life for a sock order?”

  She blinked again, then slowly let out a breath. “Apparently.”

  Halric rolled the scroll back up with the same calm expression. “Good to know the Guild’s definition of urgency remains consistent.”

  That earned a few chuckles from the nearby soldiers.

  Tessa didn’t laugh. Her hands were still shaking faintly, and her knees itched to run again, but she managed a flat, “So. Do I sign for that delivery?”

  Halric gave her a long look—judging, maybe, or just amused—and gestured toward a small writing kit set on a crate beside the damaged wagon.

  “We’ll get you your confirmation,” he said. “Might as well stay put for now. You’re safer with us than back on the road.”

  Tessa wasn’t sure she believed that.

  But she also wasn’t about to head back through a dungeon-flagged zone alone at dusk.

  She nodded, and stepped toward the crate.

  As Tessa leaned over the crate to fill out the confirmation slip, she could feel the soldiers watching her.

  Not unkindly. Not with suspicion. But with curiosity—the kind people reserved for odd creatures in stranger places.

  “So what’s a level fourteen courier doing in this region?” one of them asked, a younger woman with a scuffed breastplate and short-cropped hair.

  Tessa shook her head. “It is just a job. One minute I’m riding through quiet hills, next thing I know the system pings a dungeon zone and I’m halfway into ghost country.”

  “Guild didn’t brief you about what to do in these cases?”

  “The posting said urgent delivery.”

  Someone muttered, “Typical.”

  Another soldier, older, scratched his chin. “You always run your jobs alone?”

  “Can’t afford to hire protection,” Tessa replied. “Besides, I’ve got him.” She tilted her head toward Larry, who was now grooming his flank with smug little clicks.

  A few of them chuckled.

  “He fast?” one asked.

  “Faster than anything that’s tried to catch us so far.”

  That earned a few approving nods.

  Then Tessa’s eyes swept across the group again, her brow knitting. “This isn’t everyone, is it?”

  The mood shifted.

  Halric looked over from where he’d stowed the scroll in a side pouch. “No.”

  Tessa glanced back toward the path she’d followed in. “The outpost wasn’t huge, but it was built to hold at least forty or fifty, right? I counted six of you.”

  “You’re right,” Halric said, voice flat. “There were more of us. This—” he gestured to the soldiers nearby, the half-loaded wagon,“—this is what’s left of the surface team.”

  Tessa’s shoulders stiffened. “What happened?”

  “The dungeon appeared while we were still stationed there,” said the tall man who had flanked her earlier. “Overnight. One moment the land was normal, the next, the system flagged it.”

  “We thought it was an error,” another soldier added. “No monsters. No visual shift. No chaos. Just… the message.”

  Halric continued, “We sent out a scout group to verify. They didn’t come back. So we sent another.”

  Tessa didn’t need to ask what happened to them.

  The silence said enough.

  Halric turned back to her. “We’re all that’s left. If we move forward, maybe we find them. Maybe we close this thing.”

  “And you’re just…” She looked at the broken wagon.“Walking into it?”

  “We’re not adventurers,” said the woman with the cropped hair. “We’re soldiers. We follow orders.”

  “And the order is: shut it down,” Halric finished.