After another day of running errands with Lana, Elara found herself sat beside Darius again, her hands gently cradling his as she focused on healing the cuts and bruises that marred his skin.

  As she worked, she glanced up.

  “What’s it like in there?” she asked.

  Darius’s gaze flicked to her face. He considered for a moment, then answered, “It’s dark. Not pitch black, just… thick. The mist eats the light. You can see a few meters in front of you, but after that it’s all gray. Shapes start to blur together.”

  She nodded, her focus drifting back to his injuries. Her mana hummed through her fingertips, sinking into torn flesh, closing shallow wounds, easing the deeper ones until the heat of the magic cooled.

  “Everything starts to look the same,” he continued. “Dead trees. Moss. Rocks. After a while, you can’t tell if you’ve been somewhere before or if it just looks like somewhere you’ve already been.”

  “But you can still mark the way?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Trail markers work. Blood, carvings, colored thread—it all stays. The place doesn’t erase it. But if you go in with a group…”

  His voice thinned, eyes lowering to the floor.

  “It doesn’t take much. One person steps behind a tree, or moves just a little too far off the path. They vanish. You turn your head, and they’re gone. Not taken. Not attacked. Just… gone. Lost.”

  Elara’s throat tightened.

  “It’s exhausting,” Darius added. “You spend more energy watching and searching for each other than the threats. And if you try to keep too many together at once, you’ll lose them faster. Spread too thin. Everyone thinks they’re close enough, but the mist tricks your depth. Even a few meters might as well be a wall.”

  As the golden glow faded, signaling the end of the healing session, Elara let the last threads of mana slip from her fingers. Her hands lingered for a moment, still resting lightly on his skin, before she finally let them fall to her lap.

  She looked up at him, eyes tracing the lines etched across his face, the weariness tucked just beneath the surface.

  “What kind of creatures do you fight?” she asked.

  Darius leaned back against the wall, his arms folding across his chest. A faint glint of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. “All sorts,” he said, the edge of a smile in his voice. “Some are small—fast enough that you don’t see them until you’ve already been bitten. Others are the kind you hear breathing before you see their shape. Massive things. Heavy-footed. Always hungry.”

  He paused, gaze lifting slightly as though watching something invisible through the mist-choked trees.

  “Most of the time, it’s the basics. Hares with claws instead of paws. Squirrels that drop from branches and try to rip your throat out. Easy enough if you’re quick. If you don’t get cocky.”

  Elara blinked. She had expected wolves or maybe giant insects—not small woodland animals with a taste for blood.

  “But sometimes,” Darius continued, his voice flattening, “I’m not so lucky. Bears warped by mana poisoning. Packs of wolves with too many eyes. Things that know how to circle. How to wait for the weakest step. They don’t rush in like idiots. They wear you down. They let you think you’re safe.”

  He met her eyes again. “And the worst ones don’t make a sound.”

  The silence between them stretched. She pictured those creatures now—skittering just out of sight, patient, relentless.

  Darius shifted, the amusement gone. “The trick isn’t power. It’s awareness. You learn to listen for everything. The wrong crunch of a leaf. The sudden quiet. The change in the air. If you hesitate, you bleed. That’s all there is.”

  Elara nodded slowly, her mouth dry. Her fingers flexed unconsciously in her lap. He was speaking from experience—more than once, probably more times than he cared to count.

  “Quick reflexes are essential,” he added, voice lowering into something more focused. “You have to be ready to change plans mid-swing. To let go of control the second it gets you killed. You won’t always know what’s coming. The dungeon doesn’t wait for you to make up your mind.”

  He pushed himself up to leave, the faint creak of worn leather breaking the silence.

  Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out—raw, impulsive.

  “How do I get stronger?” she asked. “How do I prepare for a dungeon?”

  He paused mid-step. The weight of the question hung in the air. Slowly, he turned back to face her. His gaze sharpened, stripping her down, searching for something behind her eyes.

  Elara felt a flush rise up her neck, but held his gaze. She didn’t drop her eyes. She wanted the truth—even if it hurt.

  Darius studied her a moment longer, then exhaled, not quite a sigh. “Leveling up takes more than sitting in a safe room and healing scratches,” he said. “You don’t prepare for the dungeon. You walk into it. You feel it closing around you. And you survive.”

  He stepped closer, his voice steady but grim. “You don’t learn by theory. You learn by almost dying. You learn when your hand shakes after a kill, and you still have to make another. You learn when your instincts are screaming and you move anyway. That’s preparation. That’s experience.”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Explain,” she demanded, her voice quiet but unyielding.

  Darius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look,” he said, his voice not unkind. “The dungeon is no place for the faint of heart. If you want to get stronger, you need to put yourself out there and experience it.”

  She knew he was right. She couldn’t expect to grow stronger if she never left the safety of the encampment.

  “But how do I start?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. “I don’t even know where to begin.” Should she ask to join a party of strangers?

  Darius considered her for a moment, his eyes searching her face. “Start small,” he said finally. “Take on low-level monsters, gather resources, and build up your skills. And most importantly, at your level, find a partner. Someone who can watch your back and pull you out once things get dicey. Because they will.”

  She had already been through one dungeon. Having others around had proven useful—even though most dangers she could avoid with voidwalk, there had been moments when the skills and expertise of the other had made a difference. It was pure nerves that had made her ask him.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with gratitude. “I appreciate your advice.”

  Darius nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t mention it,” he said, turning to leave. “Just remember, the dungeon is no joke. Be careful.”

  As he turned to leave, he paused, his hands resting on the hilt of his swords. He glanced back at her. There was a slight furrow in his brow. His words came slowly, as if weighing each one.

  “If you’re serious about getting stronger,” he said, his tone softer now, “I can help you.” He hesitated again, as though unsure whether to say more.

  Elara hadn’t expected him to offer his help. The idea of entering the dungeon with someone experienced sent a thrill through her, but beneath it lurked a quiet, gnawing tension—like standing at the edge of a great height, uncertain whether to jump or retreat.

  “You’d do that?” she asked.

  Darius nodded, his expression serious. “I’ll take you into the dungeon tomorrow, but only to areas I’ve already been through. And I get the healing for free going forward.”

  His words hung in the air between them, a challenge and an offer all in one. Her heart raced as she considered the implications of his proposal. She saw a glimmer of something else, a hint of amusement, perhaps even a challenge. He smirked, his lips curling up at the corners as he spoke again.

  “Think of it as an investment,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “If you get stronger, I get a reliable healer who doesn’t demand my coin. It’s a win-win.”

  Elara couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his words. She had to admit; he had a point. If she could improve her healing skills and become a valuable asset to someone like him, it could open up a world of opportunities for her.

  “Okay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll do it.”

  Darius nodded, his expression serious once more. “Good,” he said. “Remember, dawn tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

  With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She watched him go, her fingers twitching at her sides.

  The reality of what she had just agreed to settled over her, sending a restless energy through her limbs. She had faced a dungeon before, had felt the rush of danger, the sharp clarity of survival. The thought of stepping into another made her palms sweat—but not just from nerves.

  She took a steadying breath, pressing down the thrill creeping beneath her. This was what she wanted. What she needed to do to become stronger.

  She made her way through the encampment, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. She knew she needed to tell Lana about her plan, but she wasn’t sure how the assistant would react.

  She pushed aside the flap and stepped inside, finding Lana hunched over a workbench, her hands busy with a crafting project.

  “Lana,” she said. “Do you have a moment?”

  Lana looked up, her brow furrowed with concern. “What’s wrong?” she asked, setting down her tools and turning to face her friend.

  Elara took a moment before answering. “I’m going into the dungeon tomorrow. With Darius.”

  Lana’s eyes widened, her mouth falling open in shock. “What?” she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you serious? The dungeon is no place for someone like you!”

  Elara felt a flicker of irritation at Lana’s words. Someone like her? What was that supposed to mean? But before she could respond, a deep voice interrupted their conversation.

  “I approve,” Kurda said, his voice steady as he entered. “Facing real danger is how a rogue gets stronger. If you’re serious about improving, this is the way to do it.”

  Lana turned to face Kurda, her expression incredulous. “But Kurda,” she protested, “Her level is too low! She could get hurt, or worse!”

  Kurda waved a dismissive hand, his expression never faltering. “Nonsense,” he said. “Darius is a good lad. He’ll keep her safe. Besides, this is the only way she is going to learn and grow.”

  Lana’s brow furrowed, her expression thoughtful. “How do you know that Darius guy, anyway?” she asked, her tone suspicious.

  Kurda’s grin faded, and he looked down at the ground, his expression suddenly somber. “I know his mother,” he said quietly. “She was a bold adventurer.”

  Elara shifted uncomfortably as Kurda mentioned Darius’s mother. There was more to the story, but she didn’t feel it was her place to pry. Besides, she had more pressing matters to attend to.

  “Speaking of the dungeon,” she said, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction, “is there anything else I should know before I go? Any equipment I might need?”

  Kurda looked at her, his eyes appraising. “Well, now that you mention it,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  He turned and rummaged through a nearby crate, pulling out a compact, well-worn brown cloak. “This has a bit of resistance against elemental damage. Not much, but better than nothing. Should help if you run into anything nasty in there.” He tossed it to her with a casual flick of his wrist.

  Elara caught it, running her fingers over the sturdy fabric. A small smile spread across her face. “Thank you, Kurda. I really appreciate it.”

  Kurda waved a dismissive hand, but she caught the flicker of pride in his eyes. “Don’t mention it,” he said gruffly. “Just make sure you bring it back in one piece.”

  She held up the cloak, letting the fabric unfold. It was a sandy brown, the color of sunbaked earth, with a deep hood and a hem that would fall just past her mid-thigh. Sturdy yet lightweight, the material had a faint sheen, almost as if dusted with fine, protective sand.

  She activated her Inspect skill, and text flickered into view.

  Elemental Resistance Cloak

  Quality: Rare

  Provides minor resistance against elemental damage. Woven with enchanted fibers to disperse heat, cold, and shock.

  She nodded, satisfied. As she slipped it on, the weight settled around her shoulders, grounding her. The fabric was supple yet firm, moving easily with her. It fit well enough—though a bit snug—but that was a small price to pay for extra protection.

  Running her fingers over the faint stitching along the edges, she glanced up at Kurda, her expression serious. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Kurda snorted. “You better. That thing’s seen more dungeons than most adventurers.”

  As she turned to leave to her room, Elara paused, glancing back at Kurda. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice soft but sincere.

  Kurda nodded, his expression unreadable. “Good luck out there,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind. “And remember, trust your instincts. They’ll serve you well in the dungeon.”