Elara stepped out of the tent, the cool pre-dawn air brushing against her. The camp was quiet, the few awake figures moving in hushed tones or tending to their own preparations. She made her way to the table where the map was usually spread out, only to find it bare. Whoever managed it must still be asleep. She sighed, rolling her shoulders as she glanced around. Darius hadn’t specified a meeting place, she wished he had. Would’ve saved her the guesswork. Still, this was as good a spot as any. Folding her arms, she leaned against the table, scanning the dimly lit camp for any sign of him.
A rustle in the morning chill broke her from her contemplation. She looked up; her gaze settling on Darius as he approached. The faint glow of the dying embers from the a fire cast a flickering light over him, catching on the polished edges of his armor. His metal boots, crafted from dark steel, gleamed faintly in the dimness.
The overlapping plates, shaped for both protection and mobility, shifted with each step, letting out a muted clink against the packed earth. He stopped a few steps away, his gaze sweeping over her new cloak in silent appraisal before meeting her eyes. He gave a small nod. “It’ll hold up,” he said, his voice even.
Without another word, he tilted his chin toward the treeline bordering the camp. Elara fell into step beside him, absently tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They moved through the camp, weaving between tents and dimly glowing embers of dying fires, the quiet of pre-dawn stretching between them.
He kept a distance, his stride long. The faint clink of his metal boots echoed in the quiet, steady as his movements. His hair, a cascade of pale pink, flowed behind him, loosely woven into a single braid. Strands had slipped free, catching the faint light as they swayed with each step.
She found her gaze drawn to it, the way it moved back and forth. Absentmindedly, she ran her fingers through her own tousled golden locks, feeling the familiar weight of them. Maybe she should braid hers too—before it got caught on something.
Her fingers drifted through her hair again—a habit she hadn’t realized had formed. The strands still felt unnaturally soft and springy, the lingering effect of that strange shampoo she’d looted from the sky fortress. Even now, the silkiness hadn’t faded. She almost smiled. Softer than anything she’d ever managed before. The kind of softness that used to come only after visiting a high-end salon—except this time, it had come from a crumbling ruin in the clouds. Darius slowed his pace.
She didn’t notice. Her fingers toyed with a few loose strands, twisting them idly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Then she felt it—his eyes on her. Her stomach twisted. Her fingers stalled mid-twist. She forced them into motion again, tucking the strand behind her ear like that would somehow undo the moment.
Darius hesitated, whatever he'd meant to say vanishing behind a look she couldn’t read. Something flickered in his eyes.
“…You good?” he asked, voice uncertain, like he didn’t quite know how to ask what he really wanted to.
"Fine," she said too quickly. “Just thinking.” She waved her hand, trying to brush it off. “About the dungeon.”
He nodded, but his expression was still uncertain, like he wasn’t sure whether he should say more or just keep walking. A beat passed, he then turned back towards the treeline, his gait resuming its pace.
"The entrance is about another two minutes in," he explained, pointing vaguely with his chin ahead. "It’s a faint mist, almost white. Doesn't look like much, but…”
He trailed off, letting the weight of that “but” hang in the air. Elara picked up a fallen twig and began twirling it between her fingers.
“But?” she prompted, finally meeting his gaze.
He cleared his throat. “Once inside,” he continued, his voice a little less certain now, “it’s easy to get lost. It’s important to always keep each other in sight, never wander off.”
Elara nodded, lips quirking as she tucked the twig behind her ear.
“Don’t worry,” she said with mock ease. “I’m a master at keeping eyes on the prize.”
Darius blinked. His head tilted, then he looked away too fast. His hands shifted at his belt, fingers suddenly restless. “Right,” he muttered, voice rougher than before.
He adjusted one of his sword hilts, then adjusted it again, even though it hadn’t moved.
“Just... remember what I said. Stay close.”
The silence yawned wide between them. The air felt thick now, as if the words hung longer than they should’ve.
She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “I meant tracking. I’m good at focus. That’s all.”
He kept fiddling with the sword strap, head still turned away, jaw tight.
“Right,” he said again—barely audible this time.
She cleared her throat again and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, I’m just saying… I’m good at focusing on what’s important. That’s all.” She now also avoided eye contact, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.
He nodded, but his gaze stayed anywhere but on her. “Yeah, sure.” He cleared his throat again, clearly unsure how to respond. "Just... stay close."
She pressed her lips together, her attempt to explain falling flat. She really wished she’d just kept her mouth shut.
A light mist shimmered ahead, hanging low to the ground like a veil. It was breathtakingly beautiful, swirling and twisting in the cool morning air. All thoughts of the awkward exchange with Darius evaporated, replaced by a sudden sense of wonder. She quickened her steps, drawn in by the beauty of the mist. Darius shifted slightly to the side, clearing her path. Elara glanced up at him.
"Is that it?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.
He hummed in response, the sound vague and noncommittal. He dipped his head and stepped into the mist. The swirling white swallowed him whole. He disappeared from view. She hesitated for only a moment before following, the cool mist brushing against her skin as she ventured into the unknown. The moment she stepped inside the mist, a notification bloomed in her vision.
[Entered Dungeon: Serpent’s Veil]
Intrigued, she let the words sink in. Serpent’s Veil. What does that even mean? Is a snake waiting for them? Letting the curiosity of the notification fade, she focused on Darius. His breath misting in the cool air. He was several paces ahead, so she quickened her steps, determined to catch up.
"What's the plan?" she asked, falling into step beside him.
Darius stepped to the side, subtly increasing the space between them. Her heart sank. Great. She could practically feel the awkwardness in the air. She must've come off wrong earlier, and now he was probably uncomfortable. It was all her fault for making that offhand remark. She bit her lip, mentally chastising herself. She should've been more careful with her words, should've known better than to try to joke like that.
To her senses, the air inside the mist felt different. It was heavier somehow. She tugged a stray strand of hair behind her ear, glancing nervously over her shoulder. A quiet resignation settled between them as he turned, his gaze sweeping over the rolling mist before landing on her.
“Take it in,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “This is what the dungeon feels like.”
Her eyes traced the swirling tendrils that filled the space. It was mesmerizing—beautiful, yet unsettling. The mist moved in an endless, shifting dance, faintly luminescent particles pulsing. She could only see a few meters ahead before the haze swallowed everything beyond. It felt different from the world outside the camp—denser, heavier, as if she had stepped into something alive.
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After a moment, the allure of the unknown faded as she returned to the task at hand. “So,” she repeated, turning back to him, “What’s the plan?”
He shifted his weight, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before settling on a point beyond the mist. “I’m going to watch you fight,” he said, his voice calm. “Get a sense of how skilled you are in combat."
Elara blinked, surprised. "You want to watch me?"
“It’s smarter than asking,” he said with a slight shrug. “People tend to exaggerate.”
He crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “Or they lie outright. I’d rather see for myself.”
Her initial surprise gave way to something sharper—anticipation. “You seriously just want to watch?”
He straightened, a hint of amusement in his gaze. "Yup. See what you can do."
Elara hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to proceed. This was exactly what she wanted—someone to watch her back as she tried out her new skills. But at the same time, using them blindly would be reckless. She had no idea if they even worked the way she expected. For now, she would stick to what she knew.
She turned to him. “Where can we find things to fight?”
He let out a dry chuckle, eyes scanning the branches above. “We don’t have to look for them,” he murmured. “They’ll find us.”
She frowned. The forest was eerily silent, the usual hum of insects absent. Then—
A sharp rustling came from the canopy. Leaves trembled. A blur of movement darted through the branches, too quick to track. For a split second, her mind flashed to another time, another forest—when she'd caught sight of something far grander descending from above. She barely had time to finish that thought before something dropped from above. A flash of gray streaked toward her face. She twisted away, heart hammering, just as tiny claws sliced through the air where her eye had been a second before. The creature landed lightly on the ground—a squirrel.
But something was wrong. It was too big. Not unnaturally so, but enough that the proportions felt off. Its sleek fur shimmered under the dappled light, shifting slightly as it breathed, like ripples across still water. Its claws were longer than they should be—curved, sharp. And its eyes…
Elara swallowed hard. The squirrel’s dark eyes locked onto her, unblinking, filled with an intelligence that sent a shiver down her spine. It didn’t flee. It didn’t hesitate. It lunged.
The speed was terrifying. A streak of gray, too fast to track. She barely managed to throw herself sideways before it reached her. The air whistled as its claws tore through where her throat had been moments before. It landed effortlessly, chittering softly. Then, without a sound, it vanished—darting into the undergrowth like a shadow dissolving in the dark.
Darius took a slow step back, hand hovering near his weapon. “Told you,” he muttered. “They’ll find us.”
Elara’s breath came fast and shallow. Her skin prickled. She knew, with absolute certainty, that the creature hadn’t run.
It was circling. Watching. Waiting.
Darius took another step back, his voice low but calm. “Don’t worry about losing sight of me,” he said. “I’ll keep you in sight. You just focus on surviving.”
She swallowed. That was not reassuring.
A flicker of movement—just at the edge of her vision. She pivoted, dagger raised, but there was nothing. Just rustling leaves, the whisper of wind.
Then a blur shot toward her from the side.
She barely twisted in time, the squirrel’s claws slicing through the fabric of her sleeve, leaving a thin, burning line along her forearm. It was too fast. It rebounded off a tree trunk and launched again, moving like a whisper of shadow through the trees, its body barely making a sound.
It’s playing with me.
She gritted her teeth and slashed outward, her dagger cutting the air. The squirrel twisted mid-leap—unnatural precision, unnatural grace—and her blade missed by a hair. It landed just out of reach, watching her with that eerie, unblinking stare. Then it smiled.
Elara’s stomach dropped. It was a subtle thing. Just a slight pull of its lips, the barest glimpse of tiny, needle-like teeth. But there was something knowing about it, something that set off every alarm in her body.
Her fingers clenched around her dagger. Darius let out a breath, slow and measured. “It’s testing you.”
“I noticed,” she muttered.
The squirrel’s body tensed.
Incoming.
It lunged again. She threw herself sideways, but this time, she was ready. Her dagger snapped up—not where it was, but where it was going to be.
A sharp screech.
The blade met resistance—fur, flesh, a brief shock of impact—and then the creature was gone again, vanishing into the brush. But this time, she had drawn blood. A few drops of dark crimson splattered against the leaves.
The squirrel did not reappear immediately. A moment stretched between them, the forest holding its breath. Then, a rustle. The sound of tiny claws against bark. It was still moving—but slower now. Cautious.
Darius exhaled through his nose, his grip on his weapon loosening slightly. “Good. You made it bleed. That’ll make it think twice.”
She didn’t feel victorious. She felt hunted. She wiped the sweat from her brow, keeping her stance firm. “What now?”
Darius’ lips curled into something almost amused. “Now? It’s your turn to hunt it.”
The words sent a different kind of chill down her spine. She took a steady breath. The game had changed. And she intended to win.
Her pulse steadied as she adjusted her grip on her daggers. The squirrel was watching. She could feel it, just out of sight, tracking her every move. It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t desperate. It was waiting.
Fine. She could wait too. She forced herself to relax, rolling her shoulders as if she were unbothered by the creature’s presence. She turned slightly—not to where it was, but to where she wanted it to go. A deliberate opening. A false weakness.
Darius said nothing, but she caught the approving tilt of his head.
The underbrush rustled. The squirrel shifted, adjusting its position. It’s thinking about it.
Her breathing stayed even. She resisted the urge to track it with her eyes, focusing instead on her surroundings. She needed to limit its movement. If it kept bounding between trees, she’d never pin it down.
I need to control the battlefield.
Her gaze flicked to the terrain—thick roots, fallen logs, a tangle of low-hanging branches. Obstacles. That’s it.
She took a slow step back, angling her body toward a natural bottleneck—a narrow space between a thick tree trunk and a cluster of rocks. If she could force it through there, it would have less room to maneuver.
The squirrel noticed the movement. It didn’t lunge immediately—too smart for that—but it shifted, reconsidering its angle.
Elara moved again, subtly guiding it, her posture still relaxed, as if she wasn’t paying attention. As if she was still shaken, still on edge.
Another rustle. A flash of movement.
It was taking the bait.
Elara didn’t tense, didn’t react. She let it think it had the advantage, let it pick its angle of attack. She kept her steps slow, controlled—until she was right where she needed to be.
Then—
The squirrel launched itself forward, claws flashing, its tiny body a blur of motion. This time, Elara was faster.
She twisted, sidestepping at the last moment—not away, but toward the narrow gap. The squirrel corrected mid-air, trying to veer off, but the space was too tight.
Its momentum carried it forward. Right where she wanted it. She raised her free hand, magic crackling at her fingertips.
Void Bolt.
A pulse of dark energy lanced forward, striking the creature in midair. It yelped as the void magic took hold, draining speed from its limbs. The once-fluid motion of its leap faltered—just enough.
It slammed into the tree trunk, its small body jerking from the impact. Just for a split second. But that was all Elara needed.
Her dagger drove into its side before it could rebound, the force of her strike pinning it to the rough bark.
The squirrel screeched, thrashing, claws scrabbling against the tree. Its limbs jerked, but its movements were sluggish, just slightly off-balance. The Void Bolt’s lingering effect dulled its reflexes, stole part of the speed it relied on.
It tried to twist free. Too late. Elara leaned in, pressing her weight against the hilt, driving the blade deeper.
A shudder ran through the creature’s body. Its frantic struggles weakened. Its beady black eyes flicked to her, wild, panicked—but aware. For a moment, it almost looked... human.
Elara set her jaw. She yanked the dagger free. Blood splattered onto the bark. The creature twitched once, then went still. She exhaled, stepping back.
Darius let out a low whistle. “Not bad,” he murmured, eyes flicking to the dark smear left on the tree trunk. Elara wiped the blade against her sleeve and dismised the system notification.
She felt a tremor run through her, a mix of adrenaline and something else, something unsettling. She wasn't sure if it was the kill, the proximity of the creature's desperate eyes, or the way the blood had splattered against the bark like a macabre painting.
"Thanks," she mumbled, her voice rough.
Darius nodded, his gaze fixed on the fallen squirrel. "Good work. You adapted well."
He turned to her, his expression unreadable. "But you need to learn a finishing move from a distance. Maybe you could have thrown your dagger. That close, you're vulnerable to something this fast."
She blinked, the weight of his words settling in her chest. "Throw?"
"Yeah," Darius said, nodding toward the dagger in her hand. "You need to be able to keep your distance. That final strike? Too risky."
She looked down at the blade. She hadn’t thought about that. In the moment, all she had focused on was the creature’s movements—reacting, surviving.
"I... I'm not sure I know how," she admitted.
He hummed, considering. “That’s something we can fix,” he said. “ It looks like you’ve got the dagger handling skill at a high enough level. We’ll work on dagger throwing to unlock a skill.”
She looked up, surprised. “Really?”
Darius shrugged. “Why not? You’re fast, got decent instincts, and that magic of yours messes with opponents speed enough to give you an opening. Makes sense to add some range to your non-mana cost attacks.”
He was right. She needed to improve. Better to struggle with it now than in the middle of a real crisis. Golden light flickered to life beneath her fingertips, pooling over the wound like liquid sunlight.
Darius stepped closer, watching her carefully. “Don’t force it all at once,” he advised. “Learn to pace yourself. Unless you want to come up empty on mana mid-fight.”
She adjusted, letting the magic trickle in slower, guiding the glow in measured pulses. The warmth seeped deeper, stitching torn flesh back together, but the ache remained—a dull, insistent reminder that she still had limits. Finally, the golden glow faded. The cut was gone, replaced by tender, pinkish skin. Not perfect, but enough.
Darius smirked. "See? Now do that while dodging claws and fangs, and you’ll be golden."