Chapter 7: Shadows of the Unknown

Lorian's body throbbed with pain, a dull ache radiating from his back as he slowly regained consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open to darkness, the damp chill of stone seeping into his skin. A deep breath sent a sharp pain through his ribs, and he winced. His memories blurred together—the bridge collapsing, the sensation of weightlessness, and then nothing.

He tried to move, but every muscle protested. Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his side, forcing his body upright. The world swayed around him, but he steadied himself, blinking until his vision adjusted.

Faint, eerie light pulsed from clusters of fungi clinging to the walls, casting a sickly green glow over the cavern. He wasn't on the seventh floor anymore. The sheer depth of the abyss he had fallen into was impossible to grasp, but one thing was certain—this place was different.

He reached for his bow, sighing in relief as his fingers found its familiar grip. His quiver was still strapped to his back, though he didn't know how many arrows remained. If he had fallen any further… no, he couldn't afford to think like that. He was alive. That was all that mattered.

A distant sound made him freeze. A faint, wet shuffle against stone. Something was moving.

Lorian's heart pounded as he notched an arrow, his fingers tightening around the string. His eyes scanned the cavern, searching the shadows. The silence was suffocating. Then—movement. A dark shape slithered out of the gloom.

His body moved on instinct, releasing the arrow before he had time to think. The shaft struck home, embedding itself deep in the creature's flesh. A piercing screech echoed through the chamber as the monster writhed, its final movements violent before it stilled.

Lorian exhaled slowly, his pulse still hammering. He stepped closer, studying the corpse. Dark red blood pooled beneath it. He clenched his jaw. He remembered the rules—monsters with red blood were edible. He had no choice.

Survival meant adapting. It meant abandoning hesitation, silencing the voice in his mind that told him he couldn't. With practiced efficiency, he drew his dagger and got to work.

Hours passed. Or maybe more. Time was difficult to grasp in the dungeon's depths.

Lorian moved carefully through the tunnels, his footsteps light against the stone. He had to be smart—every unnecessary fight wasted energy. The monsters here were stronger, larger. Some had veins of blue energy coursing beneath their skin, pulsing with an unnatural glow. He avoided those. He wasn't ready to face them yet.

His telekinetic ability had evolved. At first, it had been little more than a parlor trick, barely enough to shift a pebble. Now, he could do more.

He could subtly correct arrows mid-flight, making them curve around obstacles to strike his targets. He could nudge fallen weapons back into his grip. He could even hold an arrow suspended in the air for a few moments, steadying it before releasing it with pinpoint precision. It wasn't enough to lift boulders or crush enemies outright, but it was progress.

Yet something felt wrong.

He hadn't encountered a single adventurer since waking up. The dungeon wasn't empty, not by any means, but he was alone. Completely alone. No signs of human life. No traces of paths walked before.

Was this place isolated? Had the dungeon itself pulled him here?

A low rumble shook the cavern. Dust rained from the ceiling as the ground beneath him trembled. Lorian gritted his teeth. That wasn't normal. He needed to get out of here.

The only way was up.

Far above, in the heart of the capital, Selene walked through the city's winding streets, her thoughts clouded with frustration.

The meeting with the capital's officials had been… predictable. They saw the dungeons as a threat, something to be managed, controlled. They didn't see what she saw. They didn't ask the right questions.

Why did the dungeons appear? What was their true purpose?

And why did people like her and Lorian have powers in the first place?

Her team walked behind her, their presence a steady weight at her back. Thorne, always the cautious one, finally spoke. "Selene, you really think this old man will have answers?"

She didn't hesitate. "If anyone does, it's him."

The elder had been a whispered legend in the capital for years—a survivor from the first dungeon outbreaks. Unlike the officials and scholars who relied on books and theories, he had lived through it. If there was even a chance he knew the truth, Selene had to find him.

Kiera, her scout, sighed. "This feels like a waste of time."

"It's not," Selene said firmly. "We're running out of people to trust."

The city grew quieter as they moved away from the bustling heart of the capital. The alleyways twisted, narrowing into forgotten streets, their cobblestones worn and cracked. Eventually, they reached it.

A small, weathered hut nestled between two crumbling buildings.

It looked abandoned, but Selene knew better.

She knocked once.

Silence.

Then, from the darkness beyond the door, a voice rasped, "The storm is coming."

The door creaked open, revealing a figure draped in tattered robes. His eyes, sharp and knowing, locked onto hers.

Selene didn't hesitate. "I need to know the truth. About the past. About the power within us. And about the dungeons."

The elder chuckled, stepping aside. "Then enter, child. But be warned—some truths are heavier than the burdens you already carry."

She stepped forward, feeling the weight of his words settle over her.

Far beneath the capital, in the depths of the dungeon, Lorian climbed. His breath was ragged, his muscles screaming in protest. He was running out of time.

And whether they knew it or not, both were heading toward the same destiny.