Solas

"Ughhhh…" Max groaned, his head throbbing as he pushed himself upright. A sharp ache ran through his body, his muscles stiff from exhaustion. His vision was hazy, but as it cleared, he noticed movement on his arms.

Bugs.

Dozens of them—small, skittering things with too many legs—crawling over his clothes, his skin. His breath hitched, and in an instant, he was thrashing, frantically shaking them off. He swiped at his arms, his legs, his shoulders, sending the creatures scattering into the sand.

A shiver ran down his spine as he stood up quickly, still brushing at his clothes just to make sure none had clung on. His heartbeat slowed, but the lingering feeling of their tiny legs still crawled over his skin.

Then, he noticed the shadow cast over him.

It wasn't from a rock or ruin. It was moving.

Max turned his head, his body tensing on instinct.

The mummy.

The same undead warrior he had fought stood just a few feet away, silent and unmoving, its tattered wrappings fluttering slightly in the hot wind. But it wasn't attacking. It had been… shielding him from the sun?

Max swallowed, unsure of what to make of the strange scene. "Uh… thanks?"

The mummy didn't react, didn't acknowledge his words in any way. Instead, it slowly dropped to one knee, like a knight kneeling before a lord.

Max remained still, watching warily as the mummy reached into its decayed robes, fingers wrapped in brittle cloth digging for something hidden beneath layers of old fabric. Then, it pulled out a blue crystal.

The gem shimmered faintly, pulsating with an unnatural light, as if something was alive inside of it.

Max hesitated. Every instinct told him this wasn't normal, but his curiosity got the better of him. Carefully, he reached out and grasped the crystal.

The moment his fingers curled around it—

Crack.

The crystal shattered in his grip, splintering into a dozen tiny shards that dissolved into the air like dust caught in the wind.

And from its remnants, something emerged.

A ghostly, humanoid figure flickered into existence before him, its form shifting like smoke, its edges blurring and twisting as if it couldn't quite hold itself together. It had no face, no features—just a glowing blue silhouette hovering inches above the ground.

Max felt his pulse spike. His grip tightened on his daggers.

Then, the figure spoke—not with words, not with sound, but with something deeper. A voice pressed directly into his mind, echoing through his skull like a long-forgotten memory.

"Good. You're alive. That could have gone much worse. I know you have questions. They can wait. Focus. You're dying of thirst." 

Max swallowed thickly, his throat dry and raw, the heat gnawing at him like an unrelenting beast. His mind was still reeling from the vision, but his body had other priorities.

With a shaky breath, he reached into his storage cube, channeling a small pulse of mana to activate it. The air rippled slightly as the cube responded, and Max pulled out a flask of water.

He uncapped it hurriedly and took a long, greedy gulp, the cool liquid soothing his throat instantly. The relief was almost overwhelming.

Max sat back on his heels, eyes narrowed in thought. He looked at the crystal, now shattered into pieces, and the faint figure of the ghost that hovered before him. The truth, or at least some part of it, was starting to take shape, but it wasn't enough. It was like trying to solve a puzzle with half the pieces missing.

"Who are you? Why did you come out of the crystal?" Max asked, his voice steady but full of curiosity.

The ghost didn't move at first, its ethereal form shimmering in the dim light. After a moment, it spoke in a voice that sounded like a whisper carried by the wind. "I was an adventurer. Died here, in this dungeon. The crystal... it's a conduit, a link between worlds."

Max processed the words. "So, you're... like a spirit? Trapped here?"

"Not exactly," the ghost replied, the edges of its form rippling as it spoke. "More like a remnant. A piece of me that remains, bound to the dungeon. The crystal connected me to this world long enough to pass on what little I know."

Max's brow furrowed as he tried to understand. He had heard of souls lingering in places, but this was different—more deliberate, like the dungeon itself was a tether.

"So dungeons are like when parts of worlds get locked into a space?" Max ventured, trying to make sense of it all.

The ghost's form flickered slightly, as though it was contemplating the question before answering. "Dungeons are ruptures in the fabric of worlds, fractures where parts of different realities are pulled into one place. They're not just places—they're locked fragments of other worlds, isolated and twisted together. Every dungeon is a chaotic convergence of things that don't belong in the same space—people, creatures, landscapes, even concepts. What you're standing in is the result of one of those ruptures. These places aren't natural, but they're not accidents either."

Max blinked at the ghost's explanation. A convergence of things that didn't belong? It was like the dungeon was a stitched-together mess of different worlds, held in some twisted, unnatural balance. It didn't sit well with him. If this was true, then it was no wonder the monsters, the creatures, and even the environment here felt so out of place. Nothing seemed to belong.

"So, how are they made?" Max asked, his voice more cautious now, the weight of the ghost's words settling heavily on his shoulders.

The ghost paused, and for a moment, the air between them seemed to thicken. "Dungeons appear without warning, and no one's ever been able to understand why or how they're created. There are theories, of course. Some say it's the result of powerful magic gone wrong. Others think it's the result of old gods or forces beyond comprehension. But no one has the answers."

Max took in the information, processing the chaos and uncertainty of it all. It was like a storm brewing, one that no one could predict. "So… no one really knows how they're made? Not even the scholars?" Max asked, a trace of disbelief in his voice.

The ghost shook its head, the faint light of its form shifting. "No one."

Max exhaled slowly, absorbing the weight of the ghost's words. "Then my theory might have some weight behind it."

The ghost's figure flickered again, as though acknowledging his words. "Possible," it said simply.

Max stood still for a moment, the quiet stretching between him and the figure that had just emerged. His gaze was calculating, not giving away much, but there was a faint curiosity lingering in his eyes.

Max tilted his head slightly, his tone casual, almost indifferent. "Well… is this goodbye?"

The figure's form flickered before speaking, its voice calm and unshaken. "No. I'm with you until you leave this place."

Max paused, a slight raise of his brow the only sign of interest. "Then what is your name, at least?"

There was a brief silence before the figure responded, its tone steady and unwavering. "Solas. Solas Williams."

Max studied the figure for a moment longer, a faint glimmer of recognition or curiosity in his eyes. He nodded slightly, acknowledging the name without saying much. "Max."

The exchange was simple, efficient. Yet, the air around them felt heavy with something unspoken. Solas's voice remained unchanged, but there was a subtle, almost imperceptible shift—like an acknowledgment, or perhaps a form of respect that didn't need to be verbalized.

"Pleasure to meet you, Max," Solas said, and his voice, though flat, carried a weight of experience, something that Max could sense without fully understanding.

Max's response was brief but genuine, his voice still measured, but there was a slight note of recognition beneath the surface. "Pleasure."

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound the low hum of the surrounding desert. Max's mind, ever analytical, was already processing what Solas had said. The ghost—this entity—wasn't just here as a guide, but something more. The words "I'm with you until you leave this place" resonated in a way that hinted at more than a simple accompaniment. Max wondered how much of his fate, and this dungeon's, Solas had seen.

Solas didn't seem to want to elaborate, and Max wasn't one to push unnecessarily.

Max spoke with calm certainty as he looked over the mummy's remains, his expression neutral. "I'm going to take the mummy's corpse since it does sell for a lot."

Solas's voice was steady, almost detached as he responded. "It'll fetch a good price, no doubt. People have a market for the unusual, especially here. Just remember, there's no telling what kind of trouble could follow you with something like that."

Max remained unbothered, the faintest shrug moving his shoulders as he casually dismissed the caution. "I can handle it."

Solas didn't offer further commentary, his voice devoid of any real concern or encouragement as he replied simply, "We'll see."

Max, without hesitation, moved swiftly to store the mummy's corpse. The motion was efficient, and with a flick of his wrist, it vanished into the storage cube. He was methodical, his focus already shifting ahead.

Without another word, they began walking once again. The desert stretched endlessly before them—sand dunes rising like silent sentinels, the ruins they passed speaking of an age long past. The wind picked up, shifting sand like a veil over forgotten memories. Despite the desolation, there was an undeniable sense of purpose in their strides.

"I see three people on the ground ahead," Solas said, his tone level, his attention fixed on the figures in the distance.

Max glanced ahead, his expression unreadable as he processed the situation. "Same. Did they die out here?"

Solas paused, the air thick with a brief silence before he spoke again. His voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Most likely. This place has a way of claiming those who don't watch their steps. But... you never really know for sure."

Max's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought about their next move. "Should we help them?"

He hesitated, then clarified his own role in the situation with a cool tone. "Or should I help them?"

Solas didn't seem to register any difference between the two. His voice remained neutral, offering no real advice, just an acknowledgment of the harsh truth that surrounded them. "If they're alive, they might not stay that way long. But it's up to you. Help them, or don't."

Max let the words hang in the air for a moment, weighing the consequences, the possible risks. He had no reason to help, but then again, he didn't necessarily need a reason to.

Max frowned, his mind working as he approached the three men lying in the sand. "But why didn't they press their emergency buttons?" he mumbled, mostly to himself.

Solas responded, his voice flat as ever, "A battle has taken place here. Look at the sand."

Max glanced down, taking in the disturbed terrain—footprints, smudged blood stains, and broken weapons half-buried in the sand. "Yeah…" Max muttered, his eyes scanning the area. "There was one."

Kneeling down next to the first man, Max gently checked his pulse. The faint thrum beneath the skin was weak but present. "He's alive," Max said, his voice deadpan. He rubbed his temples for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Don't know if I'm shocked that he is still alive or the fact that he isn't dead yet. Either way, he was left here by something."

Solas remained silent, but his presence was a constant undercurrent to the situation.

Max pulled out his storage cube with a swift motion, retrieving a few bottles of water. He opened one and carefully tilted the man's head back, pouring water into his mouth. The man coughed, his body jerking upright as he began gulping down the water in desperate thirst.

Max repeated the process for the other two men, pouring water into their mouths, watching as they stirred slightly in response, taking in the hydration. Their breathing became a little more regular with each swallow.

Max didn't let his guard down, still unsure of what had left these men in such a state.