Chapter 2 : A Desperate Choice

Night had fallen, but sleep never came.

Nate lay on the old, creaking wooden floor of their home, staring at the ceiling. The single oil lamp in the room flickered weakly, casting shadows across the walls. In the dim light, he could see his mother's pale face, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

His little sister, barely a year old, whimpered in her sleep.

His father sat nearby, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes hollow with exhaustion.

Silence filled the room.

A silence so heavy it felt suffocating.

The words of the healer still echoed in Nate's head.

> "She won't last a week without an advanced potion."

One week.

That was all the time they had.

But that potion cost more money than they could ever afford.

His father had spent the entire day begging old customers for loans, offering to sell everything they had. But the shop was already in debt. No one wanted to throw money at a sinking ship.

There was no help coming.

No miracle.

No second chances.

Nate clenched his fists. He had to do something.

---

Other Options? No. There Were None.

His father exhaled, voice hoarse from exhaustion.

"Maybe I can find a way…" he muttered, barely believing his own words.

Nate shook his head.

"We both know you won't."**

His father flinched.

Not because of anger—because he knew it was true.

He was already too deep in debt. If he borrowed more, the collectors would come. And if they couldn't pay…

No. That wasn't an option.

Nate looked toward his mother again. The faint rise and fall of her chest. The sweat on her brow.

One week.

He thought about stealing. The merchant district was filled with rich fools carrying gold. But what then? If he got caught, he'd be thrown in jail. And even if he succeeded… how much could he really steal?

Not enough.

He thought about working. Maybe some quick labor jobs. But that would take weeks.

She didn't have weeks.

Then, as if fate itself had whispered the words to him, an idea formed in his mind.

The Dungeon.

Nate had heard the stories a hundred times.

The City Dungeon was open to anyone. If you cleared just a single floor, you could earn more money in a day than most people did in a year.

If you were lucky, you could find an artifact or a rare drop.

If you were strong, you could build a future.

If you were weak, you would never leave.

The Dungeon did not care.

It only took.

Nate had never considered it before. He was skinny. Weak. Untrained.

But…

He had no choice.

Nate swallowed hard. His throat felt dry.

"I'm going to the Dungeon."

His father's head snapped up. He stared at Nate as if he had just spoken nonsense.

"…What?"

"I said, I'm going to the Dungeon," Nate repeated, voice steadier this time.

His father's expression shifted. Shock. Confusion. Then anger.

"You will do no such thing!" he snapped.

Nate stood his ground. "Do you have a better idea?"

His father opened his mouth, then closed it.

There was no better idea.

That was the problem.

"You won't survive," his father said, voice quieter now.

"I have to try."

His father clenched his fists. He looked away, his jaw trembling.

"This isn't fair..." he whispered.

Nate almost laughed. Fair? Nothing had ever been fair.

But his father was right about one thing.

He wasn't ready. Not yet.

"I'll figure it out in the morning," Nate said finally, forcing the words out.

His father said nothing.

Silence returned to the house. His father sat still, staring at the floor. His little sister whimpered softly in her sleep.

Nate laid down on the hard wooden floor, staring at the ceiling.

He had made his decision.

Tomorrow, he would step into the Dungeon.

There was no turning back.