Chapter 6 : The Depths of Silence

Darkness.

A suffocating, endless void.

The moment Nate crossed the threshold, the world behind him vanished. The air grew heavier, thick with an unnatural stillness, pressing against his chest like unseen hands. The golden light of the sun was gone, replaced by a dim, cold glow emanating from jagged rocks embedded in the cavern walls. Their eerie light barely illuminated the vast tunnel stretching before him.

He took a shaky breath. The air was different here. It carried a strange weight—damp, metallic, and wrong. Like blood soaked into stone.

No wind.

No sound.

No warmth.

Something was watching.

He didn't know how, but he felt it. A presence. A thousand unseen eyes lurking in the dark.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword.

Then he looked around.

And realized—

He was alone.

His breath quickened.

Where was everyone? The other newcomers? The veterans?

Hadn't they all entered together?

He spun around, but the stone archway he had stepped through was gone. In its place was a towering wall of black rock, as if the entrance had never existed.

A trap?

No.

This place was simply... alive.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

His legs trembled.

The silence… it was unbearable.

Not a single sound. No wind. No distant voices. No echo of his own breathing.

Just… nothing.

A void.

He had never felt fear like this before. It coiled around his ribs, dug into his lungs. The oppressive weight of the Dungeon crushed him, making it feel as if the stone walls themselves were closing in, as if they would swallow him whole.

For a single, horrifying second, his thoughts spiraled—

What if this is it?

What if I'm already dead?

What if I never see the sky again?

He almost ran. His instincts screamed at him to flee, to find something—anything—that proved this wasn't a grave.

But there was nowhere to run.

He had to calm down.

He clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe, to steady his heartbeat.

"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath. "You're still alive."

Still alive.

Still breathing.

And he was going to survive.

The weight of that realization settled on him like a suffocating shroud. Something ancient lurked beyond sight. His fingers trembled. The world around him felt wrong, like an abyss that would swallow him whole if he let it.

He forced himself to inhale. Steady. Focus. Think.

He took a step forward, the sound of his boot scraping against the stone floor unnaturally loud. The ground was uneven, slick with something damp. The dim glow of strange, mineral-like veins running along the cavern walls barely illuminated his surroundings.

The moment he moved, the silence shifted.

A gust of wind rushed past him—fast, unnatural, carrying the scent of damp feathers and something metallic.

He barely had time to react.

A shadow streaked above him.

A blur—dark, massive, and swift.

His breath caught in his throat. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, to hide—but his body refused to obey. He stood frozen, every muscle locked in place as his eyes darted upward.

The creature was gone.

No sound of wings. No lingering trace of movement.

But he had seen it.

Something was up there. Watching. Waiting.

His fingers clenched tighter around the hilt of his sword, knuckles turning white. If something that fast and that big decided to attack… would he even have time to react?

The fear was real now. It wasn't just the unnatural stillness, the oppressive darkness, or the missing recruits. This place was alive. And it was already hunting him.

He exhaled, forcing his muscles to relax. Panic would get him killed.

His mother's frail smile flashed in his mind—her voice soft as she whispered to the him.

His father's hands, worn from years of working in the shop, patting his shoulder with quiet encouragement before he left.

His baby sister, only a year old, reaching out toward him with tiny hands, whimpering.

They were waiting for him.

Waiting for him to return.

A lump formed in his throat.

No matter how terrifying this place was, he had to survive.

For them.

He took another step.

Then another.

Each movement was slow, deliberate, but no longer uncertain.

The Dungeon may have been alive. It may have been watching.

But so was he.

He gritted his teeth, whispering to himself—

"I'm coming back. No matter what."

Then he walked forward.

Into the depths of the unknown.