The deeper they ventured, the more Wren began to realize how na?ve he’d been.

  The Grimlings were just the start. Each level that followed was more unforgiving than the last. The creatures grew stronger, smarter. And the deeper the group descended, the more oppressive the dungeon seemed. Like it was alive, breathing, watching.

  Wren could feel it now—the pull of the dungeon. It was as if something was waiting, waiting for him to cross the threshold, to step into its heart and claim his place within it. The deeper they went, the more his instincts screamed at him that it wasn’t just about survival anymore.

  They’d spent two weeks on the lower floors, each day more exhausting than the last. Every time they returned to camp, bloodied and battered, they found their bodies weaker but their resolve harder. The dungeon wasn’t kind to adventurers. It took, and it gave nothing in return.

  The only rule was this: survive.

  Talin had turned out to be an experienced mentor, teaching Wren how to fight, how to think ahead, how to survive. But Wren knew there were limits to what even Talin could teach him. This dungeon was different. It was alive with something ancient, something unpredictable. Each floor held its own set of challenges—traps, creatures, and secrets that no one had ever come close to uncovering.

  And then came the first floor where something truly unexpected happened.

  They were three levels down now, an area with tight corridors and cavernous chambers. The glow from their crystal torches painted the stone walls with a sickly, yellow hue. A sudden echo rang out—something heavy, something massive.

  Wren’s heart rate kicked up.

  “Stay close,” Talin whispered. He looked at Wren, his expression unreadable. “This isn’t like the others.”

  Wren nodded, fingers brushing against his daggers. The air grew thick, and the ground seemed to shake beneath their feet.

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  Then it appeared.

  A shadow, tall and wide, moving with an eerie calm through the mist. Wren’s breath caught in his throat. This wasn’t a beast. It was something else.

  It was human—at least, it looked like one.

  Clad in armor that gleamed darkly, the figure moved with an unsettling grace, the tip of its sword scraping against the stone ground with every step. Its face was hidden beneath a dark hood, but Wren could see its glowing eyes piercing through the fabric of the darkness.

  A boss. Wren had seen the term in the adventurer’s manual. Powerful entities that guarded the deeper floors, each one stronger than anything they had encountered so far.

  The figure raised its head, and Wren’s stomach tightened.

  It wasn’t just any boss.

  It was a Knight of the Abyss.

  “Talin,” Wren said, voice barely above a whisper. “What are we—?”

  Talin’s hand was already on his axe, his jaw clenched. “Run.”

  But Wren wasn’t listening. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Not of this.

  The Knight’s glowing eyes locked onto Wren, and the world around him seemed to slow. He could feel its presence. Not just in the air, but in his bones. It was an entity so powerful, so ancient, that Wren felt insignificant in comparison. It was like the dungeon itself was presenting him with a challenge. One that only he could face.

  Wren drew his daggers, his body brimming with adrenaline. His senses sharpened, everything slowing down as he locked onto the Knight’s every movement. The monster moved like liquid, and in an instant, it swung its massive sword at him.

  Wren barely managed to dodge, spinning to the side just as the blade cleaved the air where he had been standing. His heart raced. The aura from the Knight was unlike anything he’d ever felt—its power was palpable, suffocating. This wasn’t a fight he was supposed to win.

  “Don’t engage!” Talin shouted, already running in the opposite direction, pulling back.

  But Wren couldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop. Not now.

  The Knight was fast. Faster than anything he’d ever fought. But Wren was faster still, his movements fluid and controlled, dancing around the attacks with his twin daggers flashing in the dark. He felt alive. The sense of power that had been growing inside of him was finally being unleashed. He was starting to understand why he had come here. Why he was meant to be here.

  Then, as the Knight made another lunge, Wren did the unthinkable. He dodged left, his body twisting midair to avoid the blade, and launched himself forward, daggers raised.

  With a final, perfectly timed strike, he drove both daggers into the Knight’s chest. The creature let out a piercing screech, its body going rigid, before it collapsed to the ground in a heap of blackened armor and lifeless limbs.

  Wren stood over it, his chest heaving, his arms trembling. He had won. He couldn’t believe it. His heart was still pounding, but this time, it was different. This wasn’t the relief of surviving a close call.

  This was something darker.

  Something far more dangerous.

  He’d killed it. And that, in the dungeon, meant he had taken another step closer to something far more twisted than survival.

  Talin reappeared from the shadows, eyes wide with shock. “Kid…” he breathed, his voice hushed. “What the hell was that?”

  Wren wiped the sweat from his brow, his expression distant. “I don’t know.”

  But as he turned to face the path ahead, the dungeon felt colder.

  And he knew, for the first time, that this was just the beginning.