The final slime burst with a wet splutch, its goo splattering like rotten fruit across the stone.
Torv wiped his knife on his sleeve, kicking the core room door open with a sneer.
"Done. XP barely ticked. Waste of a run."
"Can we go?" Myra whined, her staff dim, voice nasal. "This place reeks of farts and despair."
Gorr grunted, his greatsword slung over his shoulder.
"Let's rest here. Grab loot, check gear, log bonuses. Then we hit another."
Their boots scuffed back into the core chamber, the dungeon's cracked crystal pulsing a dull, bleeding red, like a wound too stubborn to close.
He felt their steps, each one a dull prod in his core, their voices scraping his walls.
Torv mock-bowed to the pedestal, grinning. "Oh mighty tutorial dungeon, grant us your slime-splattered blessings."
No one laughed.
Not because the joke fell flat, but because Elia wasn't smiling.
She moved past them, quiet, steady, her earlier flinch gone.
Her eyes locked on the core, not the loot, not the others.
She knelt before it, not as a jest, not as a dare, but like she stood at a grave.
From her pouch, she drew another mushroom—cracked cap, wilted stem, more broken than the last.
She placed it gently at the core's base, fingers steady despite the slime caking her gloves.
The others stared, their chatter dying.
"What the hell are you doing?" Torv asked, his smirk twisting.
Elia didn't look at him, didn't answer. Her hand brushed the stone, her breath close to the core.
"I'm sorry you have to suffer like this," she whispered. "I don't know if you're alive, if you can hear me, but you feel real. You feel… hurt."
The dungeon felt her words sink through his stone, down to the roots of his prison, touching a place long dead.
The core pulsed—once, hard, a shudder rippling through walls, traps, air.
Not visible, but alive, stirring something unnameable, a spark where silence had reigned for centuries.
The others laughed, sharp and cruel, except Gorr.
"You praying to a fucking rock?" Torv snorted, doubling over. "Holy shit, that's rich."
Myra wheezed, clutching her staff. "Is this your first run or your first life?"
Elia turned, still kneeling, her voice soft but clear. "I just thought… maybe…"
Gorr stepped forward, his shadow swallowing her.
His hand lashed out, a slap that cracked across her face.
Elia hit the stone hard, a gasp escaping as blood trickled from her lip.
"No," Gorr said, voice flat as iron. "No more maybe."
She blinked, dazed, her hand touching her bleeding lip. "I—I didn't—"
"You screw us every run," Gorr cut in, looming. "Wrong heals, no loot, crying over slimes. You're dead weight, and we're bleeding gold because the guild thinks you're some moral mascot."
Torv cracked his knuckles, stepping closer. "We lose coin every time she tags along."
Gorr drew his shortblade, its edge glinting in the torchlight.
Elia's eyes widened, voice cracking. "Wait—what are you—? We're on the same team."
"No," Gorr said, his blade steady. "Not anymore."