A huge teleportation array covered the chamber floor, its runes asleep for centuries. A faint red glow seeped from the carvings, tracing lines of power through the stone. The air felt thick, buzzing with mana waking up after ages, enough to make his skin tingle.
Eron stood at the edge, boots pressing into the marble. His bag was slung across his back, leather worn from the long crawl down through the dungeon floors. Sweat dripped down his temple, he wiped it away with the back of his glove and took a steady breath.
"Alright. Let's see if this actually works."
From the shadows came Valerica's voice, smooth, cold, with a hint of amusement.
"Still works after all this time. I thought it'd be nothing but scrap."
He stepped onto the array, marble smooth under his boots.
"You said this is the way out."
Her laugh was quiet, mocking.
"If it works, yes. If not, well, there are worse ways to die than being ripped apart by ancient magic."
"Great pep talk," he muttered.
The symbols flickered once, then again as light spread from the center, running through the carved lines while a low hum filled the chamber and the runes began to glow, turning like gears waking after a long sleep.
Light flooded the chamber, his breath catching as his pulse quickened.
The runes flared brighter, and the light surged upward. "For a moment, weightlessness. His body dissolved into light, particles scattering upward like ash caught in wind. Hope flickered in his chest. Then something cracked."
The array hissed, a sharp, tearing sound that forced him to cover his ears. The pull twisted, and the world around him began to shift as the chamber faded until he was drifting in black space. Then a light burst through.
"Dammit, what the hell's going on?"
Air roared past his ears as he fell. Darkness spun around him, walls flashing by too fast to grasp. He reached out but found nothing, only empty space.
Then impact.
The water slammed into him, forcing the air from his lungs. Cold seeped through his coat as he sank fast, his worn bag dragging him down. He kicked hard, legs aching and throat tight, fighting his way up toward the faint light above.
He broke through the surface, gasping and coughing hard. His Hovering Blaze floated above the water, casting faint light across the ripples. He pushed forward until his hand hit solid rock, pulling himself up while keeping a tight hold on his bag. Water spilled from his mouth as he lay there, shivering and trying to catch his breath.
"Not the surface," while breathing heavily.
He sat up, the air thick and oddly familiar, sending a chill through his skin. He remembered the fall, the cold, and the weight pressing on him below.
This happened before.
He looked around, a vast cavern spread in every direction, pale moss casting a faint green light across the wet walls, ceiling disappeared into darkness.
Bones jutted from the mud near the shore, and the air smelled of damp earth and old blood.
His shadow stretched beside him, two crimson points flickered within it.
"Oh, you're on an upper floor," Valerica said from his shadow, pausing for a moment. "Be grateful that you didn't turn to dust when the portal broke."
He wiped his face. "So… what floor is this?"
"Floor thirty-five, I think if the dungeon's map still holds, you're lucky you fell through a crack and didn't get torn apart."
"Yeah, good for me," Eron muttered. "I don't ever want to go through that again." He felt a chill crawl down his spine.
He pushed his hair back and froze.
Silver strands shimmered between his fingers. Under the Hovering Blaze's light, they gleamed like thin wire. His eyes widened, leaving him speechless.
"What the hell."
More silver clung to his gloves. He rubbed them together, watching the threads flash.
Valerica's voice softened, calm with quiet satisfaction.
"Ah, it begins, my blood is reshaping you." She paused. "The same blood I used to mend your soul now flows through your veins. Your body is struggling to endure the strength it carries."
He clenched the strands tight. "Why didn't you tell me this before? Damn it, I'm turning into a monster because of you!"
"Not me," she said with quiet amusement. "Not yet. That silver hair means my blood has already touched your soul. You'll carry it now, Eron Vale, whether you like it or not."
Eron fell silent. He let out a long, tired sigh, eyes drifting to the faint light.
He leaned over the lake. The reflection staring back wasn't the same man who'd stepped onto the circle. Black coat. Streaks of silver in dark hair. Paler skin. Eyes sunken deeper than before. Behind him, the shadow moved on its own, faint red sparks flickering inside it.
"Am I still me?" he asked the water.
The ripples gave no answer.
He leaned back against the wall, still soaked, the chill creeping in as his thoughts slowly began to settle.
"If I climb, one floor at a time… can I reach the surface again?"
"You survived the fall," Valerica said, calm as ever. "That alone is rare, but the dungeon punishes hesitation, so keep climbing and survive. It's the only way."
"So I climb out… or I die here."
"Exactly," she said, almost playful.
He pushed himself up, legs trembling but steady enough to hold. Tightening the red sash at his waist, he felt water dripping from his coat and gloves, each drop echoing softly on the stone.
Hovering Blaze floated behind him, casting a faint glow across the lake where his reflection wavered, silver strands shimmering as the shadow at his feet moved with him.
He looked down at it.
"You keep calling me shadow or mortal. I have a name. Eron Vale."
The crimson eyes blinked once.
"Names. Such fragile things. Do you really think your name will matter once the darkness takes you?"
"I've already lost enough," he said softly. "Don't take what's left."
Silence lingered for a moment before she spoke again, her voice softer this time.
"If you want me to call your name, prove it first. Remember, you wear my kind's garment and you bear my blood." Her voice faded to a low murmur, almost a whisper in the dark. "Show me that your name still matters."
He studied the water one last time, wondering if the name he carried still belonged to the man in the reflection.
"Then I'll prove my name means more than what I've become."
"We shall see," Valerica purred. "Time will tell which is stronger."
Eron checked his bag out of habit. Nothing useful, just dirty clothes, a dented kettle, reminders of the man he used to be. He slung it over one shoulder and walked toward the tunnel where moss light flowed like a thin river along the stone.
His boots echoed as he moved. The shadow followed, crimson eyes dim with each step.
"Forward, Eron Vale," Valerica whispered. "Always forward."
He didn't look back at the water, or at the reflection that no longer felt like his own. His pace stayed steady, coat dripping, breath even, the new silver in his hair catching the faint light as he walked.
Thirty-five floors above, the surface waited.
Either way, he'd find out soon enough.