The tunnel stayed quiet except for the steady crunch of boots on stone. Eron walked at the front, his burned jacket brushing against his sides as the strap of his heavy pack creaked with each step. Behind him, Serenya Korvelle's party kept their distance and they moved as one group, but the space between them and Eron never closed.
They still didn't trust him and he could feel it in the way they walked, too careful, too slow whenever he shifted even a little.
Derrick muttered under his breath, the sound barely carrying but sharp enough to reach Eron's ears. Kaelen kept his staff lit, the faint glow brushing the walls as if he expected an ambush at any moment. His eyes, though, kept drifting toward something else.
The flame.
The small orb of fire that floated beside Eron, circling him in slow, steady loops. It didn't flicker wildly like a torch and didn't sputter or dim. It moved with purpose, adjusting its position as Eron walked, shifting closer when the tunnel narrowed and drifting back when the path widened.
Kaelen's brow furrowed as he watched it. The flame reacted to its caster's movements, sure, but this was different and it anticipated. When Eron stepped over a loose rock, the flame rose slightly, as if making sure he saw the obstacle. When a draft blew through the tunnel, the orb shielded itself behind Eron's shoulder without any visible command.
It moved like it was thinking.
Kaelen had seen mages maintain spells before and he'd held his own Light Orb for hours during dungeon runs, but those required constant focus, a steady stream of mana, and active mental control. The moment you stopped feeding it attention, the spell collapsed.
This flame didn't look like it needed anything from Eron at all and it just existed, aware, responsive, almost protective.
Kaelen's fingers tightened around his staff as unease prickled along his spine. He'd studied magic theory for years, practiced spell structures until his hands bled from mana exhaustion, and he knew the limits of sustained casting.
This shouldn't be possible.
Either Eron was maintaining perfect focus while walking, talking, and scanning for threats, or the spell had developed a level of autonomy that broke every rule Kaelen understood about magic.
Neither option made sense and that terrified him more than the pressure that had crushed them earlier.
Serenya's eyes flicked from Eron to Kaelen and her mage had gone pale, jaw tight, knuckles white around his staff. She knew that look, the expression of someone watching their understanding of the world crack apart.
Kaelen was the most educated member of her party, academy-trained, top of his class in elemental theory. If he was this disturbed, it meant Eron wasn't just powerful but was breaking rules Kaelen didn't think could be broken.
Her instincts whispered again: dangerous, unknown, but not hostile.
She filed that thought away and kept walking.
Liora whispered prayers, each word soft and steady, trying to keep her hands from shaking. Garron's shield stayed raised, the edge of the metal almost brushing his shoulder with every step.
Only Serenya looked calm but even she kept her eyes on him, not just glancing but watching.
Eron felt the weight of it but kept walking and he could feel their stares like weight on his shoulders. Five pairs of eyes locked on him, tracking his every movement. He'd spent twenty years in the Time Pocket being watched by nothing but white void and these stares felt different, heavier, loaded with judgment and fear.
"Great. Watched by people who think I'm a ticking bomb," he muttered.
Valerica's voice slid out of his shadow, smooth and quiet. Better feared than ignored.
"Not helping."
Valerica's amusement rippled through the bond. You could ease their fear, you know. A kind word. A smile. Mortals respond well to false warmth.
"Or," Eron muttered under his breath, "they could stop treating me like I'm about to explode."
Fair point. A pause. Still, it would be entertaining to watch you try. I'd wager the rogue would faint if you offered him food.
"You have a sick sense of humor."
I've had centuries to refine it, Shadow.
The tunnel ahead stretched long and uneven, the floor shaped by years of footsteps and monster tracks. Moss clung to the walls in faint patches, giving off a gentle green light that washed over their faces and the air tasted dry, touched with old dust and the faint scent of iron.
The moss on the walls pulsed once, a slow ripple of light that traveled through the chamber like a heartbeat. The dungeon was aware and it always had been. Eron had felt it since the moment he fell, a vast, ancient presence that watched and waited.
And now, with Valerica bound to his shadow, the dungeon's attention felt different, wary, uncertain, like it was trying to decide if he was prey or predator.
Nobody talked and even their breathing sounded controlled, held back, like they were afraid any noise might attract something.
Eron's flame drifted beside him, turning slow circles and it wasn't bright enough to blind, just enough to make shadows slide along the walls like moving silhouettes. The flame reacted to his steps, to his breath, to his mood, shifting in small ways no one else noticed.
Except Kaelen, who was watching it with growing intensity, jaw tight with questions he couldn't ask.
They walked like that for minutes, slow, careful, with tension thick enough to feel between their shoulders.
The tunnel opened into a wider chamber and the walls curved upward, moss clung higher here, spreading more light across the wet stone. Their reflections stretched across the floor in broken lines.
That was when Eron felt it, a slight shift in the air, soft, almost nothing.
He paused, not enough to draw attention, but enough to let his eyes scan the far wall.
It moved.
Not stone, a scale.
Eron's eyes narrowed and he recognized the camouflage.
The surface rippled once, then split open as a large lizard lunged forward. Its jaws opened wide, teeth glinting as saliva stretched in thin strands that swayed when it snapped forward. Its tail slammed down on stone, the impact ringing through the chamber.
The party shouted in alarm.
Garron raised his shield while Derrick drew a dagger. Kaelen's staff flared, the light jumping to full brightness as Liora stepped back, hands already moving toward her charm.
Eron didn't flinch and lifted his hand instead, palm steady, heat gathering along his skin.
"Fireball No. 4, Split Bloom."
A small orb formed in his palm, not a wild flame, not a floating blob of heat, just a clean sphere of compressed fire. Kaelen's eyes widened at how focused it was, too controlled.
The orb shot forward and split midair into three, curving like they had minds of their own.
One struck the jaw, one struck the chest, one sank in behind the skull.
Three bursts followed, quick, sharp, clean.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The creature jerked once then fell as flames burst out through the wounds before dying out. The smell of cooked flesh rose fast, filling the chamber in warm waves.
Everyone froze.
"That's it?" Derrick whispered.
Kaelen stared, mouth partly open. "That spell wasn't Fireball."
Eron adjusted his pack strap and walked toward the corpse. "Too loud. Should've used No. 7."
Garron blinked. "There are numbers?"
Eron didn't respond and reshaped his Hovering Blaze, pulling it into a thin edge. The flame-blade cut through the tail in one smooth motion with no sparks, no resistance. Steam rose where the heat touched and fat hissed on the stone.
Kaelen's breath caught as he watched the flame shift with no chant, no hand signs, no visible mana surge. The fire simply obeyed.
He'd spent years learning to reshape his Light Orb into a spear for combat and it required intense focus, a specific mental framework, and drained his mana reserves in seconds. Even then, the shape was unstable, flickering at the edges.
This man reshaped fire mid-conversation, casually, like bending water with a thought.
Kaelen's fingers trembled around his staff and every principle he'd learned at the Academy screamed that this was impossible. Master pyromancers could launch devastating attacks, but shaping flames into tools? Into blades that cut cleanly without scorching everything around them?
That required a level of mastery he'd only read about in ancient texts, the kind attributed to Archmages who spent lifetimes perfecting a single element.
And this man was using it to cook dinner.
He grabbed the cut piece with his free hand while the flame-blade floated beside him like a tool he had used before.
Valerica's voice slid into his mind, warm with approval. Look at them. Starving, yet too proud to ask. Mortals and their fragile dignity.
Eron flipped the meat. "They think I'd poison it."
Would you?
"No."
Pity. She sounded genuinely disappointed. Then again, watching them suffer in silence has its own charm.
"You're terrible."
I'm honest. There's a difference.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a long barbecue stick, the kind he kept for camping. He pushed the stick through the piece of meat, then shifted his fingers as the flame-blade softened and folded into a steady point of heat hovering beneath it.
The meat began to cook slowly as the scent spread through the chamber.
Rations had run low after the unexpected monster surge pushed them deeper than planned. Derrick's pack still had dried meat, but it tasted like leather and sat heavy in the stomach. Liora's last meal had been stale bread that morning and Garron hadn't eaten since yesterday.
The smell of roasting meat hit them like a physical blow, fresh, warm, savory.
Derrick's stomach growled loud enough to echo off the walls and he cursed, pressing a fist to his gut. Liora closed her eyes, fighting the urge to step forward and beg for a piece. Even Garron swallowed hard, the sound audible in the quiet chamber.
Derrick frowned. "He's cooking? Now?"
Liora tried not to look at the roasting meat, but her eyes betrayed her hunger. Kaelen was still stuck on the spell.
"The structure was different," he said. "The way the flames moved. The way it split. And the shape he formed with it. Fireball can't do that."
Derrick shook his head. "It burned. It exploded. It killed something. That's a fireball."
Kaelen turned on him. "Do you even hear what you're saying? Fire doesn't pick targets like that. It doesn't curve. It doesn't stop itself from burning the floor."
Liora nodded. "The stone didn't burn."
Derrick opened his mouth again, but Serenya stopped everything with one word.
"Quiet."
They obeyed.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Eron as he turned the roasting meat and she watched his hands, the slight movements of his fingers, the calm way he handled the knife. She watched the flame circling him, reacting to each breath like a living thing.
She had seen Fireball hundreds of times and none of them behaved like that.
None.
Eron flipped the meat again, then leaned back against the wall.
He could offer them food, a simple gesture that might ease the tension, but something in their eyes stopped him. The way Derrick's hand stayed near his dagger, the way Kaelen's staff never dimmed, the way Garron's shield stayed raised even now.
They didn't see him as a person but saw him as a threat they were forced to tolerate.
Fine, he thought, cutting another piece of meat. Stay hungry then.
"Call it whatever you want. I know what it can do."
Kaelen's hands shook with frustration while Derrick muttered something again, quieter this time. Liora kept whispering prayers to steady herself and Garron lowered his shield slightly, still watching Eron with cautious eyes.
The smell grew stronger, warm, savory, fat dripping onto the small flame, hissing lightly.
Eron cut off a piece, blew on it once, and took a slow bite. He chewed for a moment and nodded.
"Not bad. Needs salt."
The party stared like he had just broken another law of magic.
Eron raised an eyebrow. "What? Never seen someone eat?"
Derrick's patience snapped. "You act like this is normal! Like you didn't just" He gestured wildly at the chamber. "crush a Gold-rank party without lifting a finger, kill a monster in three seconds, and now you're cooking dinner like we're on a fucking camping trip!"
His voice echoed off the walls, louder than he intended.
Serenya's hand moved to her sword, a warning.
Derrick caught himself, jaw working as he forced the words down and looked away, fists clenched.
Eron stared at him for a long moment, then took another bite of meat.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Pretty much."
Derrick looked away and scratched his cheek while Kaelen clenched his fists, jaw tight. Liora swallowed, trying not to stare at the food and Garron remained silent, but his eyes tracked Eron's every move.
Serenya didn't look away at all and her gaze stayed locked on him, steady and sharp, not fear, not disgust, something else entirely.
She watched the way the flame floated close to him, watched the way he held the knife with a relaxed grip, watched the calm in his shoulders, the set of his jaw.
A hunter studying something she didn't understand yet.
Eron didn't turn, but he felt her focus like a hand on his back.
And for the first time since entering the dungeon, he wondered if the monsters around him would be easier to face than the people forced to walk behind him.