Eron tore another piece from the roasted lizard tail, blowing on it lightly before chewing. The flavor was smoky, chewy, not half bad for dungeon meat. His back rested against the moss-lit wall, one leg stretched, the other bent lazily while his Hovering Blaze circled above him in slow, protective loops.
The party remained at their distance, sitting in a tight cluster against the opposite wall. They spoke in low voices, occasionally glancing his way, but none approached. The space between them felt deliberate, calculated, like an invisible line neither side wanted to cross.
Eron didn't mind and the quiet gave him time to think, to eat, to let the warmth of cooked meat settle in his stomach. His muscles ached from the descent, his shoulders were sore from carrying the pack, and exhaustion pulled at his eyelids with every blink.
But he stayed alert, chewing slowly, eyes half-closed but never fully shut.
From his shadow, Valerica's voice floated up, smooth and mocking.
"Why are your spells numbered, Shadow? Fireball No. 4, No. 7… and such dreadful names. 'Split Bloom'? 'Big Boom'? How… unimaginative."
Eron almost choked, coughing through a laugh as he muttered under his breath, hiding it behind another bite. "Seriously? You're mocking my naming sense now?"
Valerica's tone was playful, though tinged with genuine curiosity. "You wield flame with precision no mage I've seen could hope to match, and yet you label them like a bored noble counting stones. Why not something grander? Inferno Fang. Solar Annihilation. Crimson Apocalypse. Names to make mortals tremble."
Eron stabbed his knife into the lizard tail, chewing thoughtfully as he considered her words. He'd heard variations of this before, back in his old world, from gamers who lived for flashy skill names and dramatic attack callouts. But that was fiction and this was survival.
He leaned his head back against the stone, eyes half-lidded as the moss above cast faint green light across his face. "When I was training, I needed a way to keep experiments straight. I'd try one variation, then another. Some failed, some blew up in my face, literally." He smirked lightly. "So I started numbering them. One, two, three, every change I tested. Numbers keep me grounded, and when I say No. 4, I know exactly what's coming. The names? Just shorthand for me, not for anyone else."
Valerica hummed, as though weighing the words. "So you reduced a deadly spell into bookkeeping."
Eron sighed faintly. "Call it whatever you like. It worked. On the surface, people laughed at Fireball. Weakest Gift spell there is. If I called mine 'Crimson Death God's Wrath,' I'd sound like an idiot. So I kept it simple, even if I knew they weren't the same anymore."
For once, Valerica didn't immediately answer and when she did, her tone was softer. "Humble words for someone who makes monsters kneel."
Eron snorted, wiping grease on his sleeve. "Humble, huh? More like practical. I'm not naming fireworks for style. I just want results."
Valerica chuckled low, clearly entertained. "Still… 'Fireball No. 4 – Split Bloom.' Dreadful."
"Yeah, well," Eron muttered, biting into another piece. "I'll take dreadful and alive over flashy and dead."
He let the silence settle after that, the conversation fading into the background as he focused on the taste of meat, the warmth of flame, the steady rhythm of his breathing. The dungeon felt quieter here, almost peaceful, though he knew that peace wouldn't last.
Nothing ever did.
Meanwhile, behind him, Serenya's party had descended into another round of bickering and their voices carried across the chamber, sharp and heated.
Derrick crossed his arms, muttering loud enough for everyone to hear. "Told you, it's just fireball. A beefed-up one, maybe, but still the same basic spell."
Kaelen nearly exploded, staff thudding against the ground with a sharp crack. "You buffoon! Did you not see the way it split in flight? The compression? The containment? That was not FireFireball, it was an entirely different casting architecture!"
Eron's jaw tightened as he chewed and their voices bounced off the walls, each word louder than the last. He felt a headache building behind his eyes. Twenty years of silence in the Time Pocket, and now he couldn't get five minutes of peace.
Derrick rolled his eyes. "All I saw was a big lizard go boom. You're just jealous."
"Jealous?!" Kaelen screeched, face red with frustration. "Of being blind?!"
Liora groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose as she tried to keep her voice calm. "Goddess above, stop arguing. We should be thanking him for not letting that thing eat us alive."
"Thanking him?" Derrick spat, voice dripping with disbelief. "We don't even know what he is. He's more dangerous than the monsters!"
Liora's voice rose, finally losing patience. "Dangerous or not, he saved us. Twice now. Maybe shut your mouth long enough to admit it."
Garron remained silent throughout, his shield resting against his knee, eyes fixed on the stone floor. His fingers drummed once against the metal rim, then stopped, as if he'd caught himself revealing too much.
Kaelen's voice cut through the noise, sharper now. "The structure was impossible! Fire doesn't behave like that, it doesn't divide cleanly, it doesn't curve around targets without scorching the environment! If you think you could replicate that with a beginner's spell, think again."
Derrick threw his hands up. "Maybe he's just better than you!"
Kaelen's staff flared with light. "Better?! I've studied under Archmage Telwin! I've analyzed spellwork from the Academy archives dating back three centuries! What that man did defies every principle of elemental casting!"
Liora sighed, exhausted. "Then maybe your principles are wrong."
Kaelen turned on her, sputtering. "Wrong?! These are foundational laws of magic!"
"Or," Liora said calmly, "maybe there's more to magic than what your books taught you."
That shut Kaelen up, though his jaw worked silently, searching for a rebuttal that wouldn't come.
Derrick muttered something under his breath about "academy brats" and "overthinking," which earned him a glare from Kaelen but no further argument.
Serenya said nothing and she stood with her arms crossed, golden eyes fixed firmly on Eron, studying him in silence. She watched the way he ate without hurry, the way his flame circled him like a loyal companion, the way he seemed entirely unbothered by their presence.
The argument had revealed nothing useful, just fear dressed as debate. But watching him eat, watching the way he moved with quiet efficiency, watching the flame that followed him like a loyal hound, her instincts whispered: Ask him directly. Survivor to survivor.
Tomorrow. Before her party tore itself apart.
Eron sighed, glancing back at the noise as their voices rose again. "They ever stop?"
Valerica's laugh was dark and lilting. "Mortals cling to fear the way moths cling to flame. They will tear themselves apart long before you need to lift a hand."
"Yeah," Eron muttered dryly, "but they're loud enough to ruin dinner."
A pause. Then, softer: "The woman watches you differently, Shadow. Not with fear. With intent."
Eron didn't answer, but his chewing slowed.
He took another bite of roasted lizard tail, savoring the smoky taste despite himself, and let their voices blur into the background. The argument continued, Derrick's sarcasm clashing with Kaelen's academic outrage, Liora's attempts at mediation falling on deaf ears, Garron's silence stretching longer.
And through it all, Serenya watched Eron with unblinking focus.
She didn't join the argument and didn't defend him or condemn him. She simply observed, measuring, calculating, waiting for the moment when his true nature would reveal itself.
Eron felt her gaze like weight on his shoulders, but he didn't turn. Didn't acknowledge it. He'd been watched before, judged before, feared before.
This was nothing new.
For him, the food was real, the warmth of fire on his hands was real. The rest, their suspicion, their arguments, Valerica's teasing, it could wait.
For tonight, he chewed, swallowed, and whispered to himself:
"Still needs salt."
Behind him, the argument finally died down, replaced by an uneasy silence. Derrick slumped against the wall, arms crossed, muttering darkly. Kaelen gripped his staff tight, staring at the ground with frustration etched into every line of his face. Liora closed her eyes, whispering a prayer for patience. Garron remained motionless, a statue carved from exhaustion and vigilance.
Serenya's eyes never left Eron.
Eron took another bite, unaware of the decision forming across the chamber. The meat was cooling now, losing its warmth, but he finished it anyway. Waste wasn't something he could afford.
His Hovering Blaze dimmed slightly, settling into a low glow as exhaustion finally caught up with him.
Tomorrow would bring more tunnels, more monsters, more questions he didn't want to answer.
But tonight, he let his eyes close.
Just for a moment.