Darkness.
Then—
Screaming.
No, not screaming. Echoes. Echoes trapped in cold stone.
Her own voice? Someone else's?
She couldn't tell anymore.
She had been a party leader.
Her name—at least the one she used outside—was Serin.
Level 22 mage. Practical. Cautious. Good with barrier spells.
Their four-man party wasn't elite, but they were steady earners in the Adventurer's Guild.
Ralm, Bren, Darius, and her.
Ralm the spear-fighter.
Bren the knife rogue.
Darius the heavy shield.
Serin the mage.
They weren't heroes—just people who took quests, hunted beasts, escorted caravans, and went home alive. Most of the time.
Two weeks ago, the Guild posted an urgent request:
Unusual goblin activity near the old temple ruins.
Low rank. Easy money.
Their party took it immediately.
She remembered stepping through the moss-covered archway.
She remembered Darius saying, "Stay behind me, Serin. Goblins love traps."
She remembered Ralm tapping his spear against the stone tiles…
