The deeper they walked, the stranger the dungeon became.
The Forson Labyrinth had once been familiar — rough stone, predictable corridors, ancient traps half-buried in dust. A relic of a bygone age.
But now…
It pulsed.
Every wall shimmered with faint mana.
Every step echoed like a heartbeat.
The air was thick, warm, almost humid with magic.
The dungeon wasn't just reawakening.
It was changing.
And Friezzar felt every change inside his chest.
His runes glowed in rhythm with the walls.
His fingers trembled faintly.
He paused every dozen steps, as if absorbing signals no one else could hear.
Lyra watched him with rising concern.
"Friezzar… are you sure you can keep going?"
He nodded once.
"…go.
Lyra safe."
Arden exhaled sharply.
"That's not what she asked, puppet."
Friezzar blinked.
"…go."
Arden pinched the bridge of his nose.
"He's stubborn."
Lyra smiled faintly.
"He gets that from you."
Arden nearly choked.
"I— I do not—! You—!"
But Lyra had already turned her attention back to Friezzar.
"Just tell us if it becomes too much, okay?"
Friezzar placed a wooden hand over his chest.
"…not… too much."
His eyes dimmed for a moment — a soft flicker of truth leaking through his attempt to reassure her.
Lyra's smile weakened, but she didn't push him.
Not yet.
A Dungeon Reborn
The walls further in were no longer stone.
They were… something else.
Smooth, ashen gray material with faintly glowing veins.
Almost organic.
Like a polished shell.
Arden tapped a knuckle against it.
The wall vibrated.
Lyra flinched.
"Stop that! What if it reacts?"
Arden held up both hands.
"Just testing."
Oren stepped forward, brushing fingers over the strange surface.
"This isn't natural dungeon stone," he said gravely.
"This is… shaped. Crafted. Like a body being rebuilt."
One of the younger adventurers swallowed loudly.
"You mean it's turning alive—?"
Friezzar touched the wall.
The wall pulsed.
Soft.
Gentle.
Like a heartbeat greeting him.
Friezzar's runes flared in response.
"…home…" he whispered without thinking.
Lyra's heart dropped.
"Friezzar… do you mean the dungeon feels like home?"
He blinked slowly.
He didn't understand the concept of "home."
But the dungeon felt familiar.
Warm.
Known.
He touched his chest.
"…same."
Oren's face grew grave.
"So you and the dungeon share the same origin."
Arden drew his sword.
"And someone thinks they get to take him back."
Lyra took Friezzar's hand.
"You don't belong to the dungeon. You belong with us."
Friezzar hesitated.
"…belong…?"
Lyra nodded firmly.
"Yes. Belong means… a place you choose to stay. With people you care for."
Friezzar stared at her.
Then nodded slowly.
"…Lyra."
Lyra smiled.
"Yes."
"…belong."
Arden muttered, "If he says 'safe' again, I'm going to cry."
The First Guardian
Halfway down the corridor, the dungeon trembled again.
Hard.
Dust fell like snow.
Lights flickered along the walls.
The ground split slightly beneath their feet.
Friezzar staggered.
Lyra grabbed his arm.
"What is it?"
He stared down the corridor.
His voice cracked with tension.
"…guardian…"
Arden raised his blade instantly.
"Everyone brace!"
A roar thundered from the depths — loud, metallic, furious.
The ground shook under pounding steps.
Then it appeared.
A massive beast of polished obsidian and bone.
Six legs.
A single eye.
Its body covered in incomplete carvings — unfinished runes glowing faint red.
A newborn guardian.
But fractured.
Unstable.
Oren cursed.
"It's unfinished — the dungeon rushed the creation!"
Lyra looked at Friezzar.
"Can you talk to it? Like the one before?"
Friezzar stepped forward.
The guardian stopped instantly.
Its single glowing eye fixed on him.
It growled — a deep, broken sound.
Friezzar lifted a hand.
"…hurt…" he whispered.
The guardian trembled.
Essence dripped from its joints — unstable mana, unfinished core energy.
It was incomplete.
It was dying.
Friezzar stepped closer.
Lyra panicked.
"Friezzar, wait—!"
Arden held her back.
"Give him a chance!"
Friezzar reached the guardian.
Placed a hand on its cracked forehead.
A pulse of mana passed between them.
The guardian's eye dimmed.
It let out a soft, pained rumble.
Friezzar whispered:
"…sleep."
The guardian collapsed to the ground.
Not dead.
Not devoured.
Just still.
Oren stared.
"He… soothed it."
Arden exhaled slowly.
"That's new."
Friezzar turned to Lyra.
"…hurt," he whispered, touching his own chest.
"You feel its pain?" Lyra asked softly.
He nodded.
"…same."
Her eyes filled with worry.
"Friezzar… the dungeon is alive. And it's suffering."
Arden tensed.
"So let's reach the core. Now."
Oren nodded.
"We move."
The Descent
The corridors spiraled downward.
Walls thickened.
Heat rose.
Mana flowed in streams around them like rivers of light.
More unfinished creatures lingered in alcoves — stillborn, half-formed attempts at life. They reached weakly toward Friezzar as he passed, trembling.
He whispered to each.
"…sleep…"
"…rest…"
"…safe…"
Even when they dissolved into dust, Lyra could see the ache in his eyes.
He felt responsible.
Burdened.
Connected.
"Friezzar," she whispered, "you're not failing them."
He stared at her.
"…Friezzar… cause."
Lyra shook her head fiercely.
"No. They existed because the dungeon is broken. Not because of you."
Friezzar wasn't convinced.
But he followed her voice anyway.
The Heart Chamber
At last, the corridor opened into a vast room.
Friezzar froze.
Lyra gasped aloud.
Arden swore.
Oren staggered.
The chamber was enormous — a cathedral of stone and mana.
But the core, the true heart of the dungeon…
It was shattered.
Cracked into six jagged pieces floating in the air.
Dark veins pulsed around it.
Sparks of energy flickered weakly.
Mana leaked like blood.
The dungeon…
was dying.
Lyra stepped forward, hands trembling.
"Oh gods…"
Arden muttered, "How is it even active?"
Oren whispered:
"It's not."
He pointed at Friezzar.
"He is."
Friezzar stared at the broken core.
At the shattered crystal.
At the flickering essence.
He walked forward slowly.
Lyra reached for him—
"Friezzar—!"
He touched the broken heart.
His chest exploded with light.
His runes flared blinding blue.
The room shook violently.
The core shards vibrated.
Mana surged.
The dungeon's voice — unheard for centuries — shuddered through his body.
You… returned…
You… vessel…
You… were meant… to complete… us…
Friezzar shook.
His body spasmed.
Mana ripped through him.
His wooden frame creaked under the pressure.
Lyra screamed.
"FRIEZZAR!"
Arden grabbed her before she ran toward him.
"Don't—!"
But Friezzar reached backward, his wooden fingers shaking—
"…Lyra…"
His voice cracked.
Weak.
Pained.
"…stay…
safe…"
The dungeon whispered louder.
Calling him.
Pulling him.
Complete the core.
Join us.
Become whole.
Friezzar's runes flickered.
His body trembled.
His knees buckled.
Lyra's voice broke.
"Friezzar, don't—! Don't listen—! Please—!"
The dungeon pulsed.
Friezzar leaned toward the shard—
Drawn by instinct.
By programming.
By creation.
Just before he touched it—
A whisper curled through the chamber.
Cold.
Cruel.
Familiar.
"You don't belong to them."
Lyra froze.
Arden raised his blade.
Oren paled.
A figure emerged behind the core's glow.
Cloaked.
Tall.
Eyes burning red.
The intruder.
He smiled at Friezzar.
"Welcome home, little vessel."
And the dungeon cracked further.