The adventurers carried Friezzar through Arnvale as the afternoon sun dipped behind the treeline. Word spread fast—too fast. Villagers peeked through windows, hushed whispers rippling ahead of the battered group like a cold wind.
"A puppet?"
"Is that the thing the guild found?"
"Why is it broken—was it dangerous?"
"What if the dungeon followed it here?"
Lyra ignored all of it.
Her entire world was the limp weight in her arms.
The faint warmth of Friezzar's core.
The weak glow drifting in and out beneath the cracks in his chest.
She wouldn't let him slip away.
Not after everything.
Arden walked beside her, limping but steady.
Oren led the way toward the Guild Hall, urgently shouting orders to attendants and healers.
"Clear a room! Bring all our stabilizing crystals! Prepare mage-scribes for diagnostics!"
The entire guild moved into a frantic, coordinated scramble.
Lyra stayed beside Friezzar every second.
When they entered the guild's infirmary, Oren tried to block her.
"Lyra. Stay outside. We need space—"
She shoved past him without hesitation.
"No.
I'm not leaving him."
Oren opened his mouth to argue—then saw the look in her eyes.
And stepped aside.
The Infirmary
Friezzar was laid on a reinforced stone table.
Runes on the walls flickered to life, humming faintly.
Three mages circled him, hands hovering above his broken form.
Light shimmered around their palms.
"Structural integrity dropping—"
"Core resonance unstable—!"
"He's leaking mana—stop the bleed—!"
Their voices piled over each other in panic.
Lyra held Friezzar's hand tightly, brushing her thumb along his carved fingers.
"Friezzar… it's okay. You're safe. You made it."
His glow pulsed faintly in response.
Arden leaned against the wall, arms crossed so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"This is bad," he muttered to Oren. "Really bad."
Oren exhaled sharply, looking older than ever.
"He saved the entire scouting unit. Without him, half of us wouldn't be alive right now."
Arden didn't answer.
He just stared at the puppet on the table—
the cracks in his chest,
the splintered arm,
the faint glow flickering like a dying ember.
Lyra kept whispering.
"Stay with me. Please."
One of the mages spoke in a strained voice:
"His structure was never meant to take this much force.
Whatever spell hit him was designed to destroy vessels."
Oren's expression darkened.
"The intruder knew exactly where to strike."
Arden kicked a chair so hard it toppled.
"Damn it! We need answers! What IS that guy?!"
No one answered.
The mages continued stabilizing Friezzar, weaving mana threads through his cracks, forcing the core's glow to remain steady.
Lyra finally asked the question clawing at her throat—in a trembling whisper:
"…Is he going to survive?"
The room fell silent.
One mage hesitated.
He looked at Lyra with a pained expression.
"We don't know."
Lyra's breath shattered.
Her fingers tightened on Friezzar's hand.
"…No.
No, you don't get to say that."
Another mage swallowed.
"We're doing everything we can. But he's not a construct we understand. His core isn't mechanical… it's alive. A fragment of the dungeon itself."
Lyra shook her head violently.
"I don't care! He's Friezzar. He's—he's—"
Her voice broke.
Arden stepped forward.
"Lyra—"
She turned on him with fire in her eyes.
"Don't tell me to calm down! Don't you dare!"
Arden stopped.
Not because he feared her.
But because he had nothing to say.
He understood.
He felt the same crack in his chest.
The same fear.
Oren placed a gentle hand on Lyra's shoulder.
"Lyra… let them work."
Her shoulders shook.
She lowered her head over Friezzar's hand.
And whispered like a prayer:
"Please don't leave me.
Please… You promised."
Nightfall
Hours passed.
One by one, adventurers left the infirmary.
The guild hall quieted.
Lanterns dimmed.
The wind howled outside.
But inside the room:
Lyra never moved from Friezzar's side.
She didn't drink.
She didn't sleep.
She didn't blink for more than a second at a time.
Arden sat outside the door, keeping vigil.
Oren took shifts directing scribes to record what happened in the dungeon.
Every so often, a mage approached Lyra.
"He's stable… for now."
"The mana bleed has slowed."
"The cracks are sealed, but not healed."
Each update gave her only the smallest relief.
But Friezzar's glow remained faint.
His body didn't move.
He was alive—
but unconscious.
Or worse.
Dormant.
Lost.
Lyra stroked the side of his face gently, her fingertips tracing the elegant carved lines of his cheek.
She whispered:
"You're not alone.
I'm here.
I'm staying right here."
Her voice trembled.
"You chose me.
Now I choose you."
She leaned down.
Rested her forehead against his.
Her tears fell onto his wooden surface.
And the faintest pulse of blue light responded—
barely visible.
But there.
Lyra gasped.
"Friezzar…? Can you hear me…?"
A tiny flicker pulsed again.
Arden heard her cry and rushed inside.
"Lyra?? What—!"
She pointed frantically.
"He responded! He did—look!"
They both stared.
A faint glow—
weaker than candlelight—
pulsed in Friezzar's chest.
Arden exhaled.
"…He's fighting."
Lyra nodded fiercely.
"Yes. Because he promised. Because he chose."
Her hands trembled as she held his.
"You come back to me, Friezzar.
You hear me?"
The glow flickered.
Once.
Weakly.
Lyra swallowed her sob.
"That's right. Come back."
Beyond the Village
Far beyond Arnvale, at the edge of the blackened forest…
A figure stood watching the sky.
The intruder.
His eyes glowed like coals.
"The vessel resisted," he murmured.
An unfamiliar tone entered his voice.
Annoyance.
He lifted his hand.
A sphere of black mana floated above his palm, swirling with fragments of broken dungeon energy.
"The core shattered. The vessel fractured. And yet… he clings to identity."
The figure's smile stretched slowly.
"How delightful."
The shadows behind him shifted.
A second presence—something monstrous—growled softly in the dark.
The intruder whispered:
"Prepare the next phase."
His eyes narrowed with cold hunger.
"Friezzar will return to me."
He crushed the mana sphere into nothingness.
"And when he does…
the true dungeon will awaken."
The shadows swallowed him—
leaving only the whisper of a promise:
"Vessel…
I will reclaim you."