Ryker stared at the glowing prompt, his finger hovering inches from the "YES" option. The common field lizard blinked at him, its throat pulsing rhythmically.
"If I only get one shot at this, I shouldn't waste it on a lizard," Ryker muttered. "Hey, Ghost... thing. Can I unlock more pets? Or am I stuck with one for life?"
He felt like an idiot talking to the air, but to his shock, the text on the screen dissolved, forming new words.
[Reach Level 2 to unlock an additional Pet Slot.]
"A pet slot?" Ryker scratched his head, his eyes widening. "Wait, did this fucking ghost just talk to me?"
He looked around the empty field, feeling a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the evening breeze. The screen didn't respond further, returning to the contract prompt. Ryker shook his head and stepped back, breaking the proximity.
"I'm not wasting my only slot on a lizard. If I'm going to do this, I need something that can actually fight. I need to go to a Dungeon or a Tower."
He checked the position of the moon. "Shit, the meat. Elara's going to worry."
He sprinted back toward the market, moving with the silent efficiency of a lifelong thief. He managed to snag a slab of salted beef and a fresh loaf of bread, narrowly dodging a city guard before slipping back into the slums.
Dinner was quiet. Elara ate with a smile, talking about her day, while Ryker forced himself to act normal. After she finally fell asleep, Ryker didn't go to bed. Instead, he pulled a heavy, high-quality leather bag from under a floorboard spoils from a risky job he'd pulled on a nobleman months ago. He packed it with a rusted shortsword, a Lantern, a coil of rope, and some basic bandages.
"This should be enough," he whispered, glancing at his sleeping sister.
Under the cover of midnight, Ryker navigated the maze of the city until he reached the outskirts. In the distance, a jagged tear in space hummed with a low, rhythmic vibration. It was a F-Rank Dungeon, a "Minor Breach" that the Academy usually used for training.
He stood at the entrance, the purple miasma swirling within the portal reflecting in his eyes. His breath hitched. Entry without a license was a crime, and entering without a combat class was suicide.
(If I stay a Level 1 Tamer with no beast, I'm dead anyway.)
Ryker adjusted the strap of his bag, took a deep breath to steady his shaking hands, and stepped into the cold, dark interior of the dungeon.