The air shifted the moment Nate stepped beyond the threshold.
It was colder here—denser. The soft crunch of soil and stone underfoot felt muted, like sound itself was afraid to echo too loudly. Bioluminescent moss clung to the damp cavern walls, casting eerie, shifting patterns of blue and green. Glowing mushrooms dotted the floor and ceiling like hanging stars, but the beauty did nothing to ease the tension coiling in Nate's gut.
Every drip of water from the jagged ceiling echoed like a warning.
Silence reigned, but it wasn't peaceful—it was watchful, the kind that made your heart beat louder in your ears.
Every breath he took tasted of mold and wet stone. Every sound—or lack of it—pressed on his nerves.
"Just a dungeon," he whispered to himself, voice trembling. "Just the first floor. I've made up my mind for this. A little. Kind of."
Nate gripped the rusted sword tighter. It was old, its hilt worn smooth from his father's hands. Comforting. Grounding. But here, it felt small and inadequate, like a child's toy in the face of a monster.The sword felt heavier than it had back home.
He moved carefully, his boots squelching softly on the moist ground. The glowing bugs flitted near his face, pulsing in rhythm with his quickening breath. Fungi pulsed with eerie bioluminescence, giving the walls a living, breathing quality. Every shadow shifted, and he couldn't tell which were real and which were tricks of his fear.
Then he heard it.
Skittering.
Fast. Sharp. Close.
It echoed again, louder this time—skittering claws on stone. Fast. Unnatural.
Nate froze, his breath catching in his throat. Something moved in the shadows beyond the mushrooms. Then he saw it.
A rat—but no ordinary one. Nearly the size of a dog, its limbs twisted and uneven, its fur clumped and missing in patches. Two glassy eyes reflected the glow of the fungi, gleaming like twin knives.
He wanted to run. Every instinct screamed it. But his legs wouldn't move.
The rat darted forward with a shriek.
"Shit!" Nate yelped, stumbling back, barely managing to yank the rusted sword from its sheath. It was heavy—too heavy. The hilt was slick in his sweat-slicked hands. His footing slipped on the damp moss.
The rat didn't hesitate.
It slammed into him with surprising weight, knocking him onto his back. He hit the cavern floor hard, the wind blasting out of him. Claws slashed across his arm—burning, sharp pain followed by warmth. Blood.
Nate thrashed, swinging the sword wildly.
It scraped the stone, sparks flying.
The rat's teeth snapped inches from his face.
He twisted, bringing the sword between them, more as a shield than a weapon. The rat bit down on the blade itself, jaws gnashing. Nate screamed and shoved upward with all the strength he had, rolling the creature off him.
He scrambled to his knees, panting, dizzy.
The rat recovered fast.
It charged again.
He swung—wild, untrained. The blade barely nicked its shoulder. The blow glanced off with a spray of blood, but the rat didn't stop. It latched onto his leg with a hiss.
Pain flared white-hot.
"No—no!" he screamed, raising the sword between them.
The rat's jaws clamped onto the flat of the blade, gnashing.
Nate shoved it back with all his strength. "Get off me!" His voice cracked with panic.
"Damnation !!!" he shouted again , bringing the sword down—sloppy, awkward—but this time it connected.
A crack. A squeal. The rat jerked, its head twitching from the impact.
It was still alive.
He raised the sword again. And again.Bones crunched. Blood splattered across his arms and face.
He strike it with everything he had. "Just die already!"
The fifth strike sank deep into its skull with a sickening crunch.
Then silence.
For several seconds, he lay there, too stunned to move.
Then the smell hit him—hot blood, old fur, bile.
He rolled over and vomited.
His hands were shaking so badly he couldn't pick the sword back up at first. His heart was pounding in his ears. His leg burned. His chest heaved.
"That... that was..."
He looked down at the body.
It was dead. Really dead.
I killed it. I actually...
His first fight. And he'd almost died.
He sank to the ground, eyes wide, breathing hard. His entire body hurt, but he was alive.
Just barely.
His arms dropped, and the sword clanged to the stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline finally giving way to fatigue.
His hands were numb, but somehow he bent down and noticed a faint glow coming from the creature's chest. Embedded in the remains was a small, pulsing core, smooth and crystalline.
Curious, cautious, he knelt and reached in, fingers closing around a small crystal orb.It was smooth, humming with faint warmth —alive, somehow.
He didn't know what it was, but something about it felt... important.
It pulsed in his palm — warm, strange. He didn't know what it was, but... it felt like proof. Proof that he'd survived.
He pocketed it, then limped forward, still dazed.
The silence returned, but now it felt different. He had survived. Bloodied, shaken, but alive.
Not far from the body, nestled between two stones, was a patch of herbs with faintly silver leaves. He recognized it—Lifebloom. He'd only seen drawings in books,from the field guides his father had shown him.He knelt beside them, staring.
"No way... these sell for a fortune..."
He gathered a few, careful not to crush them. His fingers were still trembling ,tucking them into his pouch.
His body ached. His arm was bleeding freely.The weight of the sword still haunted his arms. His leg throbbed. His head spun.Every muscle screamed for rest.
He found a shallow alcove along the wall, part-covered by hanging roots. It wasn't much, but it was something. Somewhere to breathe.
He sat down, letting the sword rest beside him. His back hit the stone wall with a wince. He looked at his shaking hands, then at the rat's core.
"I almost died…"
He let out a broken laugh. "This is insane…"
Then, quieter. "But I did it."
It wasn't a victory. It was survival. But it was his.
His first kill. His first core. His first night in the dungeon.
He stared at the faintly glowing core in his palm until sleep took him.
The dungeon had truly begun.
He wasn't ready for this place. Not even close.
But he'd made it through the first step.