I was not ready for group dungeons.
Sure, I'd technically done one with Zoya, but that didn't count. Zoya didn't talk. She ordered. She sliced. She judged me silently. That was teamwork in the loosest possible definition.
This time was different.
This time, I had a party.
A real one.
With names.
And personalities.
And—most terrifyingly—expectations.
"Alright, rookies!" barked a voice from the front of the staging tent. "Eyes on me!"
The woman standing there had red hair in a half-shaved cut, a combat vest that definitely wasn't Guild-issue, and enough attitude to physically knock over a troll. She didn't carry a weapon—she carried four, strapped across her back in a fan shape like she was some kind of bloodthirsty peacock.
"Name's Aisha. I'll be leading this run. You listen, you live. Got it?"
A chorus of awkward nods.
My eyes were locked on her—and not for the obvious reasons (though, okay, those too). No, it was the mana coming off her. Hot, sharp, like desert wind through steel. She was high rank. Maybe even A-tier. And she was looking at us like we were bugs she hadn't decided whether to crush or ignore.
Her gaze swept across the group—and stopped on me.
"You."
I blinked. "Me?"
"Yeah. You're the weird Crown Mark guy, right?"
Half the tent turned to stare.
"…Unfortunately," I muttered.
She grinned, all teeth. "Good. I want to see what all the hype's about."
Oh no.
The dungeon was classified as B-minus. Whispershade Vault, they called it—an old bank twisted into a spectral maze. Shadow-type enemies, cursed vault golems, and a boss known as the Eater of Secrets.
Great.
Love that for me.
Our party of five descended into the vault antechamber, lights flickering above us. Aisha walked at the front, casual as anything. I stayed at the back, hood up, trying to ignore the nervous glances from the others.
One of them, a tall girl with silver eyes and elven features, sidled up beside me.
"You're Arjun, right?" she asked.
"Uh. Yes?"
"I'm Lyra. I've heard about your mark."
And here it begins.
"Oh no," I said. "Whatever you heard, it's probably a misunderstanding involving physics, trauma, and very bad luck."
She giggled.
Giggled.
"I think it's fascinating," she said. "Some believe mythic classes are fragments of reincarnated sovereign souls. The way your aura distorts reality—it's unlike anything I've studied."
"I promise I'm not distorting reality," I said. "Reality is just... naturally bad around me."
Aisha's voice cut through the hallway ahead. "Quit flirting and stay sharp. We've got whisper spawn incoming."
"Not flirting," I muttered.
Lie detected.
A faint spark of mana popped against my neck. I slapped it like a mosquito. "Stupid aura."
Lyra beamed.
I was in trouble.
We cleared the lower vault levels with minor issues—mostly minor because Aisha was an absolute monster in combat. She wielded twin daggers that left trails of fire, a chakram that sliced through cursed spirit swarms like butter, and a whip blade that didn't follow the laws of physics, decency, or Geneva.
The rest of us? Mostly tried not to get killed.
I was doing my best to blend in.
Then the boss door appeared.
A rusted vault door etched with writhing, cursed script. It pulsed faintly with red mana.
Boss Identified: The Eater of Secrets (B-Rank)
Warning: Mental fortitude recommended.
Final Blow Required. Witness Present. Fragment Link Possible.
"You good?" Lyra asked, glancing at me as we gathered.
"Define good," I said.
"Not going to lose your mind to a telepathic memory devourer?"
"Ah. That kind of good. Yeah, no guarantees."
She laughed again. "You're funny."
"You're way too calm about this."
"I'm curious."
About what? My inevitable breakdown?
The door creaked open.
The boss chamber was a vault hollowed into a cathedral. Floating books swirled through the air like storm clouds. Stone shelves stretched into shadows. At the center hovered the boss—a shapeless, mouth-covered thing draped in robes stitched from whispers. Each eye on its body blinked independently. Its presence was... wrong.
Do you wish to remember what you should have forgotten?
"Nope," I said out loud.
Aisha charged it.
The fight was chaos.
The boss lashed out with tendrils of words—actual spoken phrases—that burrowed into your brain. Regrets. Secrets. Memories. I heard my old school principal yelling at me for cheating on a math exam I didn't even remember failing.
I stumbled.
Chains flared around my arms—the residual fragment from the Hollow Judge. They pulsed against the psychic assault, holding me steady.
Zoya's voice echoed in my head: "If something looks like it wants to eat your soul—stab it first."
Right.
I moved.
While Aisha's attacks tore through the outer form, I slipped around the edges of the chamber, climbing a shelf, timing it—
—and leapt.
Straight onto the boss.
It turned all its mouths toward me.
I screamed.
Threw a punch.
Final Strike Landed.
Boss Defeated.
New Fragment Claimed: Memory Maw (Incomplete)
Side Effect: Echoes of the Past – Active.
A psychic shockwave blew through the room.
Everyone hit the floor.
I landed on my side, twitching.
Voices filled my ears. Not just mine. Not just memories. Everyone's.
Lyra's childhood lullabies.
Aisha's buried fury.
Even Zoya's clipped, low voice: "He's going to get himself killed."
I clutched my head.
Echo overload. Stabilizing...
And then—
Silence.
Except for Aisha's boots clacking toward me.
She knelt. Lifted my chin with two fingers.
"You're insane," she said, smirking.
"That's fair."
"I like it."
"That's concerning."
She stood, turned to the others, and announced, "This one's mine."
"Excuse me—"
Lyra stepped beside me. "I saw him first."
"I didn't realize we were playing party politics," I muttered into the floor.
The Crown is... mildly intrigued.
Of course it is.