The next morning, Violet woke to silence.
No sirens. No magic alerts. Just birds.
It felt… wrong.
She sat up slowly in her tiny apartment above the library, sunlight spilling across her books and charts. Her wand rested by her bed. Her orb blinked quietly, waiting.
But the world felt like it was holding its breath.
She slid out of bed, opened her window, and stared at the sky. That red star was still there—faint, but glowing. Not a sun. Not a planet. A warning.
Violet whispered, "You're not going away, are you?"
The orb responded, "Dungeons detected: 1 new. Location: Undetermined. Status: Inactive."
That meant the dungeon was there, but hadn't opened yet. Like a closed door waiting for someone to turn the handle.
---
She spent the morning going over everything.
The girl in black.
The glowing eyes.
The creature from the egg.
The words it whispered—"Not me. Not yet."
Yet meant more were coming.
And if that was true, she needed answers. Real answers. Not guesses and fairy tales.
So she went to the one place she always trusted: the library's deepest level. The old archive. Where books whispered secrets long forgotten.
---
The air grew cooler as she stepped down the stone steps beneath the main hall. Shelves rose around her like cliffs, packed with ancient scrolls and dusty tomes. Magic hummed faintly in the walls—this place was protected. Even time was afraid to enter.
She stopped at a thick iron door and placed her palm on the rune-etched plate.
"Access granted," the orb said.
The door creaked open.
Inside, the floor glowed with soft blue light. Floating pages drifted like lazy leaves in the air. This was the Scholar's Vault.
And today, she needed its voice.
She typed into the search globe: "Seekers. Masked. Dungeon language. Monster intelligence."
The globe buzzed. Books flew off shelves, floated to her, and opened on their own. She began to read.
The Seekers were not hunters or heroes… They were listeners.
Where others closed doors, they opened them.
They believed monsters were not born—but made.
Violet leaned in.
Another scroll whispered: "Each Seeker wore a mask, carved from dungeon stone. The mask allowed them to hear the dungeon's heart."
The dungeon's… heart?
She flipped to another page.
"There is a level deeper than any recorded. A floor hidden from scan or spell. Only a Seeker may enter it."
Violet's heart pounded.
The masked girl from the red dungeon. She had to be one of them.
---
"Could I become one?" Violet whispered.
The orb replied quietly. "Unknown. No Seeker has been seen in over 200 years."
She stood slowly, a new thought blooming in her mind.
If she could find a mask… she might be able to see what the monsters saw. Learn what they knew.
Maybe even stop the next outbreak before it began.
But it meant getting closer to the very thing she feared.
It meant stepping into the monsters' world.
---
That night, as she prepared to leave, she packed differently.
She kept her father's wand. Her mother's spellbook. Her notebook and orb, of course.
But she also brought a blank mask—a smooth piece of dungeon stone she'd found months ago, shaped like a face but untouched.
And this time, she wasn't going into a dungeon to destroy everything.
This time, she was going to listen.
---
The red light above the sky flared.
And the door opened.
---
The new dungeon didn't look like the others.
No flames. No monsters rushing out.
Just a silent, glowing doorway nestled deep in the forest, surrounded by vines that shimmered silver under the moonlight.
Violet stood at the edge of the clearing, her bag slung over one shoulder, her wand in one hand, and the smooth, blank mask in the other.
The orb pulsed softly.
"Warning: Dungeon classified as Type Unknown. No activity detected. Entry not advised."
She smiled faintly. "That's why I'm going in."
The mask felt warm in her hands.
Not from the air.
From something else.
Something… calling.
She took a breath, held the mask to her face, and stepped into the light.
The world tilted.
Not like before. Not like falling.
This time, it felt like she was being invited.
---
When Violet opened her eyes, she was standing in a vast cavern of crystal.
The floor shimmered like glass. Tall spires of glowing quartz rose into the sky, humming with energy. Gentle wind brushed her hair, though there were no windows, no doors.
It was silent.
Beautiful.
And waiting.
She placed the mask in front of her face again—not on it, just holding it. The dungeon pulsed in response.
The orb chimed, its voice hushed. "Unstable magic detected. Mana signature… familiar."
Familiar?
Violet walked slowly between the crystals. Her steps echoed like whispers.
Then she heard it.
A voice.
Faint.
Gentle.
Not outside her head—but within.
"Little spark…"
She froze.
"Who's there?"
No answer.
Just another whisper.
"A name long lost… found in flames."
The orb blinked. "Mind-magic present. Mild intrusion. No known threat."
The dungeon wasn't attacking her.
It was speaking.
She held up the blank mask.
"Is this what you want?" she asked aloud.
The crystals around her hummed louder.
She placed the mask over her face.
It clicked into place like it belonged.
And suddenly, everything changed.
Her vision shimmered. Colors bloomed brighter. She could see lines of magic flowing through the crystals, like veins of light. The air buzzed with secrets.
But most of all, she heard.
Voices. Hundreds.
Some cried. Some sang. Some whispered memories of old lives.
And through them all came one voice—clear and warm.
"Welcome, Seeker."
A figure stepped forward from the light.
Not the girl from before.
This one was older. Wrapped in a silver robe. Her eyes glowed blue, and a mask—carved with runes—covered half her face.
"You came early," the woman said kindly.
Violet's voice shook. "Who are you?"
"A guide," the woman replied. "One who failed. One who hoped another would rise."
"Are you real?"
The woman smiled. "I am what the dungeon remembers."
Violet stepped closer. "Why do you want me to listen?"
The woman turned and pointed to the glowing heart of the cavern—a sphere of pure energy floating above a stone altar.
"Because the monsters aren't the enemy," she said. "They were never meant to be."
Violet stared.
"They killed my parents."
"They killed many," the woman said. "But not all monsters are the same. Some are born of chaos. Some were made by fear."
She looked directly at Violet.
"And some… are created by people."
---
The ground shook.
The crystal heart pulsed wildly.
"Time runs short," the woman warned. "Others are coming. Hunters. They'll destroy this place, thinking it's evil."
"It's not?" Violet asked.
"It's knowledge," she said. "And knowledge is only dangerous when buried."
Violet gripped her wand tightly.
"What do I do?"
The woman touched the heart.
It flickered—and then shrank into a tiny glowing shard.
She placed it in Violet's hand.
"Protect it. Learn from it. And when the time comes—decide."
The cavern dimmed.
The woman faded.
"Not all monsters are born in darkness."
---
Violet blinked and found herself back at the forest's edge.
The shard still glowed in her hand.
The mask was cool now, but still there.
And in the distance… smoke.
People were coming.
She turned and vanished into the woods before they arrived.
---
That night, back in her room, Violet held the shard in her palm.
It pulsed softly.
And when she placed the mask on again…
She saw a memory.
Of a dungeon long ago.
A child crying inside it.
And a monster… reaching out to comfort her.
---
Violet whispered, "What really happened back then?"
And the shard pulsed once more.
Like it remembered everything.