The dungeon's air hung thick with dust.
Percia's long ears flicked the motes away as she moved through the corridors, onyx-black hair swaying against her worn cloak. Her midnight-blue eyes traced the crumbling glyphs on the walls — she had spent weeks mapping this place, savoring the patient unraveling of its secrets, layer by meticulous layer.
There was no need to rush. She had the time.
She appreciated the quiet here. The stillness reminded her of easier days — when the mana flowed smoother, when companions lingered longer.
Her fingers brushed one glyph, cool stone under her touch. Crudely made — the work of an apprentice, perhaps. And yet it still whispered its stubborn intent, holding fast against the passage of time.
What wouldn't help its survival was the stench of blood beginning to permeate the air.
Fresh.
Percia blinked as the dungeon rumbled — low, protesting. Cracks spiderwebbed across the ceiling; pebbles pattered down like dry rain. The glyph beneath her hand crumbled, lines dissolving into illegible dust.
She frowned, irritation flickering briefly before she let it go.
Something had triggered this — recently, and nearby. She pulled her mana close, cloaking her presence, and moved toward the source.
If it was adventurers, she would take a look and leave. She had no particular interest in the people of this era.
Around the final bend, the corridor opened into a vast chamber lit by flickering torchlight and erratic bursts of spellfire.
Two humans.
A boy with vivid red hair swung a chipped axe in wide, desperate arcs. Stark — the name surfaced from their hoarse shouts. Sweat and blood streaked his face; one arm trembled as he planted himself like a wall between the monsters and the girl behind him.
She knelt with her staff limp in her hands — Fern — but her violet eyes stayed wide open, sharp and assessing, searching for any opening she could use.
Monsters swarmed them: skittering beasts with too many teeth. The pair had clearly sprung an ancient trap, rousing the chamber's inhabitants all at once.
Percia watched from the shadowed archway, arms folded. A pity. They were barely more than children. But humans died in places like this — it was simply how their stories ended.
Who was she to extend their story?
Fern slumped further, a soft gasp escaping as the last of her mana guttered out. Stark roared and lunged forward again, axe biting flesh — not deeply enough. A claw raked his shoulder; fresh blood sprayed. His knees buckled for a heartbeat before he forced himself upright, putting his body between the monsters and Fern.
Percia's hand moved before her mind caught up.
Mana surged, the air shimmering with it. The monsters froze mid-lunge and shattered like glass under an unseen hammer.
That was the end of it.
The chamber fell quiet, save for crumbling stone and the humans' ragged breathing.
Stark and Fern turned toward her in unison.
Fern's eyes narrowed immediately. She hadn't felt Percia approach — not a whisper of mana until the spell struck. The control was exceptional, presence suppressed to near-invisibility; the reserves behind it vast and precise and deeply unsettling.
Her grip tightened on her staff despite the exhaustion. They were outmatched. They were at this stranger's mercy.
Stark shifted instinctively, putting himself half in front of Fern again, axe raised despite the trembling in his arms. His gaze moved between Percia and the exit — wary, ready.
Percia met their stares and felt only discomfort. She wanted them gone. She wanted the silence back.
"I mean no harm." She turned toward the exit she had mapped weeks earlier, not waiting to see if they followed. "Come, before the chamber collapses."
Hesitant footsteps echoed behind her.
She could feel the weight of their eyes lingering on her back, too many questions unanswered.
"Thank you." The boy's voice was quiet. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds. "My name is Stark. This is Fern."
She inclined her head. "Percia."