Morning arrived without warning.
A faint glow filtered through the cracks of the small cavern.
Kael was in the shadows, near the entrance of a cave hidden behind a waterfall. He had found it while blindly exploring the surroundings of floor 18.
The constant roar of the water offered him a strange comfort—a rhythm foreign to the Dungeon—unchanging, pure.
In the morning, when the flow of adventurers between floors had subsided, Kael dared to get a little closer to Rivira, just exploring.
He still wasn't planning to enter Rivira—not in his current state.
His body was still covered by a hardened mix of mud, dried blood, and remnants of creatures he barely remembered.
The guards, although neutral, wouldn't let him in looking like that.
Or worse—they might recognize him as something else.
And he wasn't sure he could handle questions… or stares.
So he slipped between the rocks, following the crystalline murmur of the water, until he found a small hidden lagoon formed by the overflow of the waterfall.
The place was unusually peaceful—vines hung from the stones, the ground was covered in soft moss, and the vapor suspended in the air seemed to ignore the cruelty of the outside world.
And there, for the first time since he woke up…
He allowed himself to breathe.
Kael took off his tattered clothes, feeling each torn fiber slide over his hardened skin.
He slowly sank into the water, gasping at the cold that shook his body.
It wasn't just cleansing.
It was redemption.
The mud dissolved.
The blood disappeared.
His skin, though still pale, regained part of its original color.
His body, no longer completely thin, seemed to have recovered a bit of strength.
Apparently, he was recovering at a slow but steady pace after having absorbed so many monsters.
His black hair once again fell naturally over his forehead.
When he saw his reflection in the calm surface of the water, he couldn't help but be momentarily stunned.
The red eyes were still there.
The pointed ears.
Some scales still clung to the nape of his neck and shoulders, along with other small and varied marks scattered across several parts of his body.
But beneath all of that…
There was still a face.
A young one.
One that, under different circumstances, might have even been beautiful.
He wasn't a complete monster.
Not yet.
He stayed there for a long time in silence, until an uncomfortable tingling crept down his back.
He turned sharply.
Nothing.
The rocks.
The twisted trees of the dungeon's artificial biome.
The waterfall… all the same.
But he felt it.
He knew it.
"…I could've sworn someone was watching me"—he murmured, voice low and tense.
He scanned the surroundings again, searching for any figure, some out-of-place shadow…
But he found nothing.
Maybe his paranoia was growing.
Maybe it was a side effect of his Berserk skill.
He sighed and got out of the water.
He had no other clothes, so he put his tattered garments back on, though at least they were no longer covered in filth.
He went back into the hidden cave near the waterfall—it wasn't very deep, but it was enough to take shelter.
The floor's artificial sun began to set.
Soon, the "night" of the Dungeon would fall, marked by the fading of magical light in the atmosphere.
Rivira would close its gates at that time.
And the paths would become dangerous again, not because of monsters, but because of possible bandits.
Kael wouldn't go in today.
It was too late for that—it would raise questions—but he still decided to make use of the time.
If he wanted to survive, he needed to know the surroundings.
So, with careful steps, he ventured around the waterfall.
After a few minutes, following a barely visible path among sharp rocks, the air changed.
A smell of iron and moisture alerted him.
Instinctively, he crouched, moving between twisted bushes and trees with thick trunks.
A muffled sound.
A groan.
He got closer, moving like a shadow in the night.
And then he saw him.
A young adventurer—no older than seventeen—lay between two rocks, his left arm clearly broken, and one of his legs trapped under some debris.
His light armor was in shreds, and his sword lay several meters away.
He must have been part of a group, perhaps got separated and lost before he could return to Rivira.
And if the pain on his face wasn't fake, he didn't have much time left.
Kael hesitated.
His instincts told him to approach.
To take that weak energy.
To absorb it and claim that vitality for himself.
It would be easy.
It was right there.
No one would see.
But…
He didn't.
Instead, Kael took a few steps back, watching.
Then picked up a small stone.
Aimed carefully and threw it near the sword.
The noise made the boy turn his head slightly.
Kael moved then.
He dashed out from the shadows, appearing behind the adventurer, and with superhuman strength, removed the rock that was pinning him.
The boy screamed in pain, but Kael had already acted.
He used some of the nearby vines to improvise a tourniquet for the leg and a splint for the arm.
Then he placed the sword nearby—in case a monster approached.
All without letting the injured boy get a clear look at him.
"W-what...? Who...?"—the boy stammered, looking around, breathing heavily.
Kael didn't answer.
He was already far enough away for his silhouette to be lost in the foliage.
He just watched from a distance, making sure the boy didn't die.
And when he saw another group approaching—surely his companions—down a nearby path, he turned and left.
His steps were light.
His soul, a bit less heavy.
He returned to the cave as the glow of the floor's artificial "stars" faded.
The roar of the waterfall greeted him like an old friend.
The residual warmth of the rock offered him an improvised bed.
Kael sat down, hugging his knees.
He wasn't hungry.
He didn't want to absorb anything.
For once…
He just wanted silence.
He looked at his hands.
"I guess... I'm not lost yet, huh?"—he whispered.
And for the first time in a long while, it didn't sound like a lie.
The cave wrapped him in stillness.
Outside, the Dungeon kept breathing.
Inside, Kael closed his eyes.
And slept...
Darkness was absolute, enveloping the entire room.
Interrupted only by the small embers of the torches on the walls and the faint reflection of a handheld mirror embedded in a frame as black as obsidian.
The object, usually vibrant and full of shifting images, now seemed dull, lifeless, as if it refused to cooperate.
Ikelos stepped back with a grimace of frustration.
His long, thin fingers trembled slightly.
He paced back and forth, murmuring to himself as he ran a hand through his hair.
Dix watched from a high-backed chair, relaxed, a glass of wine in hand and a crooked smile on his face.
His eyes followed each movement of the god with curiosity more than concern.
"You lost him?"—Dix asked, tone almost mocking.
"I had to stop using the mirror," Ikelos replied, irritated, stopping in front of one of the many magical torches that flickered without wind.
"Riveria Ljos Alf… that damned elf… almost sensed me. If I had kept using it so close to her, it would've triggered every alarm. Her mental perception, her magical sensitivity… I couldn't risk it."
"And right at that moment the phenomenon disappeared?"—Dix asked, resting his elbow on the chair's arm, amused.
"Right before he entered the eighteenth floor. That's when everything got blurry. The layers of natural magic on that floor are too dense. The mirror can observe without being detected… but it can't find what it has no way to locate."
Dix pursed his lips slightly, but didn't seem surprised.
"In short, the great god of dreams and surveillance lost his most promising experiment."—he said with a crooked grin, raising his glass.
"Brilliant."
Ikelos turned sharply toward him.
"Don't mock me. The mirror is sealed precisely to avoid interference. It can't aim or track. It only observes. If I try to actively search for him from here, someone with spiritual perception would notice immediately. And then… you know what would happen."
"Oh, I know"—Dix nodded, setting the glass on a nearby silver tray.
"That's not what worries me. What worries me is that you seem to have forgotten your own story."
Ikelos narrowed his eyes.
"What are you implying?"
Dix calmly got up from the chair and walked to a bookshelf.
He took a small book with cracked leather covers and flipped through it, as if looking for a specific quote, though clearly it was just for dramatic effect.
"You once told me,"—he said without looking at him—"about that encounter he had on the fifth floor, remember? With those two rookies who crossed his path."
"Yes…"—Ikelos responded in a low voice.
"He walked away from them. Didn't attack. He hid."
"Exactly. Not because he couldn't kill them, but because he chose not to. Maybe out of fear of losing control, maybe out of compassion. Either way, that decision revealed something important—emotion. There's still something… that makes him hesitate, that makes him doubt… something almost human."
Ikelos blinked slowly.
"And?"
Dix turned to him, a macabre gleam of excitement in his eyes.
"We don't need to find him. We just have to lure him."
Ikelos raised an eyebrow.
"Lure him?"
"You said you can't find him. Fine. The phenomenon moves by instinct, right? When it senses it might be in danger, it retreats. But when it sees a life in danger, it hesitates… and that will be its weakness."
The god crossed his arms, thoughtful.
"And what's your plan?"
Dix smiled with that expression that mixed brilliance and cruelty in equal parts.
"Easy. We'll set a trap. Something… vulnerable. A group of young adventurers, the kind who think everything is glory and bravery. We'll make it easy for them to reach the eighteenth floor. Maybe even give them a 'blessing' so they don't die immediately."
He walked toward the mirror and placed his hand on it, as if already seeing the outcome in its still dull surface.
"Let's see how long he can keep playing the good guy."
Silence filled the room once more.
But this time…
It had an edge.