I descended the spiral stairs one careful step at a time, my hand dragging along the rough wall for balance. Each breath came out as white mist in the freezing air.

The lantern had been destroyed during the Wight fight. So I'd conjured a small sphere of mana instead, holding it in my palm like a pale ghost light.

It wasn't much. Barely bright enough to see three steps ahead. But it was something.

The temperature dropped with every step downward. Frost crept along the walls in delicate crystalline patterns that caught the mana light, making them shimmer like frozen lightning.

My legs shook with exhaustion. My head still pounded from the neural damage. Everything hurt.

But I kept moving.

Then the sphere in my palm flickered.

I stopped, watching it waver like a candle flame in wind.

No. No, hold it together—

Whoosh!

The mana dispersed, plunging me into suffocating darkness.

"Fuck!"

I groaned, my legs shaking, muscles screamed in protest, but I forced myself to straighten.

Then I leaned against the wall, breathing hard, trying to stay calm.

Concentrate. Emma's training. Find your center. Breathe.

I closed my eyes and focused inward. Felt the mana flowing through.

Slowly, carefully, I gathered it again. Drew it toward my palm.

Visualize. Give it shape. Purpose.

The energy responded, pooling in my hand. I shaped it, compressed it, willed it into form.

A flicker.

Then a glow.

The sphere reformed, unstable, wavering....

I adjusted my focus. Setting the parameters consciously rather than letting it collapse under its own instability.

Flow rate. Density. Then the sphere steadied and brightened.

And then it clicked.

Like a puzzle piece falling into place, like understanding a concept you'd been struggling with for weeks, suddenly I knew how to do this.

The sphere stabilized completely, glowing with steady, reliable light.

[DING!]

[New Spell Learned!]

[Light Orb]

Create a stable sphere of light.

I stared at the glowing sphere hovering above my hand, baffled.

"My first spell."

After all those failed attempts, all that frustration, it finally worked.

"I'd finally learned an actual spell."

A laugh bubbled up from my chest. I leaned back against the cold wall, sliding down to sit on the stairs, just looking at the sphere floating in my hand.

I did it.

Emma, I actually did it.

A smile cracked across my face despite everything. For just this moment, I let myself feel something other than terror and desperation.

Thank you, Emma.

I pushed myself upright.

"Guess your nagging paid off."

And continued my descent.

After nearly half an hour of walking, pausing twice to gulp down potions. I felt my strength gradually return. My steps grew steadier. My breathing evened out.

Eventually, the stairs ended.

A few steps ahead, illuminated by my light orb, stood a massive door. Iron-banded oak, ancient and imposing. It was partially open, and through the gap seeped an eerie pale blue light that made my skin crawl.

Is this it? The guardian's chamber?

My hand instinctively tightened around my sword hilt.

For a long moment, I just stood there, my heart hammering against my ribs. Then I leaned against the wall, closing my eyes, sliding down to sit again.

Should I go inside? Fight whatever nightmare is waiting in there?

Or...

I pulled out the emergency flare crystal from my pouch. The red gem caught my Light Orb's glow, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.

One crush and I'd be yanked back to safety.

Should I use it?

I barely survived the Wight. Some of my edits were completely useless against it. I'm out of potions. And my head's still fucked from the neural damage.

"Maybe I should just go back. Prepare better. Try again when I'm stronger."

Father would be disappointed either way. Whether I failed now or failed later, or even pass. It didn't matter to him.

But Cassandra's words echoed in my mind: "Don't fail. It would be inconvenient."

Inconvenient for who? For what?

Part of me screamed to use it. The math was simple, zero healing potion, unknown guardian strength equals certain death.

But another part, the part that had survived the bandits, the goblin nest, that had clawed through this dungeon step by step, that refused to give up even when everything said I should, that part said no.

Minutes crawled by as I wrestled with myself, thumb running over the crystal's surface.

Finally, with a frustrated growl, I hurled the crystal aside. It clattered across the stone floor, its glow fading into the shadows.

"No," I said aloud, my voice echoing. "I came this far."

I survived the skeletons, the ghouls, the wall-bones, the Wight. I learned my first fucking spell on a dungeon staircase while half-dead.

"There's no going back now."

I pushed off the ground and approached the door with renewed determination. My hand touched the cold iron—

Then I paused.

Slowly, deliberately, I stepped back. Walked to where I'd thrown the crystal. Picked it up and slipped it into my pocket.

No shame in a backup plan.

I returned to the door and pushed it open.

It swung inward with a groaning screech that echoed like a death knell through stone and bone.

The chamber beyond stole my breath.

Cathedral-vast. Massive stone pillars rose from the floor like the ribs of some colossal dead god, supporting a vaulted ceiling that vanished into impenetrable shadow.

The walls were carved with the same death-script I'd seen throughout the crypt, but here the symbols were glowing with pale blue light, pulsing in rhythm like a heartbeat.

The air itself felt heavy.

And in the center, on a raised stone platform.

Was a nine feet of armored skeleton sitting on a throne of black stone.

My stomach dropped.

Its armor was nothing like the Wight's crude plate. This was different. More ornate. Covered in intricate engravings that might have been decorative or might have been runes, I couldn't tell.

A tattered cloak hung from its shoulders, the edges disintegrating into ash even as I watched.

In one skeletal hand, it held a greatsword nearly as tall as I was, the blade resting point-down against the stone.

Behind it, embedded in the platform itself, I saw what I'd come for.

The core stone.

It was fist-sized. Glowing with concentrated necrotic energy that made the air shimmer.

So close.

Ten meters. That's all.

Then the skeleton's skull turned toward me. Slowly. Deliberately. Like it had all the time in the world.

Blue fire ignited in empty eye sockets, burning with cold intelligence.

Oh, fuck.

It stood, pulling the greatsword free from the stone with one hand as if it weighed nothing. The blade hummed with power. Necrotic energy crawled along its length like living smoke, coiling and writhing.

My debug vision activated automatically... some primal threat-response in my brain.

[Entity Analysis]

entity_id: "blackwood_crypt_guardian_L28"

type: "dungeon_guardian"

level: 28

threat_level: "critical"

classification: {

role: "core_defense_entity"

}

My eyes bulged.

"T-Twenty-eight?"

I was level 14.

Holy shit, are you fucking kidding me?!

This wasn't an exam.

This was an execution.

The guardian raised its sword and took its first step down from the platform.

BOOM!

The impact shook the floor. Dust and small stones rained from the ceiling. The sound reverberated through my chest like a war drum.

Another step.

BOOM!

Closer.

My legs trembled. My head pounded. My vision swam. I could barely stand.

Every instinct I possessed screamed at me to run. To crush the flare crystal. To get the hell out before that monster reached me.

But I didn't move.

Couldn't, maybe. Or wouldn't. I wasn't sure anymore.

The guardian descended the steps with the inevitability of a landslide, each footfall echoing through the chamber like the countdown to my doom.

It reached the floor and stopped, ten feet away.

This close, I could see the intricate engravings on its skull. The way frost formed on its armor with each breath of necrotic energy. The intelligence burning in those blue flames that served as eyes.

Its head tilted slightly. Almost curious. Like it was examining an insect.

Then it raised its greatsword overhead with both hands.

The blade ignited with blue fire that cast everything in ghostly light.

Shit!

It swung.

WHOOSH!

******

{Outside the Dungeon}

The gray-haired woman moved with sharp, efficient purpose across the clearing. Her voice cut through the tense air like a blade.

Two younger healers in Academy white robes scrambled to comply, pulling supplies from their medical cart. A third, older, with steady hands and calm eyes, was already preparing a triage station near the dungeon entrance.

Taryn paced back and forth, his boots wearing a path in the dirt. The mana-gauge device sat on the makeshift table, its readings now stable.

Twelve percent.

He'd run the calculation three times, changing variables, adjusting parameters, hoping the numbers would improve.

They hadn't.

"This is insane," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "We sent a first-year into a C-rank dungeon. A first-year who's ranked 447. Who has no elemental affinity. Who was injured two weeks ago—"

"Taryn." the woman's voice was sharp. "Focus. Can you track his position?"

Taryn grabbed the crystal tablet, fingers dancing across its surface. Glowing runes appeared, forming a rough map of the dungeon's upper levels.

"The scrying crystals we placed are still active, but..." He frowned, tapping a section of the map. "He's deeper than they reach. Last reading was here, in the third chamber, forty-seven minutes ago. Since then, nothing."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning he's descended past our monitoring range." Taryn looked up, his face pale. "Whatever's down there, we won't see it until he either comes back up or—"

He didn't finish the sentence.

He didn't need to.

The woman's jaw tightened. "Keep monitoring. If anything changes, I want to know immediately."

"Yes, ma'am."

She walked away, moving toward the dungeon entrance where Aldwin stood.

Professor Aldwin hadn't moved in twenty minutes.

He stood facing the sealed stone door, arms crossed behind his back, posture rigid.

The dungeon entrance loomed before him. The door had sealed the moment Jin crossed the threshold, as all dungeon doors did.

Impossible to open from outside until the dungeon was cleared or everyone inside was dead.

Three hours and forty-two minutes, Aldwin thought, watching the stone. That's how long he's been in there.

The mana-gauge reading flickered in his peripheral vision, projected by Taryn's monitoring crystal. C-rank. The number mocked him.

How did we miss this?

The initial survey had been thorough. Multiple teams had assessed the Blackwood Crypt over two weeks. Every measurement, every reading had confirmed E-rank threat level.

Difficult but manageable for a competent first-year.

And then the moment Jin entered, the dungeon had changed.

Aldwin's hands tightened behind his back, knuckles white.

Use the flare, kid. Don't be stupid.

Automatic failure, yes. Repeating the year, yes.

But alive.

Pride wasn't worth dying for.

So why hasn't he used it?

Aldwin knew the answer. Had seen it in hundreds of students over the years.

The ones who refused to give up. Who'd rather die trying than live with failure.

The ones who were either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, and sometimes there wasn't much difference between the two.

"The healers are ready," the gray-haired woman said, stopping beside him. "Anti-necrotic serums in place. Trauma station prepared."

"Good."

They stood in silence for a moment, both watching the sealed door.

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