The war for the dungeon had technically begun, but right now, the most pressing battle was breakfast.

Reed stood in front of the Pizza Forge, a magma-powered stone oven Grika had carved directly into the wall of the Core Chamber, wielding a long wooden peel.

The heat radiating from the molten rock was intense, causing the air to shimmer, but it was a comfortable warmth compared to the chill that had settled over the dungeon since the raid.

"Status," Reed muttered, sliding a bubbling pepperoni pie out of the fire.

[DUNGEON STATUS]

Core Level: 2 (Max XP reached – Evolution Pending)

DM: 42.5 (High Surplus from Raid Defense)

Structural Integrity: 88% (Floor 1 Entrance damaged)

Active Threats:

The Necropolis (Distance: 1 Mile)

Inquisitor Kaelen (ETA: Unknown, Intelligence suggests movement)

"Forty-two mana," Grika said, appearing at his elbow. She snatched a slice of pizza straight off the peel, juggling the hot crust with calloused, oil-stained fingers.

"We're rich, Boss. We could build a death ray. Or a second pizza oven."

"We're building walls, Grika," Reed said, plating the rest. "Thick ones. Maira's already running the numbers on Floor 3."

"Boring," the goblin grumbled, biting into the cheese with a feral snap. "But fine. As long as I get to blow something up during construction."

The Core Chamber was currently functioning as a triage center and a cafeteria.

Luma, now in her evolved High Slime form—a translucent, mostly-solid blue beauty in a vacuum-sealed white bodysuit—was happily dissolving a slice of pizza by simply pressing it against her midsection until it absorbed.

Seraphine was coiled tightly around the Pizza Forge itself, her massive emerald tail soaking up the heat, looking like a contented, lethal radiator.

Riva was perched on top of the forge's chimney stack, looking down at the food with predatory focus.

"Circle-Meat!" Riva chirped, ruffling her feathers. "Boss! Throw one! Air catch!"

Reed sighed, picked up a slice, and tossed it into the air.

Riva swooped down, snatched the pizza mid-air with her talons, and landed back on her perch in a blur of motion.

"Good catch," Reed said.

But there was one member of the family missing from the feast.

Reed wiped his hands on a rag and looked up.

High above, in the darkest shadows of the stalactites—just above where Riva was eating—a pale, translucent figure floated.

She was curled into a ball, knees to her chest, her spectral hair drifting like underwater weeds.

Elara. The Banshee.

She had been part of the Necromancer's vanguard, a tormented spirit enslaved to shriek at their enemies. During the fighting retreat, Reed had severed her binding chains, and she had drifted instinctively toward the strongest source of life she could find. Him.

"She hasn't moved in six hours," Seraphine noted, eyes not leaving the fire. "Is she… waiting to strike?"

"She's waiting to stop being terrified," Reed said. He picked up a fresh plate, put a slice of the best pie on it, extra cheese, crispy edges and walked to the center of the room.

He looked up.

"Elara," he called out. His voice echoed slightly in the stone chamber. "I know you're up there. The floor is safe. Malakor isn't here."

The ghost flinched. She uncurled slightly, peering down with wide, dark eyes that looked like bruises on a pale face.

She didn't speak. She just shook her head, drifting a few inches higher.

"Ghost-Girl is quiet," Riva mumbled around a mouthful of crust. "Too quiet. Needs to screech. Clear the pipes."

"She's not a siren, Riva," Reed said.

He focused on his link to the dungeon.

[SYSTEM ACTION]

Target: Elara (Unbound Spirit)

Action: Grant Permission [Core Chamber Access]

Cost: Negligible.

"Elara," Reed tried again, softening his tone. "I can't promise it's perfect down here. It's loud, Grika smells like engine grease, Seraphine hogs all the heat, and Riva steals anything shiny. But nobody is going to chain you up. And we have pizza."

He held the plate higher.

Elara stared at the food. Then at him. Slowly, like a leaf falling in slow motion, she drifted down.

She stopped right in front of him, hovering inches off the floor. Up close, the temperature around Reed dropped ten degrees. His breath misted in the air.

She reached out a trembling, translucent hand toward the pizza.

Her fingers passed straight through the crust, through the plate, and through Reed's hand holding it.

She recoiled, letting out a sound that wasn't quite a sob, it was a static hiss of frustration.

"I… cannot," she whispered. Her voice sounded like wind whistling through a cracked window. "I am… nothing."

Reed set the plate down on a nearby stone table.

"You're not nothing," he said firmly. "You're just… distinct. We can work with distinct."

He took a step closer. The cold radiating off her was intense, a biting chill that made his skin prickle.

"You're cold," he observed.

Elara wrapped her arms around herself. "Always. It is… the only thing I feel. The dark. The silence."

Reed hesitated. He remembered the System notes on her archetype. [Soul Anchor]. She needed to inhabit objects—or people—to feel warmth.

He held out his hand. Not to grab her, but as an invitation.

"Touch me," he said.

The room went quiet. Grika stopped chewing. Seraphine's tail tip twitched. Riva stopped preening her wings and tilted her head, watching with golden eyes.

Elara blinked. "I… will freeze you."

"I've had worse," Reed lied. "Try to anchor. Just a little. Don't try to grab the skin. Reach… deeper."

Elara hesitated, then slowly reached out again. This time, she didn't aim for his hand. She stepped forward, her body drifting, and placed her spectral hand directly against the center of his chest.

It didn't stop at his shirt.

Reed gasped as her fingers phased through his ribs and sank into his chest cavity.

It felt like swallowing an ice cube whole. The cold rushed through his veins, bypassing his nerves and hitting his very core.

But then, as her hand hovered inside his chest, dangerously close to his heart, the sensation shifted.

It wasn't just cold. It was… connection. A bizarre, invasive, intimate tickle that shuddered through his entire nervous system.

[SYSTEM ALERT] Spectral Interface Detected.

Entity: Elara

Effect: [Ghost Touch] – Direct emotional siphon.

DM Generated: +5 (Intense Relief/Shock)

Elara's eyes widened. Her translucent form flickered, gaining a momentary burst of color, a faint flush of pink in her cheeks.

"Warm," she breathed. She leaned in, her forehead resting against his, or rather, passing halfway through it. "It is… so warm. Like… a sun."

She wasn't draining his life force. She was feeding on the ambient energy of the Core that hummed inside him.

Reed shivered, his knees unlocking. "Okay. Yep. That's… distinct. You good?"

Elara pulled back sharply, realizing what she'd done. She looked horrified, then amazed. She stared at her hand, which was now glowing faintly with residual mana.

"I… felt it," she whispered. "Thank you."

"Anytime," Reed wheezed, rubbing his chest. The cold spot lingered, but so did the strange sense of being full.

[MONSTER BOND ESTABLISHED]

Elara (Banshee)

Status: Guest -> Resident

Loyalty: 10 (Grateful)

"Ahem."

The sound of a throat clearing cut through the moment like a guillotine.

Maira stood at the entrance of the Core Chamber. The demon maid adjusted her glasses, her tail flicking with aggressive precision behind her perfectly starched uniform.

She held a clipboard that looked heavy enough to be a weapon.

"While this… spectral bonding… is touching," Maira said, her tone dry, "we have a crisis."

Reed straightened up. "The Necromancer?"

"Worse," Maira said. She walked over and slammed the clipboard onto the table, right next to the cooling pizza.

"The budget."

She tapped a column of red ink.

"The raid damaged the entrance tunnel. Grika used three weeks' worth of black powder in ten minutes. Seraphine's demand for heated rocks has spiked our fuel consumption by forty percent. And…" She pointed at Riva. "The Harpy has stolen all the silverware."

Riva hissed, clutching a fork to her chest. "My shiny! Nest needs shiny!"

"We have forty-two mana," Reed pointed out.

"Mana builds rooms, Master," Maira said sharply. "It does not buy iron. It does not buy refined steel for the blast doors we need if we are to survive a siege. And it certainly does not bribe the Inquisitor who is currently rumored to be burning a path through the southern duchies."

She pointed to the map on the wall, specifically at the area below them.

Floor 3.

"Malakor knows we are here," Maira stated. "He tested us with ghouls. Next time, he will send bone giants. We need fortifications. We need a foundry. We need… The Iron Works."

Reed looked at the map. He looked at Elara, who was floating anxiously near the ceiling again. He looked at his family—his chaotic, expensive, dangerous family.

"Iron Works," Reed repeated. "Okay. We pivot. Grika, you're going to get your wish."

Grika perked up. "Death ray?"

"Better," Reed grinned, though it was a tired grin. "We're going to build a meat grinder."

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