The silence in the dungeon was heavy.

It wasn't the peaceful silence of a library; it was the pressurized, suffocating silence of a submarine waiting for depth charges.

It was 2:00 AM.

The "Teasing Tomb" was unrecognizable. The warm, inviting glow of the mana lamps had been dimmed to a flickering, sickly yellow. The air, usually scented with wildflowers or pizza dough, now smelled of wet dog and stagnation, Maira's "Eau de Despair" settling into the stone.

Reed sat on the floor of the Core Chamber, leaning back against the rough canvas of the false wall that hid his beloved oven. He held a rusty iron sword across his knees.

He couldn't sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the map. He saw the red line of the Inquisitor approaching from the South, and the grey blob of the Undead Army approaching from the North.

Two hammers. One anvil. And he was the anvil.

"You are grinding your teeth," a voice whispered.

Reed opened his eyes.

Elara was floating in front of him. In the dim light, she looked more spectral than usual. She had phased out of the solid stone wall, her translucent hair drifting as if underwater.

"I'm thinking," Reed said, rubbing his jaw.

"You are vibrating," Elara corrected. She drifted closer, hovering just inches off the ground. She hugged her knees to her chest, her large, dark eyes fixed on him. "Like a tuning fork."

"It's adrenaline," Reed explained. "Fight or flight response. And since I'm a Dungeon Avatar, I can't fly. So I'm just… waiting to fight."

He looked around the room.

In the corner, Grika was asleep on top of a crate of dynamite. Even in sleep, the goblin was restless; her fingers twitched, miming the motion of turning a wrench. She muttered something about "gear ratios" and snored softly.

Riva was perched high in the rafters, tucked into a ball of muddy feathers. She had her head tucked under her wing, but her talons were dug deep into the stone. Every few minutes, she would let out a low, predatory chitter in her sleep.

Seraphine wasn't sleeping.

The Lamia was coiled by the entrance tunnel, perfectly still. She was wearing the rusted chainmail poncho Reed had forced upon her. She looked ridiculous, like a queen wearing a trash bag, but her posture was deadly serious. Her eyes were open, unblinking, watching the dark corridor leading to the entrance.

"They are afraid," Elara whispered, following his gaze.

"They're loyal," Reed said. "Which makes it worse. If I messed up the math… if Kaelen decides to burn us before the skeletons get here… I get them all killed."

Elara tilted her head. She uncurled her legs and drifted closer, invading his personal space.

The temperature around Reed dropped ten degrees. His breath misted in the air.

"May I?" she asked, reaching out a hand.

Reed nodded. "Anchor."

Elara didn't phase into him this time. She just placed her hand on his chest, over his heart.

Her fingers were ice cold, but solid enough to feel the fabric of his burlap tunic.

She closed her eyes.

"Thump-thump," she whispered, mimicking the rhythm. "Thump-thump. It is… fast."

"Yeah, well, impending doom does that."

"It is warm," Elara said, ignoring his sarcasm. A faint flush of color returned to her pale cheeks as she siphoned the ambient Core energy radiating off him. "It pushes the dark away."

She opened her eyes. They weren't hollow anymore. They were violet, intense, and terrifyingly human.

"When the fighting starts," Elara said softly, "I will be useless. I cannot cut bone. I cannot stop iron. I am just a ghost."

"You're not useless," Reed said. "You're the alarm system. You feel them before we see them."

"I want to be more," she insisted, her hand pressing harder against his chest. "When you let me in… when I wore your skin… I felt strong. I could hit them. Through you."

Reed hesitated. The sensation of possession—the [Dual-Core Processing]—had been overwhelming. It gave him 360 degree vision and mana sight, but it also meant sharing his mind with a traumatized banshee.

"If it gets bad," Reed promised, covering her cold hand with his warm one. "If the line breaks. We do it again."

Elara smiled. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was real.

"Okay."

THOOM.

The sound wasn't loud. It was deep. It vibrated through the floor, shaking dust from the ceiling.

Grika snorted awake, falling off her crate with a crash. "Who? What? Explosion?"

Riva woke up instantly, her head snapping up, feathers puffing out. "Enemy!"

Seraphine uncoiled, rising to her full height. She gripped her rusty pike, her eyes locked on the tunnel.

"They are here," the Lamia hissed.

Reed stood up, his knees cracking. He checked his interface.

[PERIMETER BREACH]

Zone: Outer Tunnel (Floor 1 Entrance) Hostiles: 400+ Ghouls.

Note: They aren't knocking.

"Here we go," Reed muttered.

He looked at Elara. "Hide. Deep walls. Don't come out until I call for Protocol Zero. Or until the Inquisitor leaves."

Elara nodded. She squeezed his hand one last time, a freezing jolt of affection, and then faded backward, sinking into the stone until she was gone.

Reed turned to his family.

"Remember the plan!" he hissed. "We are weak! We are scared! We are holding the line, but only barely! Do not use the heavy weapons! Do not use the magma!"

"Can I use the wrench?" Grika asked, pulling a rusty bone-shiv from her belt.

"Use the shiv, Grika. Look desperate."

CRUNCH.

The sound of stone grinding on stone echoed down the hallway. At the front barricade the pile of rocks meant to look like a cave-in was being pushed.

"Riva!" Reed ,whispered, pointing up. "Chimney! Go!"

Riva nodded. She didn't speak. She just launched herself silently into the air, flying up the ventilation shaft into the night.

She had her orders: Bomb the bridge. Make it look like we're struggling to hold them back. And stay out of sight.

Reed drew his sword, the chipped, rusty ironblade he kept for the disguise.

He stood in the center of the dark, smelly room. He hunched his shoulders. He put fear on his face.

The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall splintered. A skeletal hand punched through the wood. Then another.

"Hold!" Reed shouted, his voice shaking (partly acting, partly real). "Hold the line!"

The doors exploded inward.

A wave of ghouls rotting, shrieking, fast-moving horrors poured into the hallway.

"For the Dungeon!" Seraphine roared, stabbing her pike into the first ghoul.

The Long Night had ended. The siege had begun.

And five miles south, High Inquisitor Kaelen was waking up, brewing her tea, and preparing to judge a dungeon she thought was sleeping. She had no idea she was walking into a war.

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