The halls of Ebonspire Academy had grown eerily quiet as the night deepened, with only the distant echoes of magical wards humming softly against the stone walls. Under the veil of darkness, Cyrus moved like a shadow through the corridors, his steps silent, his presence unnoticed. His mission was clear: investigate the enchantments in the dungeon. After his encounter with Magnus, curiosity and suspicion gnawed at him like a ravenous beast. Someone had tampered with the dungeon's enchantments, and Cyrus needed to know who.
Reaching the entrance to the dungeon, he paused. The dim torchlight cast flickering shadows across the stone archway, the mouth of the dungeon looming before him like a gaping maw. He had been here before, but something about tonight felt different. The air was colder, thicker with an unsettling energy that buzzed against his skin.
The dungeon's air was heavy with magic, every stone wall and ancient pillar seeming to breathe with the energy of those who had traversed it. As Cyrus descended deeper into its shadowy depths, his heart raced with a mix of curiosity and unease. This was a part of the dungeon he had never seen—its familiar walls now carried a different energy, an ominous weight pressing down on him with each step. His feet moved soundlessly across the cold stone floor, his mind sharp, alert for any trace of the enchantments that had been tampered with.
As he wandered, searching for clues among the shadows, the air around him shifted. The dungeon seemed to groan, as if waking from a long slumber, and the hairs on the back of Cyrus's neck prickled with an awareness he couldn't quite name. He paused, scanning his surroundings, when suddenly—without warning—a black door appeared in the far corner of the room. It was tall and smooth, carved from a black stone so dark it seemed to absorb the dim light around it.
The door hadn't been there moments ago.
Cyrus narrowed his eyes. There was no mistaking it—this was no ordinary door. It seemed to hum with ancient power, an otherworldly energy that both repelled and pulled him toward it. Every instinct told him to turn back, but something—some pull from the depths of his soul—urged him forward. His hand hesitated over the handle, the cool metal pulsing faintly beneath his fingers. With a deep breath, he pushed it open.
The moment he stepped through, the air around him shifted violently. His vision blurred, and a powerful force dragged him downward, deeper into the heart of the dungeon. His stomach churned as the teleportation magic yanked him from one place to another. When the world snapped back into focus, he found himself standing in an enormous chamber—far removed from the level he had just been on.
The room was vast, far grander than any chamber he had seen in the dungeon. Towering pillars stretched upward toward a ceiling shrouded in shadow, each pillar engraved with ancient runes that glowed faintly with blue light. The green flames of wall-mounted torches flickered dimly, casting eerie shadows across the floor. Cyrus felt the weight of ancient magic pressing in on him, as if the air itself was steeped in secrets long forgotten.
He turned slowly, his pulse thudding in his ears, each step forward feeling heavier as the oppressive weight of the chamber pressed down on him. Then his eyes finally landed on it—the massive creature chained in the center, a living nightmare, and his stomach twisted in terror.
The air grew thicker, suffocating, as if the beast's very presence was enough to warp reality itself. It was bound by thick iron shackles, the metal glowing faintly, thrumming with an old, dangerous magic. But even chained, its power was palpable—tangible—pressing against his skin like a wave of heat. It radiated danger in a way that made Cyrus's entire body tense with instinctive fear.
His breath hitched, heart hammering in his chest as he took in the full scope of the creature. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, more monstrous than he could have imagined. Its muscular, hulking body was covered in thick white fur that shimmered under the dim light, each hair seeming to glow faintly with an ethereal gleam, and every ripple of muscle hinted at raw, devastating strength.
But it was the heads—those eyes—that truly terrified him.
Three massive wolf-like heads loomed above its body, and each one exuded a presence so overwhelming it made Cyrus's legs tremble. His breath turned shallow, and his fingers instinctively curled into fists. The middle head was calm, too calm, its amber eyes gleaming with a disturbing intelligence, as though it saw far beyond what stood before it—beyond the room, beyond time itself. The left head, scarred and savage, narrowed its eye at him, suspicion flickering in its sharp, predatory gaze. The right head, twisted into a sinister grin, made his skin crawl, its scarred mouth pulling back to reveal gleaming, sharp fangs as if relishing some dark joke.
He could feel those eyes—six eyes—burning into him, locking onto his every breath, as if judging not just his presence, but his very existence. The chains rattled softly, and the sound made his spine stiffen, his heart stuttering in his chest.
Cyrus stood paralyzed, every instinct in him screaming to flee, but his feet refused to move. His throat tightened, his mind racing to process the enormity of what lay before him. This beast—this ancient thing—was no mere monster of the dungeon. It was something far older. Far more dangerous.
Far more powerful.
And for the first time since entering Ebonspire, Cyrus realized he might not make it out of this encounter alive.
For a moment, the only sound in the chamber was the crackling of the green flames and the faint rattling of the chains as the beast stirred. Then, the middle head—the most regal of the three—spoke.
"Child of lightning and fire," it said, its voice deep and resonant, echoing through the chamber like a distant storm. "What a special, special boy you are."
Cyrus's breath caught in his throat. There was something about the way it spoke—something knowing, as if it could see into the very core of his being.
The left head, Rell, growled softly, its scarred eye narrowing as it studied Cyrus. "How did you find us, boy?" its voice rasped, low and dangerous. "No one has walked through that door in an eternity."
The right head, Lyonis, chuckled darkly, its grin widening. "Oh yes, it's been so very long since we had a visitor." Its voice was mocking, almost playful, but beneath it lay a current of something far more sinister. "And yet... here you are."
Cyrus's mind raced. He hadn't meant to find them—he hadn't even known this part of the dungeon existed. His eyes flickered to the golden gates behind the beast, massive and imposing, their intricate carvings glowing faintly with an ancient magic. Beyond the gates, there was nothing but darkness, thick and impenetrable.
"I don't know how I got here," Cyrus finally said, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest. "The door appeared in front of me. I stepped through it."
The beast's middle head, Trevril, tilted slightly, its amber eyes narrowing as if trying to decipher the truth. "Strange," it murmured, its voice softer, but no less commanding. "The door does not open for just anyone."
"Nor does it open without purpose," Rell added, its voice sharp. "We are the guardians of this place. No mortal has stumbled upon us by chance."
"Oh, but he's no ordinary mortal," Lyonis purred, its voice filled with amusement. "Look at him, Rell. He reeks of magic, of power... of something else." Its eyes gleamed as it studied Cyrus more closely. "But what brought you here, boy? What do you seek?"
Cyrus remained silent for a moment, his eyes flicking between the three heads. He didn't fully understand why he was here. His mission was to uncover the truth behind the enchantments in the dungeon, but this... this felt like something far greater than any ordinary trap or spell.
"What's behind the gates?" Cyrus asked, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the massive doors behind the beast.
Trevril let out a low, rumbling laugh, though it lacked the malice of its other heads. "The gates hold many things," it said cryptically. "Answers. Power. Darkness. But not all things are meant to be unlocked, child of lightning and fire."
"And not all things are meant for you," Rell growled, tugging at its chains as if testing their strength. "Those who seek what lies beyond the gates often lose themselves to it."
Lyonis chuckled again, its grin widening. "Yes, lose themselves entirely. But you... you're different, aren't you? There's something in you, something..." It sniffed the air as if trying to catch the scent of Cyrus's essence. "Something we haven't seen in eons."
Cyrus felt a chill run down his spine, though he forced himself to remain still. The creature's words were cryptic, but there was an undeniable truth in them. Whatever it was guarding, whatever lay beyond those gates, it was tied to something far older than he had ever imagined.
"What do you want from me?" Cyrus asked, his voice steady despite the growing tension in his chest.
Cyrus's question hung in the air, his voice steady despite the tension rising in his chest. The three-headed beast in front of him, each head massive and looming with ancient power, regarded him with an eerie stillness. Then, in unison, all three heads spoke, their voices blending together like a low, rumbling chorus that echoed through the chamber.
"Nothing... as of yet," the creature replied, its voices deep and resonant. "Not until you have proven yourself through the ranks of this academy."
The chamber seemed to tremble with their words, the shadows growing longer and darker as the power of their presence pressed against Cyrus. The heads shifted slightly, their eyes never leaving him as they continued.
"You are in the presence of the ancients, boy," the middle head, Trevril, rumbled, its amber eyes gleaming with quiet authority. "You are fortunate—no, lucky—to have found us in this secret chamber. Many wander the dungeon for centuries and never glimpse the door you passed through."
Cyrus felt his pulse quicken. This wasn't luck. Something—or someone—had led him here. The question that gnawed at him now was why.
"There are only two we allow to seek us," Rell, the scarred left head, growled. Its voice was sharp, cutting through the tension with an edge of warning.
Cyrus frowned, the weight of the moment pressing in on him. "And who may that be?" he asked, his voice calm despite the storm brewing inside him.
The three heads spoke again in perfect synchrony, their voices blending into one.
"The first is Magnus," they said, reverence lacing the name. "The second is the child of flames."
Cyrus's heart skipped a beat. The child of flames. He had heard that name whispered before, rumors and fragments of stories told by professors and students alike. But no one ever spoke openly about the child, and most dismissed it as legend—a cautionary tale.
Before he could ask another question, the beast sniffed the air, its heads tilting slightly as if catching a scent that intrigued them.
"But we haven't seen the second in quite some time," Trevril added, its deep voice resonating with a sense of loss or perhaps curiosity. "Not since... the flames consumed this place."
Rell's scarred eye narrowed as it sniffed again, its gaze fixed on Cyrus. "But you," it said, its voice quieter now, but no less menacing. "You have a familiar scent to the child of flames."
Cyrus froze, his mind racing. A familiar scent? He had never encountered this "child of flames," nor had he ever thought of himself as connected to such a figure. Yet, here was an ancient beast, powerful beyond understanding, claiming otherwise.
"Was it the same child who burned the academy?" Cyrus asked, hesitating, unsure of where his question would lead.
The middle head, Trevril, tilted slightly, as if considering the question deeply. "Hmm... could be," it replied cryptically, offering no further explanation.
Rell growled softly, the sound rumbling through the floor beneath Cyrus's feet. "We guard the gates, child of lightning and fire. Our purpose is to watch and to judge. But we do not hold all the answers you seek."
The right head, Lyonis, let out a low, mocking chuckle, its grin widening as it regarded Cyrus with amusement. "Suspicious, are we? You wish to know of shadows and secrets within this dungeon?"
Cyrus nodded, finally speaking the question that had been gnawing at him since he entered the dungeon.
"Do you know of anything suspicious that has happened within the dungeon recently?" His voice was calm, though his heart raced with anticipation.
The beast's heads were silent for a long moment, their glowing eyes flickering with ancient wisdom. Finally, the middle head spoke.
"Suspicious?" Trevril repeated, its voice filled with a mix of curiosity and caution. "There are many things in this dungeon that stir suspicion, boy. But yes..." It paused, its gaze flickering toward the golden gates behind it. "There have been dark auras, shadows within shadows that we have felt. Unnatural disturbances, but nothing we can be sure of."
Rell growled softly, its eyes narrowing. "The shadows move restlessly of late. We sense them, but we cannot see. Someone—or something—is weaving magic beyond our sight."
Lyonis's grin widened. "But you, boy... you may find what we cannot."
Cyrus's eyes narrowed. The beast's words were cryptic, but there was no mistaking the warning beneath them. Someone had been tampering with the dungeon's magic—perhaps someone connected to the rival guild, Monarch Abyss. The beast couldn't—or wouldn't—say more, but its knowledge was vast, ancient. Whatever lay behind those golden gates, it was tied to a power far beyond what Cyrus had ever encountered.
Before Cyrus could speak again, the middle head, Trevril, lowered its gaze to him, its eyes gleaming with an odd mixture of curiosity and expectation.
"You intrigue us, child of lightning and fire," Trevril said softly. "For that, we offer you this."
Without warning, a strand of pure white fur shimmered from the beast's chest. The middle head's amber eyes seemed to glow as the fur drifted toward Cyrus, floating in the air like a feather. It was thick, smooth to the touch, radiating an ancient power that sent a faint hum through his fingertips as he caught it.
"Take this," Trevril rumbled, its voice softer now, almost gentle. "If you wish to return to us, hold the fur in your hand and speak these words."
Trevril leaned forward slightly, its massive form casting a shadow over Cyrus. Its voice dropped to a whisper, and the words it spoke were ancient, their meaning lost to time, yet they resonated within Cyrus's very soul.
"Animo caelestis, ostende viam tuam."
The air around them crackled with a faint energy as the words echoed through the chamber.
"Speak that incantation," Trevril continued, "and the door will reveal itself once again."
Lyonis chuckled softly, its gaze still fixed on Cyrus. "Should you survive long enough to use it."
Rell snarled softly, baring its teeth. "And remember, boy—if you seek the truth behind the shadows, you will not always like what you find."
Cyrus stood in silence, gripping the strand of fur in his hand. The three-headed beast—this ancient guardian of the gates—had given him something, though he wasn't sure whether it was a gift or a curse. The cryptic warnings, the talk of dark auras and hidden truths... it all pointed to something far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.
But one thing was clear: the shadows of this dungeon ran deeper than anyone knew.
Without another word, the massive golden gates behind the beast began to pulse with light, the strange symbols etched into their surface glowing faintly. Cyrus took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest as the chamber began to shift around him.
"Leave now, child of lightning and fire," Trevril commanded, its voice firm. "You are not yet ready for what lies beyond."
The chamber began to swirl around him, the ancient symbols on the golden gates pulsing with an intense, otherworldly energy. Cyrus felt the familiar pull of teleportation magic once again as the world around him twisted and blurred, dragging him through the folds of time and space. His heart raced, the cryptic words of the three-headed beast still echoing in his mind. What was waiting for him? What truths would he uncover?
With a sharp jolt, the air cleared, and Cyrus found himself standing back at the entrance of the dungeon, the familiar stone walls and torchlight of Level 1 surrounding him. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. The strange encounter with the ancient beast had left him with more questions than answers, but one thing was certain—there was far more happening within the depths of the dungeon than anyone knew.
The cold air of the dungeon brushed against his skin, and for a brief moment, everything seemed normal. But then, out of the corner of his eye, something glinted faintly in the dim light. Cyrus's gaze shifted to the far corner of the room, near a pile of rocks and dust. There, partially hidden by the shadows, was a small emblem pin, barely visible against the rough stone.
Curiosity piqued, Cyrus knelt down and carefully picked up the object. The emblem was intricately designed—a black sigil in the shape of a coiled serpent with wings, its eyes glowing faintly with an unnatural light. He recognized the symbol instantly. Monarch's Abyss.
A chill ran down Cyrus's spine as he held the pin between his fingers, his mind racing. Monarch's Abyss, the rival guild of Crow's End, had sent someone to Ebonspire. There was no doubt about it now—he wasn't the only one here with a secret agenda.
"So... it's true," Cyrus whispered to himself, turning the emblem over in his hand. His pulse quickened. There was another spy within the academy, someone working for the Monarch's Abyss. And whoever it was had left their mark here in the dungeon. It was likely that they were behind the mysterious enchantments and traps he had encountered—perhaps even responsible for empowering the dungeon boss.
Cyrus's mind churned with the possibilities. The beast had spoken of dark auras within the dungeon, disturbances that even they couldn't fully understand. And now, here was proof—Monarch's Abyss had infiltrated the academy, and they were after the same artifact as Crow's End.
He slipped the emblem into the inside pocket of his cloak, hiding it from view. There was no telling who might be watching, and he couldn't afford to reveal that he had found it—not yet. This information was dangerous, and he needed to play his cards carefully.
"Another spy," he thought, his mind turning to the students and professors he had encountered. Could one of them be the agent of Monarch's Abyss? He scanned through the faces in his memory—Magnus, the professors, Siera, Layla, Thalon, even Eltric and his cronies. Any one of them could be hiding a darker truth.
But whoever it was, they had left this emblem behind, and that was their first mistake.
But now, standing at the entrance to the dungeon, his thoughts were elsewhere. Monarch's Abyss was here, and their presence sent a chill through him—not because they were any more evil than Crow's End, but because they were the kind of enemy that would burn the world just to seize power. They wanted the same thing Crow's End did. They both wanted the artifact, but for Cyrus, it was a matter of survival.
Crow's End wasn't noble. They were shadowy, ruthless, willing to break every rule of morality to obtain what they wanted. But they had trained him, and for now, he needed them. He had to stay in the shadows long enough to find the artifact before Monarch's Abyss could use it to twist the balance of power even further in their favor.
The artifact was dangerous in any hands—perhaps even his own—but for now, it was his mission. And he had no choice but to follow through. Both Crow's End and Monarch's Abyss wanted it, but neither for any noble purpose. He was simply caught in the middle, playing a game he couldn't afford to lose.
Cyrus's hand clenched tighter around the soft fur. He might be Crow's End's tool for now, but the deeper he went into this mission, the more he wondered how long he could remain a pawn. He had to find the artifact—before anyone else did. If he didn't, everything could collapse.
He turned to leave the dungeon, his footsteps silent as he moved through the shadows. As he exited into the cold night air of the academy grounds, Cyrus's mind was already forming plans. His mission had grown more complicated, but one thing was certain—he had to find the other spy before they uncovered more than they were meant to.
The darkness of the night surrounded him, and though the stars twinkled faintly above, Cyrus felt the weight of the shadows more heavily than ever. The game had begun, and the stakes were higher than he had ever imagined.