The air was crisp with the scent of pine and damp earth—the kind of morning that begged for quiet. Lorian adjusted his grip on his bow as he crouched behind a thicket, his sharp green eyes tracking the buck grazing a few meters ahead. He exhaled slowly, steadying his breathing as he notched an arrow.
It wasn't just skill that made him the best hunter in the village—it was his magic. Concentrating, he felt the familiar tug in his mind as his magic latched onto the arrow. A faint shimmer surrounded it as he adjusted its trajectory mid-flight, guiding it to its mark. The arrow struck true, piercing the buck's heart.
Lorian emerged from the underbrush, his lean frame moving with practiced ease. He slung the buck over his shoulders, the weight familiar, and began the trek back to the village.
The forest was alive with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. Hunting had always been one of the few things that gave Lorian a sense of purpose. Out here, in the stillness of the woods, he was in control. The bow in his hand, combined with the subtle nudge of his magic, ensured that every arrow loosed found its mark.
As he emerged from the tree line, the village of Rynvale came into view. Nestled in a shallow valley, its stone cottages and winding paths were bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys, and the distant hum of activity drifted through the air.
Lorian adjusted the weight of the buck on his shoulders and started down the dirt path, the familiar ache of longing settling in his chest. The world had changed so much in the past few years. Ever since the dungeons appeared—massive, otherworldly gateways that brought both opportunity and danger—chaos had become a way of life.
For Lorian, the chaos had offered a glimmer of hope. For an orphan with no family or place to belong, the idea of becoming an adventurer—a hero battling monsters and claiming treasures—had been intoxicating. But reality had a way of tempering dreams. His magic, the ability to move small objects with his mind, was too weak to stand out. Instead, he had resigned himself to a quieter life, hunting to support the village while others chased glory.
Lorian's eyes swept over the horizon, taking in the rolling fields of wheat and the distant mountain range that loomed like a sleeping giant. Everything had changed. Magic was no longer something from stories; it was real, and it had touched every life.
Approaching the village gates, Lorian spotted a familiar group waiting.
The first to notice him was Selene. Her silver-blue eyes glimmered as they locked onto his figure through the twilight. A faint smile tugged at her lips, one that spoke of quiet confidence and unspoken knowledge. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back, moving like liquid silk in the breeze.
"Late as always, Lorian," she teased, her voice light, though her concern was clear. "Still hunting for food?"
Lorian gave a small, lopsided grin. "Someone has to bring it home."
Behind her stood Alex and Aiden, the inseparable twins. Alex, broad-shouldered and battle-hardened, greeted him with a hearty slap on the back. "Look at that thing!" he said, gesturing to the buck. "A hunter like you should be proud. But there's more to life than this, you know."
Aiden, the quieter of the two, stood slightly apart, his piercing gaze unreadable as always. "It's not about strength," he said softly. "It's about heart. You don't need magic to be great."
Selene stepped closer, her smile softening. "Lorian, you're more than just a hunter. You could join us. We could use someone like you. You don't need magic to become an adventurer. It's skill and heart that count."
"Join us," Alex added. "You belong with us. You don't have to do this alone."
Lorian hesitated, his heart heavy. They believed in him, and maybe that was the most terrifying part. The idea that he could be more than just another face in this fractured world.
"I'll think about it," he said finally, his voice steady despite the storm of thoughts inside him.
As they walked toward the village square, the conversation shifted. Emric regaled them with tales of their latest dungeon raid, his youthful energy infectious. Lorian listened, but his thoughts kept drifting to Selene—her laughter, her unwavering confidence.
They were nearing the square when the air changed.
The warmth of the evening vanished, replaced by a bone-chilling cold. The light dimmed, though the sun had yet to set, and a low, unnatural hum vibrated through the ground.
"Do you feel that?" Mira asked, her hand already on the hilt of her dagger.
Everyone stopped. The villagers, too, began to notice, their chatter fading as they turned toward the center of the square.
The ground trembled beneath their feet, and then it happened.
A point of light appeared, hovering a few feet above the cobblestones. Small at first, no larger than a coin, it pulsed with an intensity that made Lorian's skin crawl. The light expanded, stretching and twisting, until it formed a massive door, twenty feet tall and ten feet wide.
The door was black as obsidian, etched with intricate runes that glowed faintly. The frame seemed to ripple as though it were alive, and a cold wind seeped from its edges, carrying the faint scent of decay.
"What is that?" Emric whispered.
Selene stepped forward, her expression guarded. "It's a dungeon… but I've never seen one like this."
The villagers began to panic, some fleeing toward their homes, others gathering in frightened clusters. The hum was now a deafening roar.
Lorian couldn't look away. The door seemed to pull at him, its runes pulsing in time with his heartbeat. Fear and curiosity warred within him, but one thing was clear—this wasn't just the appearance of a dungeon.
It was the beginning of something far worse...