Lorian's eyes flickered open, greeted by the oppressive blackness around him. His head pulsed with pain, and his body felt like a battlefield. Stiff and battered, panic surged through him as he struggled to sit up. The ground beneath him wasn't solid—more like shifting, alive, and treacherous. He coughed, the air dry and acrid, and winced at the sharp ache in his ribs.
The dungeon's sounds crept into his senses—water dripping, distant growls, and the unnerving skitter of something just out of sight. His vision was blurry, but gradually it sharpened. His heart raced as he scanned the dim surroundings, barely lit by the glow of moss clinging to the stone walls.
Where was he? What had happened?
The last thing he remembered was the violent crash of the dungeon walls. Then—darkness. The vortex had swallowed him whole, and now, here he was—alone.
He pulled himself upright, legs shaking with every movement. The cavern before him stretched endlessly, an eerie silence pervading the air. There was no sign of his village or anyone from his life before the dungeon had torn it apart. His mind raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. His powers were weak—his telekinesis, once a source of strength, now felt like a distant whisper. He focused, reaching out with his mind, but exhaustion drowned his efforts.
"Focus," Lorian muttered under his breath.
A shaky step forward. His foot crunched against the rough, jagged floor. Each movement felt uncertain. Every sound sent a jolt of unease through him. The dungeon was alive, its presence unsettling, oppressive. He could hear distant, echoing screeches—the creatures of the dungeon, waiting.
Food. Water.
The thought made his stomach growl painfully. How had everything unraveled so quickly?
Then, he heard it—a rustling behind him. His heart leaped into his throat. He spun, instinctively preparing for battle. But what he saw wasn't a monster or some dungeon-born nightmare.
A man.
The stranger was watching him, his eyes narrowed in scrutiny. He wore worn armor, dented and scratched from many battles. A sword hung loosely at his side, its blade well-worn and battered.
"You're alive," the man grunted, breaking the silence.
Lorian tensed, every muscle coiled in anticipation. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice rough.
"Darian," the man answered curtly. "And you're in our way."
Before Lorian could press further, Darian waved a hand toward the shadows. Two more figures emerged—Seris, a tall woman with steely eyes, and Joren, a younger man with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. His armor was less damaged than the others.
"We don't trust outsiders," Darian continued, his voice low, "but if you're going to survive in this hellhole, you need to know the rules."
Lorian's mind raced. These people—were they also trapped here?
"Survive," Seris said flatly, her tone leaving no room for doubt. "You either work with us, or you die alone."
Lorian looked between them, weighing his options. His instincts screamed caution, but survival was his only chance.
"I'll work with you," he said, forcing the words past clenched teeth.
Meanwhile outside the dungeon...
Selene stood at the edge of the wrecked village, her heart heavy as she gazed out at the devastation. The once-thriving settlement now lay in ruins. Homes smoldered, some still burning, while the ground was littered with debris, the remnants of a life now lost.
Her chest tightened with grief. She had failed them. She should've known better, should've done more to protect them. But now, only a handful of survivors remained.
She took a slow, steadying breath and squared her shoulders. She couldn't afford to break down—not yet. Not now.
"Move out!" she barked, her voice raw with emotion. "We need shelter before nightfall."
There were barely a dozen survivors—mothers clutching children, the elderly, a few strong men who had been too injured to fight. The group moved sluggishly, exhaustion hanging over them, but Selene led them with an unwavering resolve.
Her eyes scanned the group, her thoughts consumed by one person. Where was Lorian? She couldn't shake the image of him being swallowed by the dungeon's vortex. Was he alive? Was he still out there?
"Leader," a voice interrupted her thoughts.
She turned to see a cloaked figure approaching. The man's face was obscured by a hood, but his presence—there was something about it that seemed almost... otherworldly. The air seemed to hum around him.
"You need to come with me," he said, his voice low but firm. "I know what you seek."
Selene's hand instinctively went to her blade, her eyes narrowing. "Who are you?"
"The Traveler," the man replied, a faint, cryptic smile on his lips. "I know the truth of what has happened. And I know what is coming."