It did not matter who you are. A noble's blood, a scholar's wisdom, a merchant's wealth—none of it meant a damn thing inside the dungeons.
Once you stepped beyond those entrances, past the threshold where light faded and the unknown swallowed all, there was only one truth that mattered.
The strong ruled. The weak perished.
It did not matter if you were a prince or a beggar, a decorated warrior or a nameless fool. The dungeon did not care. It did not discriminate. It only tested, again and again, until your bones lay among the countless others who had thought themselves worthy.
For most, dungeon diving was not a choice—it was survival. In this city of towering walls and endless ambition, men and women bled for the chance to carve their names into history. They fought for coin, for glory, for the slim chance of rising above their station. They fought because, in Dragnir, power was the only thing that truly mattered.
Some dove for wealth, their eyes glimmering with the promise of fortune buried in the depths. Others sought fame, desperate for their names to be whispered in awe, their deeds recorded in legend. And then there were those who fought for power—not for riches, not for glory, but for strength itself.
Because in the end, power was the only thing that meant anything.
And so, they fought. Again and again, against monsters that never died, in dungeons that never emptied. They struggled, they endured, they bled, and still, the dungeons called for more.
For some, the call was a curse. For others, a promise.
But no matter the reason, no matter their fate—once they stepped inside, they belonged to the dungeon.
And the dungeons… never let go. Right Dungeons, because it's not only one but Three of them with different kinds of hell to offer, will you dive?
The origins of the dungeons were as mysterious as their nature. One day, three colossal structures simply appeared out of nowhere, defying logic and understanding. When explorers ventured inside, they discovered an entirely new world—untouched lands brimming with unknown minerals, exotic edible plants, and, most importantly, a gem imbued with an unfathomable energy source. This discovery shook the world. Empires and kingdoms, driven by greed and ambition, clashed in an all-consuming war that raged for over a century.
But the allure of the dungeons was not without peril. These vast, otherworldly domains were home to creatures unlike any found in the natural world. Monstrous beings of all shapes and sizes roamed the endless halls and open landscapes within, thriving in the darkness, their presence an ever-looming threat. What was truly terrifying, however, was their immortality. No matter how many times they were slain, they would always return, resurrected by the very dungeons themselves. It was as if the dungeons refused to be conquered, their depths forever guarded by an unceasing tide of creatures.
Despite this danger, humans persisted, seeking fortune, power, and knowledge.
Then, the war changed.
A single man emerged from one of the dungeons, wielding power beyond comprehension. He declared the establishment of an independent city-state that would claim dominion over the dungeons and their surrounding lands. The rulers of some kingdoms, blinded by arrogance, attempted to strike him down—only to be crushed by his overwhelming might. Alone, he vanquished entire armies, a feat that cemented his legend.
Then, instead of conquest, he made an offer.
Those willing to lay down their weapons would be granted the knowledge of how to obtain power. And thus, over 500 years ago, the city of Dragnir was born, standing as a beacon for those seeking strength and fortune within the depths of the dungeons.
The soft glow of afternoon light filtered through the towering arched windows of Dragnir's public library, casting golden streaks upon the aged wooden floor. The scent of old parchment, ink, and dust lingered in the air, a familiar fragrance Kael had grown accustomed to in his time as a part-time librarian.
Seated on a long wooden bench at a table that matched its length, Kael—a fifteen-year-old with unruly red hair and piercing crimson eyes—idly flipped through the thick, timeworn pages of a book detailing the history of Dragnir's three dungeons. His fingers traced the rough texture of the paper as his eyes skimmed over the words, his brows occasionally furrowing at the absurdity of it all.
Kael exhaled slowly, shutting the book with a quiet thud. He leaned back against the chair, stretching his arms before running a hand through his wild red hair.
"The dungeons just showed up one day, and everyone lost their minds… But why? Why here, of all places? Did the gods really have nothing better to do? Were they just that bored?"
He frowned at the thought but quickly dismissed it with a sigh. Whatever the reason, the dungeons existed, and that was that.
Shaking off his musings, he stood up and carefully stacked the books, ensuring they were neatly arranged before pushing them across the table. The library was unusually quiet at this hour, with most visitors having already left. As he made his way through the towering bookshelves, the creaking of the wooden floor beneath his boots echoed softly, blending with the distant rustling of pages.
Reaching the head librarian's office, Kael rapped his knuckles against the aged wooden door before pushing it open.
Inside, Mesha, the head librarian, sat hunched over a desk cluttered with scrolls and ink-stained parchment. The elderly woman, well into her sixties, had graying hair neatly tied into a low bun and sharp eyes that seemed to pierce through even the thickest books. She didn't look up immediately, finishing the last line of whatever she was writing before finally acknowledging him.
Kael leaned against the doorframe, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Hey, Mesha, I'll be heading out now. I'll see you again tomorrow, okay?"
Mesha glanced at him over her spectacles, lips pressing into a thin line. "Go on, brat, it's your last day tomorrow anyway." she muttered, waving a wrinkled hand dismissively. Then, in a slightly softer tone, she added, "And be careful outside."
Kael chuckled, pushing off the doorframe. "You sound like my mother."
"Your mother has a smarter son than you," she shot back without missing a beat.
With another chuckle, Kael turned and made his way toward the front desk, where Victor, the vice head librarian, was seated. Unlike Mesha, Victor was a bit more relaxed in demeanor. An older man in his sixties, with a grizzled beard and tired but kind eyes, he spent most of his time buried in books. Even now, he was absorbed in reading, barely glancing up as Kael approached.
"Victor, I'm heading home," Kael called out.
Victor turned a page in his book before looking up. "Did you finish the books I told you to read?" His voice was gruff but carried a hint of amusement.
Kael smirked. "Yeah. They were a headache, but pretty fun."
Victor let out a short laugh and waved him off. "Good. Now get lost."
With a lazy wave of his own, Kael strode toward the massive wooden doors of the library. As he stepped outside, the warm hues of the setting sun bathed the city in a golden glow. The streets of Dragnir bustled with life, but for Kael, the day was finally winding down.
As Kael stepped out of the library, the lively hum of the city greeted him. The streets of Dragnir were bustling, filled with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, the chatter of pedestrians, and the distant clanging of a blacksmith's hammer striking metal. The scent of fresh bread, roasted meat, and exotic spices drifted through the air, mixing with the occasional whiff of damp stone and the musty aroma of parchment still lingering on Kael's clothes.
He made his way toward the market district, the maze-like design of the city never failing to amaze him. Unlike the rigid, straight roads of most settlements, Dragnir's streets twisted and turned unpredictably, with narrow alleyways opening into grand plazas and sudden dead ends forcing detours. The layout was a chaotic blend of practicality and whimsy, designed more by time and necessity than by careful planning.
The city itself was vast, practically a nation of its own within its towering walls. At its heart lay the city center, where the three colossal dungeons loomed over everything like silent guardians. Around them stood the Dungeon Diver Guild, the governing body overseeing dungeon exploration, and numerous Diver Guilds, each vying for dominance in the dangerous profession of dungeon diving.
Beyond the center, the city was divided into six districts, each serving a unique function. Royal Road, the grand avenue leading directly to the Castle of Dragnir, was lined with statues, banners, and high-end establishments catering to nobility and high-ranking divers. The Academy District housed institutions dedicated to training future dungeon divers, scholars, and strategists. Nobles' Gallery was an extravagant quarter reserved for the elite, its opulent mansions boasting private guards and lavish gardens. The Higher Housing district accommodated wealthy merchants and successful divers, while the Lower Housing district was home to commoners, laborers, and those struggling to make ends meet.
Kael, however, was most familiar with the Market District, a vibrant and ever-chaotic sprawl of vendors, shops, and street stalls. The aroma of sizzling skewers and sweet pastries filled the air as traders from all walks of life bartered and negotiated, their voices merging into a constant background murmur. Colorful fabrics draped from wooden stalls, shimmering under the golden afternoon light, while glistening gemstones and enchanted trinkets sparkled on display.
His crimson eyes scanned the stalls until he spotted one selling sweets—a modest wooden cart manned by a plump woman with a warm smile.
"Ah, young Kael! Looking for something sweet today?" she called out, recognizing him.
Kael smirked, slipping a hand into his pocket. "You already know the answer, ma'am. The usual."
The woman chuckled and handed him a small pouch filled with candied nuts and honey-drizzled pastries. As he handed over a few coins, he popped a piece into his mouth, the burst of sugary warmth melting on his tongue.
With his purchase secured, he continued his walk, weaving through the market's winding paths. The lively district soon gave way to a quieter part of the city, where the buildings thinned and the air felt fresher. This was the Outskirts, the last stretch before reaching the villages beyond the city walls.
The towering stone walls of Dragnir loomed ahead, their sheer size a testament to the city's strength. Guards patrolled the gates, their armor glinting under the fading sunlight. Beyond them, the open land stretched far and wide, where small villages nestled in rolling fields and scattered woodlands. Unlike the bustling heart of Dragnir, the outskirts held a slower, more peaceful rhythm—one that, in a way, felt almost foreign to Kael.
Taking another bite of his pastry, he exhaled softly, watching the sun dip lower into the horizon. Soon, the day would end, and tomorrow… tomorrow, his path to the dungeons will open.