The dungeon was breathing.
Airi could feel it—not as a sound, but as a pressure in her skull, a slow, steady pulse that pressed into her bones. It lurked in the cold stone walls, in the damp air that curled around her throat. It wasn't just the suffocating stillness or the stench of decay that made her skin crawl.
Something alive was watching.
No. Not watching.
Waiting.
A shiver ran down her spine. She inhaled through her nose, forcing steel into her voice. "I am Airi Valeria Nachtal. Princess of the Northern Kingdom."
The words should have carried weight, but here—in the belly of this forsaken place—they felt small. Empty. A declaration whispered into a void too vast to hear it.
From beside her, Shiro let out a low chuckle.
His grin split his face like a wound, sharp and amused. "A princess, huh?" His eyes flickered—something dark lurking beneath the teasing lilt of his voice. "That's cute."
Airi stiffened.
He tilted his head, studying her for a moment before offering a careless shrug. "I'm just Shiro."
Just Shiro.
No family name. No title.
Airi hesitated. He didn't offer more, and somehow, that absence spoke louder than any grand introduction.
And then—
Stalin.
She turned toward him instinctively, but the moment her gaze landed on him, an awful stillness filled her chest.
He wasn't standing like a person.
He was simply there.
Unmoving. Watching.
Like something waiting for instructions.
The air thickened around them. Airi forced herself to swallow, her mouth dry.
And then he spoke.
"Stalin Arkhangelsky."
The words sent a ripple through the dungeon.
Airi's breath caught.
For a fraction of a second—his voice wasn't his.
Something else lurked beneath the syllables, something vast and ancient, something cold and hungry. It slithered between the words, hollow and endless, pressing against the edges of reality like a whisper from the dark.
Then—
The monsters came.
They did not crawl from the shadows. They did not rise from the floor.
They simply existed.
One moment, the hallway was empty.
The next—
It wasn't.
Airi's stomach lurched.
The creatures were wrong.
Not just monstrous. Not just malformed.
Wrong.
Their flesh was unfinished, stretched too thin over twisted, jutting bones. Their arms were too long, their spines curved at impossible angles. Their mouths gaped open—too wide—lined with jagged, shifting teeth that never seemed to stay in the same place.
And their eyes—
Empty. White. Fixed on her.
They lunged.
Shiro laughed.
His katana flashed, silver slicing through the dark, clean and precise. A single stroke—one head severed. Another cut—blood sprayed the walls in thick, black rivulets.
Airi barely saw him.
Because Stalin wasn't moving.
He was watching.
And then—
He raised his hand.
Like a gun.
The moment his fingers shifted—the first monster collapsed in on itself.
Not a wound. Not an explosion.
Decay.
Its chest caved inward, flesh shriveling into blackened dust. A strangled wheeze—half a scream—gargled from its throat before its body followed.
Another lunged—
Stalin flicked his fingers.
Crack.
Its abdomen imploded, flesh rotting in seconds, bones crumbling into powder. The thing twitched, gasping soundlessly as its entire body withered from existence.
Gone.
Airi couldn't breathe.
This wasn't magic. This wasn't human.
A rush of nausea swirled in her stomach.
She didn't even have time to process it before Stalin lowered his hand.
Then—
The whispers began.
The dungeon melted.
No. Not melted.
Shifted.
No longer stone. No longer a prison.
Home.
Golden halls. The scent of winter roses.
Airi's heartbeat thundered.
"I—I'm home?"
"Airi."
Her mother's voice.
She spun around—too fast—
And froze.
Her family hung from the ceiling.
Their flesh peeled open. Their hollowed-out eyes locked onto hers. Their mouths twisted wide—
And then—
They spoke.
With her voice.
"You did this, Airi."
Her legs gave out.
"No—no, no—" She choked on the words, hands clutched at her chest. It wasn't real. It wasn't real.
And yet—
The warmth of her mother's voice. The familiar scent. The soft flicker of candlelight against polished walls.
A sob tore from her throat.
She was breaking.
Shiro's voice cut through the nightmare, bright with amusement. "Ohhh, there it is. Finally broke."
"Took longer than I thought." He sheathed his bloodstained katana.
"Let her fall."
Stalin's voice was quiet. Absolute.
And she did.
---
She woke to silence.
No—breathing.
Not hers.
Slow. Methodical. Right beside her ear.
Her eyes darted up.
Stalin.
Crouched beside her. Watching.
Not curious. Not concerned.
Just—watching.
Airi's entire body trembled.
"You're not real," she whispered.
Stalin blinked.
"Neither are you."
The words scraped against the inside of her skull.
Her vision swayed. Something inside her was breaking—something vital.
Then—
Warmth.
Airi inhaled sharply.
His hand glowed green.
The warmth spread—through her veins, through her bones, through her mind. Like golden sunlight sinking into her skin.
The fear. The panic. The grief.
It melted.
Her shaking stopped.
The unbearable weight in her chest lifted.
Like nothing had ever happened.
Airi gasped. What—what was this?
She looked up at Stalin.
He wasn't watching her anymore.
He was already standing.
"Move," he said.
And the nightmare ended.
---
The Empty Hallway
It was like stepping into another world.
The dungeon, the horrors, the warping reality—gone.
Now, there was only silence.
The walls stretched endlessly, untouched by decay, smooth and lifeless. The air held no scent. No sound. No movement.
And at the end of the hallway—
The ancient lamp.
Black metal. Symbols too intricate to be human.
Airi couldn't tell if it had been built or if it had simply always existed.
For the first time, Stalin moved with purpose.
He approached the lamp. Raised his hand.
No words. No hesitation.
Just will.
Flames ignited.
A deep, unnatural blue fire roared to life, flickering in the endless silence.
The walls shuddered.
Airi stepped back, her pulse still unsteady. "What… what did you just do?"
Stalin lowered his hand.
He watched the flames.
"Unlocked the next door."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
Airi felt it again.
The weight. The presence.
Something was watching.