CHAPTER 21: DUNGEONS [2]

[Tharion Core — The Aether Forge.]

His hand traced the southern reaches of the map.

"A realm where magic and steel merged into one. The magitech empire that created it forged war golems, mana-powered engines, and weapons that sustained themselves without care. Our airships, our city lights—many of these come from scraps recovered from its ruins. But the machines inside still function. They learn, they adapt... and they will match you blow for blow."

[Xytherra — The Blooming Abyss.]

He jabbed a sigil hidden deep within the jungles.

"A civilization in harmony with nature itself. Their mastery of life magic could heal any disease, grow food in barren lands, even grant animals human-like intellect. The upper floors still hold plants and medicines worth entire fortunes. But the gardens have grown wild—vines that choke steel, flowers that dissolve flesh, beasts that stalk you with human cunning."

[Orivian Gate — The Astral Vault.]

His finger landed on a far western island, surrounded by waves etched into the stone.

"A place where constellations burn in the ceilings and time fractures at your feet. The people here sailed the stars, forged weapons from comet iron, and charted time like a river. The few who have returned from its halls... often come back changed. Days older. Years younger. Or with eyes that see things they were never meant to."

[Vorrath — The Crimson Citadel.]

His voice sharpened.

"A fortress where battle never ends. Its warriors bound magic into their very blood, wielding weapons that could slaughter armies single-handedly. Even the upper floors grant blades and armor far beyond our smiths’ skill. But to descend deeper, you must fight without rest — against champions who never lost in life and will not yield in death."

[Thalmyris — The Undersea Throne.]

His hand moved to the southern oceans.

"A palace beneath the crushing depths, linked by glass tunnels and coral gates. The ocean folk once ruled the waves from here, commanding storms and tides alike. Treasures from its upper levels have made navies untouchable. But the deeper you go, the more the sea itself presses in... and the more you’ll face creatures that belong only in the black abyss."

He stepped back from the great map stretched across the wall, the flickering torchlight casting jagged shadows over its worn surface. His armored finger traced the scattered symbols etched across it — each one marking a dungeon.

"These dungeons," his voice carried through the training hall like the slow toll of a bell, "are not simply ruins. They are entire civilizations... frozen in time, guarded by monsters that grow deadlier with each step downward. Every floor conquered changes the world — a new weapon, a new spell, a new wonder. And yet..."

He let the words hang, his gaze sweeping the young faces before him.

"No one has ever reached the bottom of any dungeon. Not one. Even our greatest kings, archmages, and champions have vanished within their depths."

He turned sharply, gauntleted hand tapping a single mark far to the north — an ominous sigil engraved in crimson ink.

"Tomorrow, you will enter Erevalis

, the Dungeon of Runes."

The name alone seemed to chill the air.

"Erevalis is not like the others," he continued. "Its stone halls were carved by hands that wielded not mere tools, but magic older than the oldest spell we know. Runes cover its walls, floors, even the ceilings — shifting, glowing, whispering to those who pass. The upper floors yield fragments of this magic, etched into ancient weapons or inscribed upon forgotten tomes. Even a single shard of a rune-stone from Erevalis has pushed our craft and engineering forward by centuries. And that..." His eyes narrowed. "...is just the beginning."

The students leaned in, rapt.

"But make no mistake," his tone hardened, "these dungeons are not empty relics. They are alive. Infested with monsters — and Erevalis has its own breed. On the first few floors, you will meet the common vermin of dungeon-kind: goblins lurking in the shadows, kobolds building crude traps, giant rats feasting in the dark. These are no less dangerous to the careless. Underestimate them, and you will join the bones littering the halls."

He began to pace, the heavy thunk of his boots echoing in the silence.

"Deeper in, the dungeon changes. The runes begin to awaken. Stone statues you thought were harmless will open their eyes — golems, powered by ancient sigils, some forged of pure granite, others of bronze and steel, their blows enough to crush a man in a single strike. Elemental guardians whose very bodies are bound by rune-magic — fire-smoldering constructs, frostbound sentinels, storm-charged titans. They do not tire. They do not fear. They obey only the ancient wards buried deep within the stone."

He stopped before a rack of old weapons, some bent, others charred.

"Traps will be as deadly as the monsters. On the early floors, expect the usual snares — pits concealed by rotting boards, tripwires for crude spears, collapsing ceilings. But once the runes come into play, the very air will turn against you. Step on the wrong sigil, and a fireburst will scorch you where you stand. Touch the wrong wall, and you may find yourself locked in a chamber filling slowly with water... or poison. There are runic illusions — entire corridors that do not truly exist — meant to lure you into dead ends where something waits. Remember this: Erevalis was not built to be explored. It was built to be defended."

He let the tension settle before adding:

"There is one mercy. Every five floors, you will find a teleportation gate — a checkpoint, if you will. It will carry you back to the surface, and when you return, it will deliver you to the exact point you left. This is why Erevalis has been mapped deeper than most. Adventurers can push forward, retreat, regroup, and try again. But even with this advantage, no one has reached past the seventieth floor. What lies beyond... remains unknown."

His voice dropped to a grim whisper.

"We believe something — or someone — waits at the end. A higher power guarding the dungeon’s heart. Perhaps the ruler of the ancient civilization that built it, preserved by magic beyond our understanding. Or perhaps something else entirely... something the ancients themselves could not control."

He stepped forward, boots ringing against the stone, the torchlight glinting off his armor.

"Many have tried. Thousands have fallen. Kings, champions, archmages — their bones lie in those depths. Tomorrow, you begin your first descent. You will fight. You will bleed. And if you are lucky, you will come back alive... with something worth the risk."

The hall was utterly silent.

He rested both hands on the table before him.

"Rest well tonight," he said at last. "In the dungeon... hesitation kills faster than any blade."