A Bed Of Dust and Dreams

The creak of old wood greeted Renn as he pushed open the door to the small, dimly-lit room at the inn. The scent of dust, old linens, and something vaguely herbal filled the air.

It wasn’t much.

A narrow bed with a sagging mattress, a cracked basin in the corner, and a stool that looked like it might snap under his weight. But it was cheap. And it was enough.

He shut the door behind him, dropped his small satchel onto the stool, and collapsed onto the bed face first.

The bedsprings groaned under him.

“…What a joke,” he muttered into the pillow.

The ceiling above him was stained with time, and the window let in the dim orange of the setting sun. He’d spent the entire day walking the town. From taverns to weapon shops, from training fields to alleyways where rogue-types gathered.

And every time he asked someone to join him in forming a party…

Every time they heard “Three Dice rank,” they either laughed, ignored him, or gave the same dismissive wave like he was some annoying fly buzzing near their mug of ale.

“Go play with goblins, rookie.”

“Come back when you’ve got scars.”

“You won’t last five minutes in the abyss.”

The words echoed over and over in his head.

He rolled to his side with a groan and reached for the bundle wrapped in cloth next to his bag. He unwrapped it carefully—almost reverently.

Inside was his sword.

It wasn’t impressive. The leather on the grip was cracked and worn, and the blade had more nicks than it should. He’d sharpened and cleaned it countless times, and still it looked like something you’d find in a pawn shop bin.

But it was his.

He ran his fingers down the blade, feeling every imperfection.

“…You’ve been with me from the start, huh?” he said quietly.

His thoughts drifted. A memory bubbled up—faint and warm.

A man laughing as he lifted a child up with one hand, swinging a blade with the other. A tall figure in faded armor, eyes sharp but kind.

His father.

The same man who vanished on an expedition into the depths of an unknown dungeon. Never found. Never returned.

Renn tightened his grip on the sword.

I promised I’d follow your footsteps, didn’t I? That I’d become an adventurer like you…

“I’m not giving up.” His voice was hoarse but steady. “Not yet.”

He lay back down, sword resting on his chest like a weight and a shield. The ache in his limbs pulsed dully, but it didn’t matter.

Even if the world laughed at him.

Even if the gates of the abyss slammed shut in his face.

He was still here.

And tomorrow was another day.

---

The plaza buzzed with activity again, though the faces remained the same. Grim veterans, mercenaries in their late thirties, armor-clad rogues leaning against posts, and aloof mages flipping their hoods up as they disappeared down alleys. It was another bright day—but Renn felt like he was walking through shadow.

He had spent hours asking again.

And again.

And again.

No one would take him.

*“We don’t need dead weight.”*

*“Come back when you stop smelling like rookie.”*

*“Three dice? Try three steps away from dying.”*

He gritted his teeth.

He wasn’t trying to *lead* the expedition. He wasn’t asking for a cut. He just… wanted in.

And so finally, with his pride in shreds and desperation boiling over, he grabbed the sleeve of a man in leather armor and snapped, “Please! I’ll do anything! I’ll carry your bags, your gear, even your boots! Just let me come with you—just once!”

The man looked down, clearly annoyed. “What the—get off.”

“I mean it!” Renn held firm. “You don’t even have to share the loot. I’ll stay out of the way!”

The adventurer sneered and shoved him hard. “I said—back off!”

Renn stumbled backwards, nearly falling.

But he didn’t hit the ground.

Something caught him.

No—*someone* caught him.

It was like being caught by a wall.

Renn blinked in confusion and twisted to look. Behind him stood a figure clad in battered, battle-worn steel. Not flashy. Not decorative. It was the kind of armor that had *seen things.* Dents. Burn marks. Cuts that had been hastily repaired and reforged.

His eyes traveled up. The figure was massive—towering.

And behind the helmet’s black visor, Renn saw nothing. No expression. No eyes. But something about the way that helmet turned toward him sent shivers through his spine.

Heat seemed to radiate off the man’s armor.

Renn paled. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to cause any trouble—!”

He took a step back, trying to scurry away in embarrassment and fear, when a deep voice rumbled through the air.

“…Are you looking for companions to enter the dungeon?”

Renn froze.

“What?”

The armored man tilted his head slightly. “You seek to enter the abyss, don’t you?”

“…Y-Yeah,” Renn nodded slowly.

The man took a single step forward, and even that small motion was like thunder. He turned slightly to glance toward the dungeon gates in the distance. Then, back to Renn.

“Then shall we go together?”

Renn stared at him, utterly dumbfounded.

“…H-Huh?!”