Dungeon

Cayti

By the time we return to the guild, the sun is already slipping behind the rooftops. Evening light stretches long shadows across the cobbles, yet the guild hall bustles with the same energy it had at midday.

We head straight to the counter, where Zandra greets us with a raised brow.
“Did you pull out? Did something go wrong?”

I glance at Jesse. He glances back, that infuriatingly smug little smile tugging at his lips. Zandra looks thoroughly lost. Then Jesse reaches into his pocket and produces the signed parchment, sliding it onto the counter.
“Nope. We completed the quest.”

Her expression is priceless. For a second she just blinks at the parchment like it might vanish if she touches it. I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling. Slowly, as if in a daze, she sets it down, fishes a stamp from her pocket, presses it, and slips the sheet through a slot in the wall behind her. When she turns back, her composure is mostly restored.

“Okay. Your reward will be here in a moment. I’ll fetch it.”

She disappears into the back room. I smile at Jesse. He smiles at me. Without thinking, I let my fingers drift toward his, brushing against them, searching. His hand finds mine immediately, warm and certain, and he squeezes. We stand close enough that our arms touch.

When Zandra reappears, we let go - barely in time. She hands Jesse a small pouch.
“Here you go. Eighty silver coins. I’d offer you a bonus for how quickly you managed it, but… this quest didn’t have one.”

“That’s fine,” Jesse says easily. “See you tomorrow.”

“Y-yeah…” Zandra stammers, still trying to puzzle him out.

Outside, Tyur’ma waits patiently. We climb in, and the little engine hum carries us a short way down the street to the Flying Pig. The machine ticks softly as it cools, and we push through the inn’s door into a warm tide of voices. The common room is busy tonight, full of adventurers and locals sharing ale and stories.

Chelo notices us instantly.
“Welcome back! Table for two?”

We nod, and she gestures toward a raised circular table tucked against the wall. It’s cozy - secluded enough to feel private without being out of sight. Jesse and I slip into our seats opposite one another.

Hitomi comes by with menus, and we pick quickly. Chelo herself takes our order, then drifts away. I can’t help grinning at Jesse across the table. He grins right back.

“So,” he says, leaning forward. “Tomorrow. Want to take on that dungeon quest?”

“Sure, why not? How do you want to approach it?”

He tilts his head. “I don’t know. How do these usually run?”

Right. I forgot - this world isn’t his. I explain.
“We’ll get assigned to a party, then head down together. The guild usually sends people to do one of three things - kill monsters, scout new tunnels, or map ore veins. Subjugation missions are by far the most common.”

He nods. “Got it. Then we’ll take the machine gun and the ammo box. If it runs low, you can refill it. And if we really get in trouble…” He gives me a knowing look.

Heat rushes into my cheeks as I remember the water fight yesterday. “Right,” I mumble with a grin.

Our food arrives then, carried by Chelo herself. We thank her, and the first bite reminds me why she’s famous for this place.

Halfway through, though, a table of rowdy adventurers erupts. One of them lurches to his feet, shouting obscenities at his companions. The room goes silent, tension prickling like static. I notice something odd - other guests are rising too, not nervously, but deliberately. A slow, purposeful tide of bodies edging toward the drunk.

And then Chelo appears, light on her feet, her voice soft as spun silk.
“Oh my! What’s going on? Who’s disturbing my lovely little Flying Pig?”

The adventurer freezes. The softness in her tone shouldn’t be threatening, yet the effect is immediate. Too late. The crowd surges, grabs him and his friends, and drags them bodily to the door. They’re hurled into the street, and just like that, the inn resumes its cheerful din.

I stare at Chelo, stunned. She catches my gaze, winks, and strolls back toward the kitchen as if nothing happened.

I glance at Jesse. He’s staring too. A moment later we both break into helpless laughter. So that’s her secret - not pressing people down under her thumb, but wrapping them around her pinky.

We finish our meal in good spirits and retreat upstairs soon after. Exhaustion tugs me under almost immediately. Today was overwhelming in every possible way.

Sleep takes me before I can even think.

The next morning we’re back in the guild. Zandra nods as we tell her our decision.
“Alright. Let me check if anyone’s scheduled to go down today.”

She shuffles through a stack of parchment until she finds the right sheet. Her eyes brighten.
“Oh! Do you remember Fianna and her party?”

We nod.

“Well, they’re going down at noon. You can join them.”

Jesse inclines his head.
“Thank you. We’ll do that.”

Zandra scribbles something on the parchment, then flashes a brief smile before moving on to help someone else. I do the math. Three hours until we need to be back. Jesse grins.
“Hey, you wanna go shopping?”

I nod at once.
“Okay!”

We leave Tyur’ma dormant outside the guild’s entrance and walk hand in hand down the street toward the shopping district. My mind is a whirl of possibilities, my heart tugging between caution and excitement.

The market is alive when we arrive. Wooden stalls cram the street, laden with everything from roasted skewers and jewel-studded trinkets to crockery painted with delicate patterns. Behind them, full shops beckon - tailors, armorers, bookbinders, even an artist selling bold oils that smell faintly of turpentine. The air hums with chatter, clinking metal, and the sweet tang of spiced fruit.

Jesse notices my wide eyes.
“Haven’t you been here before?”

I shake my head.
“No. I was on the run, remember? Still am. But I feel safe with you here.”

His smile is small but warm.
“Well, thanks. But you’re much more powerful than me on foot. I couldn’t defend you if anything happened.”

I frown.
“But didn’t you take down… what was his name… Gavrel? In one move?”

His brow furrows, then lifts with sudden recollection.
“Oh, right. Yes. I guess I did.”

He grins, sheepish but proud.
“Okay, maybe I can do a little defending.”

I can’t help but smile back, and we wander deeper into the market. Jesse veers decisively toward a clothing store, muttering,
“First things first. Clothes. I’ve had enough of the stares.”

I almost jog to keep up as he pushes through the double doors. Inside, rows of low tables are stacked with folded garments. Signs hanging from the rafters mark men’s and women’s sections. Jesse begins sifting through the piles, lifting tunics and trousers, studying seams, and discarding most with quick judgment.

I glance around, distracted by color and texture. The store isn’t crowded, but it’s lively, a seamstress behind the counter taking measurements for a customer. Something draws my eye at the far wall.

“I’m just gonna check something out, okay?”

He grunts acknowledgement, absorbed in comparing fabrics.

I weave past a bickering couple and reach the wall where finer pieces hang on display. These are carefully crafted - rich dyes, embroidery catching the light. In the center hangs the one that stopped me: a summer dress, lavender like the ribbons in my hair. Loose and airy, light enough to float in the breeze. My pulse quickens. I imagine Jesse seeing me in it, his reaction.

But then I touch the price tag. My breath catches. Far, far too much. I force myself away and return to Jesse. He’s not where I left him. Instead I spot him walking from the front desk, a small bundle of clothes tucked under his arm, money pouch sliding back into his pocket. He smiles as he reaches me.
“Ready to go?”

For a heartbeat I consider mentioning the dress. But I swallow the thought and simply nod.

As we step back into the street, I notice his face clouded, as if some private thought weighs on him. It lingers, then fades, and he shifts the bundle under his arm so he can take my hand again.

“Anything you want to do?” he asks.

Before I can answer, a commotion breaks the air.

A squad of armored knights storms into the marketplace, iron boots pounding the cobblestones. Their leader, plume nodding from his helmet, raises a gleaming golden object high. My heart seizes. It’s a shell casing from Tyur’ma’s main cannon, nearly as long as his arm, polished bright in the sunlight.

Jesse freezes beside me. The knight’s voice rings out.
“Citizens! Do any of you know the origins of this object!?”

The market falls into dead silence. His gaze sweeps the crowd, pausing for an instant on me. It feels like a brand searing into my chest. He lowers the casing slowly, murmurs something to his men, and with crisp precision they wheel and march away, taking their hunt elsewhere.

Only when they vanish does the air loosen again. Jesse exhales, his eyes locked on mine, heavy with worry.
“It’s only a matter of time.”

“I know.”

We share a weary smile, but shopping is out of the question now. With unspoken agreement, we walk back to Tyur’ma and retreat into her crew cabin.

The sealed space mutes the world outside. Jesse sits at the controls, idly flicking switches though the power is off. I watch him, voice soft.
“What happens if they discover it was you who killed the Guardian of the Walls?”

He shrugs.
“We get rewarded? Hopefully.”

I tilt my head.
“Then why not turn yourself in?”

“Because I don’t want to put you in danger.”

I smile faintly. Of course.
“Don’t worry about me. As long as I stay hidden, they won’t suspect a thing.”

His answering smile is thin.
“But what about the church? I don’t want them coming after us.”

I consider.
“They might declare Tyur’ma a holy weapon and try to confiscate her. But… we’ll have to run eventually. Why not gain as much as possible before we do?”

He nods reluctantly.
“You might be right. I just wish I could confirm there is a reward. It feels… risky.”

“Then we’ll wait. Do this dungeon quest first, then decide.”

“Alright.”

He leans back, staring at the hatch above. Distant voices leak through Tyur’ma’s armored layers, faint as echoes. Silence settles between us until, abruptly, he speaks.

“When’s your birthday?”

The question startles me. I have to think.
“Uhm… a few months, I think. Why?”

He shrugs, trying for nonchalance.
“Oh, no reason.”

But there’s disappointment in his eyes, fleeting yet unmistakable. My thoughts race, wondering what gift, what plan, what hope he just quietly set aside.

Eventually the sun tilts westward, the streets glowing in its fading light, and we guide Tyur’ma back to the guild. Zandra waves as soon as we step through the doors.

“Welcome back! You’re just in time. Fianna and co should be back shortly.”

We nod and drift toward a nearby table. Jesse, the machine gun slung across his back and the ammunition box at his hip, slides the weapon around and sets it on the tabletop.

It’s the first time I’ve really studied it this close.

Long, heavy, and brutally rectangular, the polished metal catches the light in uneven glimmers. It isn’t sleek like the weapons I’ve seen in this world - it’s raw, purposeful. Dents and rough machining mar the surface, but nothing feels accidental. Every jagged edge, every protrusion looks deliberate, as if the weapon itself has grown that way to function better. The barrel juts forward like the sting of some iron insect, and the bipod beneath the grip sprawls like angular legs.

I watch as Jesse flips open a long cover along its spine, unlatches the ammunition box, and pulls free the belt of cartridges inside. He feeds the links into the tray with a practiced ease, shuts the cover, and tugs the belt once. It rattles softly, alive.

Satisfied, he leans back with a sigh.
“So. How much soul energy do you have left?”

I grin.
“Plenty. We shouldn’t need to worry about it for a while. This expedition will only add to it.”

He nods, though the tension in his shoulders doesn’t quite fade. His eyes keep flicking back to the weapon, as if he’s running through contingencies already.

The guild door creaks open, and Fianna’s group strolls in, laughter trailing behind them. She spots us instantly and waves.

“Oh, hello again!”

They pass to the counter, parchment handed over, Zandra stamping it with her usual efficiency. A pouch of coins appears from beneath the desk, exchanged with familiar ease.

“So, are you going to proceed with your dungeon quest now?” Zandra asks.

“Yup,” Fianna replies brightly. “We’ll head out now.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Zandra says with a grin, “you’ve got two more people joining you.”

Fianna swivels back toward us, grinning wide. “Well! Isn’t that a pleasant surprise!”

I return the smile, and Jesse gives her a short nod as he stands. I rise alongside him. With one smooth motion he slings the machine gun back over his shoulder, the dangling belt clinking softly, and gives a half-grin.

“So - where are we going?”

Fianna gestures for us to follow.
“Come on. We’re headed into the city’s dungeon. Five minutes’ walk from here.”

The dungeon building looms ahead as a gleaming white-stone structure, its façade tall and austere like a temple. But the constant stream of adventurers flowing between its pillars betrays its true purpose.

We pass beneath the arches into a hall vast enough to rival a palace, pristine floors echoing beneath our boots. The vaulted ceiling vanishes into shadow above, banners and polished marble giving the place an air of sanctity it doesn’t quite deserve. It feels almost criminal to step inside - but no one else seems to notice. Adventurers chatter, laugh, and barter, their voices clattering against the stone as if this were nothing more than a marketplace.

I stay close to Jesse as we trail Fianna’s group past a pair of armored knights who guard a smaller chamber beyond. Inside, an ornate archway yawns open. Beyond its runed stone frame lies a descending stairwell that exhales a slow, steady breath of magic. The air is heavy with potency.

The dungeon itself.

Fianna turns, and our party gathers into a loose huddle. She slaps her palm.
“Alright. We go in, kill some monsters, and get out. No detours, no treasure hunts. Got it?”

Everyone nods.

As she steps toward the stairwell, another group limps past us - clothes torn, armor dented, faces drawn tight with fatigue. They avert their eyes as they leave, as if refusing to acknowledge the place behind them. I force myself to look forward. Jesse swings the gun down into his armpit, the belt of ammunition swaying like a serpent, and Fianna grins.

“And in we go!”

The air grows cooler as we descend. Damp stone walls close around us, echoing each footstep, each drip of water. Faint light seems to seep from the rock itself, a dim magical glow that spares us from total blackness. The deeper we go, the more the silence presses in.

Fianna halts us with a raised hand. A faint creak carries from ahead. Then - a clack, sharp and distinct. She gestures us forward, slow and quiet. Armor plates creak; weapons scrape softly as hands adjust grips. Jira’s heavy iron suit makes stealth nearly impossible, but he does his best.

We round a bend and there it stands: a skeleton, upright and armed, its faintly glowing core nestled behind its ribs.

Fianna draws in a breath, notched arrow steady. Her form is flawless - back straight, shoulders square, tension rippling down her arms. A twang splits the silence. The arrow punches through the ribcage and shatters the core. The bones collapse like puppets cut from their strings.

I feel it at once: a weak, fleeting rush of soul energy slipping into me. Even the dead leave a trace.

“Hey.” Asa hisses.

We freeze.

“What was that?”

Fianna narrows her eyes. “What did you hear?”

“Not heard. Felt. A surge of magic, moving through the air.”

My heart lurches. He felt the transfer. My secret, inches from exposure.

But Asa shakes his head with a shrug. “Well, no matter. Nothing happened. Must’ve just been me.”

We move on, though my pulse hammers. One wrong soul absorbed - one slip - and everything unravels. I lean close to Jesse, whispering.
“I can’t absorb any more in here. Asa’s onto me.”

He nods without speaking.

The next battle comes swift - goblins, short spears clutched in their grubby hands. Jira takes the brunt, swatting them aside with the blunt edge of his longsword. Bree follows behind, blades flicking clean and efficient, ending the creatures with barely a wasted breath. Blood spatters across the stone, quickly darkening.

“So, not much has changed with you two?” Fianna asks casually as we march deeper.

Jesse shrugs. “We had an escort quest yesterday. The poor merchant nearly fainted.”

Fianna laughs. “A close encounter with Tyur’ma will do that to anyone.”

I smile, but the warmth barely settles before a howl rips through the tunnels.

Jira and Bree dart back, wide-eyed.
“Wolves,” Jira admits with a nervous grin. “Dungeon wolves. Sorry - we startled a pack.”

Fianna pivots to Jesse. “Think you can deal with them?”

His expression hardens. He drops prone, planting the machine gun’s bipod against the stone. A mechanical snap echoes as he pushes a catch forward, followed by a second, sharper click.

The sound of paws grows closer.

“Block your ears,” Jesse says.

The others obey. I don’t. If I’m to stay with him, I need to learn to bear this.

He notices my defiance, grins faintly, and fixes his gaze through the iron ring of the sight.

The wolves appear.

The world explodes.

The gun’s roar is a torrent of violence, hundreds of whipcracks rattling the stone, each one ending a life before it even begins. The confined tunnel amplifies the sound until it’s no longer noise but pressure, battering at my chest, clawing at my ears. The air thickens with smoke and blood, wolves collapsing in heaps, claws skittering uselessly against stone. Casings cascade around us, ringing as they strike the floor - but I cannot hear them, not truly.

The weapon bucks in Jesse’s arms, a living beast tearing itself apart in his grip. Smoke belches from the barrel in choking bursts. Still, he fires, methodical, merciless.

Then silence.

The tunnel reeks of blood and gunpowder. A pile of corpses sprawls before us, their blood already spreading dark across the floor. Jesse exhales hard, shoulders rising and falling. Steam coils from the hot barrel.

With practiced hands, he detaches the empty belt, tucks it away, and reloads the fresh one. Then he slings the weapon across his back as if nothing unusual had happened.

“Onwards?”

The others stare, wide-eyed, until Fianna forces herself to nod.
“Y… yes. Let’s keep going.”

Asa laughs, shaking his head.
“Holy weapons. We keep forgetting what they can do. Get over it, people.”

Reluctantly, the group moves on. Bree hasn’t changed expression once.

I hang back until Jesse falls into step beside me. He looks… sad. Quietly grieving something I can’t name. So I brush my hand against his, a hidden touch shielded from the others.

He squeezes back.

And together, we walk deeper into the dungeon, thinking not of wolves or skeletons, but of each other - and the fragile future waiting beyond the dark.