Grent sat in the dim corner of the tavern, his thick fingers gripping an empty tankard as his mind churned with unease. The firelight cast flickering shadows across his broad face, its ruddy glow unable to warm the cold knot forming in his chest. The party had been gone for two days—far longer than it should have taken to clear an introductory square.

  He slammed the tankard down hard, the wooden table beneath it splintering with a sharp crack. The nearby patrons turned, their faces wary, but none dared speak. Grent’s reputation as an adventurer preceded him, and no one in Newvale was foolish enough to test his temper.

  “Another one!” Grent shouted.

  One of his men hurried into the room, his boots scraping against the floorboards. “Sir!” he called, his voice urgent. “The party… they’ve returned.”

  Grent stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Relief flashed across his face, but it was short-lived. The man’s hesitant tone, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, told Grent all he needed to know.

  “Where are they?” he asked, his voice rough and unsteady.

  “The Well,” the man replied, his words hanging in the air like a chill. “They’ve returned… but only in the waters.”

  Grent swore under his breath, shoving past the man and out into the street. The cool evening air did little to soothe the heat rising in his chest as he made his way toward the Well.

  ******

  The Well of Reincarnation lay at the edge of Newvale, its stone structure plain and unassuming. Yet the waters within were anything but ordinary. The well glowed with an otherworldly blue light, its surface shimmering and alive, as if infused with the very essence of life itself. To the villagers, it was a blessing and a curse—a place of renewal for adventurers killed in their journeys, but a grim reminder of failure in their quests.

  Grent approached the well at a brisk pace, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel path. A small crowd had gathered around its edge, whispering amongst themselves. He pushed through them without hesitation, his eyes locking onto the figures emerging from the glowing waters.

  Vynessa was the first to step out, her athletic frame trembling as she placed one hand on the well’s edge for support. Her usual confidence was gone, replaced by a weary, hollow look. Serina followed, her petite frame hunched, her hands attempting to clutch an amulet that was not there. Shem was last, his muscular shoulders sagging, his hands empty without the familiar fire that usually danced in his palms.

  “Where’s Ryan?”

  The three exchanged uneasy glances. Serina spoke first, her voice barely above a whisper. “We… we thought he was dead.”

  Vynessa shook her head, her tone sharper. “He fell into a pit. We thought the slimes… finished him.”

  Grent’s gaze hardened, his fists curling at his sides. “Thought?” he spat. “You left him? You didn’t check?”

  “We couldn’t!” Vynessa snapped, her voice rising with a sudden surge of anger. “We were overwhelmed. The Master, the slimes—it was chaos. Ryan was trapped, and we—”

  “Enough,” Grent growled, cutting her off. He looked to Shem, the wizard’s usually confident demeanor now clouded with shame. Shem opened his mouth to speak, but another voice interrupted.

  “He isn’t dead.”

  Grent turned, his eyes narrowing at the speaker. The bald man with a scar on his cheek stepped forward, his head bowed but his voice steady. Stone too had emerged from the Well, his leather armor replaced with the same plain garments as the others. His scarred face bore the weariness of a man who had seen too much.

  “The Master kept him,” Stone said. “He’s taking prisoners now.”

  Grent released Shem, his gaze fixed on Stone. “Prisoners?” he echoed, his voice thick with disbelief. “What kind of Master takes prisoners?”

  “Work,” Stone said simply. “That’s what he told me. He needs humans to build up the square, to dig traps, to make defenses. He’s using us like tools.”

  Grent’s grip on his sword tightened, his knuckles white. “And you were one of them?”

  Stone hesitated, then nodded. “For a time. Until I…” His voice faltered, shame flickering across his face. “Until I chose death.”

  Grent turned away, his fists trembling with barely restrained fury. His men—the ones he’d trained, the ones he’d trusted—had been bested, outmaneuvered, and humiliated. And Ryan… Ryan was out there, in the hands of a monster unlike any they had faced before.

  “We failed,” Vynessa said at last, breaking the silence. Her voice was low, bitter. “We weren’t ready. The traps, the slimes, that… thing. It was too much.”

  Serina’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling as she spoke. “I should have done more. I should have—” She choked on the words, pressing her face into her hands.

  Shem shook his head, his tone laced with anger. “I should’ve burned that place to the ground. I—”

  “Enough.” Grent’s voice cut through their confessions like a blade. He stepped forward, his boots heavy on the worn stones, the weight of his presence silencing them. His piercing gaze swept over each of them in turn. “You made it out. You live to fight another day. That is what matters.”

  “But Ryan,” Serina whispered. “He’s still there.”

  Grent’s face darkened, the lines of age and battle etched deeply into his skin. He turned his gaze to the well, watching as the sparkling water shimmered and swirled. “With the magic of the Well,” he said, his voice heavy with authority, “all who fall will reincarnate. Death is not an end—it’s an escape. A way out.”

  He turned back to them, his eyes hard. “Ryan is alive. But alive doesn’t mean unharmed. That Master could be torturing him. Breaking him.”

  The words hung in the air like the tolling of a bell, and the three adventurers flinched under their weight.

  Vynessa stood, her stance unsteady but her eyes blazing with determination. “Then we go back. We save him.”

  “You’re in no condition to fight,” Grent said, his tone flat. He gestured to her bruised body, to Serina’s trembling hands, to Shem’s exhaustion. “Look at yourselves. You can barely stand.”

  Vynessa opened her mouth to protest, but Grent held up a hand. “Rest,” he said firmly. “That’s an order. You can’t save anyone if you fall again.”

  The three exchanged uneasy glances, reluctant but unable to deny the truth of his words. They nodded, retreating to the edge of the crowd, their steps slow and weary.

  Grent turned away, his face grim as he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small scroll. The parchment glowed faintly in the light of the Well, its surface lined with intricate runes. He unrolled it, his fingers tracing the symbols with practiced ease as he whispered the incantation.

  The scroll flared with light, and the runes lifted from the parchment, forming into two ethereal doves that flapped their wings in the air before him.

  “Go,” Grent said, his voice low but commanding. “One to Master Terrance in Ironmire. The other to Lyanna in Highhaven. Tell them what happened today. Tell them we need their strength.”

  The doves shot off into the night, leaving faint trails of light in their wake. Grent watched them disappear into the darkness before turning back to the well.

  He reached over his shoulder, gripping the hilt of his greatsword. The blade sang as he drew it, the steel gleaming in the Well’s glow. It was a weapon made for battle, its edge honed to deadly perfection. Grent rested it against his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the path leading to the square.

  The crowd murmured, the villagers parting as he strode forward, his steps heavy with purpose. His face was a mask of fury, his muscles taut beneath his armor. This wasn’t just a rescue—it was retribution.

  “You’re going alone?” Vynessa called after him, her voice filled with disbelief.

  Grent paused at the edge of the clearing, his back to the crowd. “For now,” he said, his voice steady. “Until help arrives.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes hard as iron. “Rest. Heal. We’ll need you when the time comes.”

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  Without waiting for a response, he turned and disappeared into the forest, his silhouette swallowed by the shadows. The night closed in around him, but Grent’s resolve burned bright, a flame that would not be extinguished. He would bring Ryan back—no matter the cost.

  ******

  The square was silent in the wake of the battle. The red light of its walls seemed to pulse slower now, turning back to a humming blue. Kael stood over what remained of Jello, the once-mighty slime reduced to two halves of an inert puddle of green. His gaze lingered, his expression tight with something close to sorrow.

  Jello had been more than a minion, more than summoned goo given life. Kael clenched his fists, his sharp nails digging into his palms. He’d told himself not to grow attached, yet here he was, staring at what was left of his vanguard—a puddle of slime seeping into the dirt.

  “That was epic!” Skrindle’s voice shattered the silence, its sharp, mischievous tone grating against the stillness. The imp materialized with a flourish, his tiny wings fluttering as he hovered above the scene. “Your first real showdown, Master. Blood, traps, and a big splashy finish!”

  “Not now, Skrindle.”

  “What do you mean, ‘not now’? This is the perfect time! Look at this!”

  Kael barely glanced at him. Skrindle’s finger pointed at his orb hovering at his side, glowing faintly. Within its depths, numbers shifted, rearranging themselves to display a single, stark update: Kills: 9.

  “Even suicides count,” Kael muttered, thinking of Stone’s cowardly exit.

  Skrindle clapped his clawed hands together, grinning. “That they do! A kill is a kill. They threw themselves onto your blade—or sickle, as it were. That’s worth something, isn’t it?” His grin widened as he conjured tiny, multicolored fireworks that burst in the air above them. “Congratulations, Master Kael. You’ve unlocked some lovely achievements!”

  Kael’s brow furrowed, the faintest flicker of curiosity breaking through his brooding. “Achievements?”

  The imp gestured with a flourish, and tiny fireworks exploded in the air around him, their sparks raining down harmlessly. “Let me introduce you to the wonders of progress. First off—First Blood! For your very first personal kill. A milestone worth celebrating.”

  Kael’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Celebrating what? Stabbing someone in the back?”

  Skrindle shrugged. “Details, details. The point is, you did it. And, oh, what’s this?” He leaned closer to the orb, his grin widening. “First Five! For reaching your first five kills. A classic.”

  Kael folded his arms, unimpressed. “What do these… ‘achievements’ get me?”

  “For First Five,” Skrindle explained, “you’ve unlocked an undead summon. Isn’t that exciting? Let’s see what you get.”

  With a dramatic flourish, Skrindle reached into his ear and pulled out a spinning wheel. It was gaudy and absurd, its surface divided into sections labeled zombie, ghoul, spectre, and other macabre names. The imp held it out toward Kael with a grin.

  “It’s random,” Skrindle said with a smirk. “Spin the wheel and see what you get!”

  Kael stared at the wheel, his expression blank. “This is ridiculous.”

  “Ridiculously exciting!” Skrindle shot back. “Come on, spin it. Or I’ll spin it for you.”

  Kael sighed, reaching out to give the wheel a half-hearted push. It spun wildly, the names blurring into a swirl of light and shadow. Skrindle hovered beside it, his hands clasped together in exaggerated suspense.

  The wheel slowed, the sections coming back into focus as the pointer ticked from one to the next. Finally, it clicked into place, landing on a name etched in pale blue light: Will-o-Wisps.

  “Oho!” Skrindle exclaimed, his grin widening. “A rare one! Will-o-Wisps, the ghostly lights of the damned. Subtle, sneaky, and oh-so-deadly. Not bad for a first undead summon.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, but before he could speak, Skrindle spun in the air again, releasing more miniature fireworks. “For First Blood, you unlock a personal skill. Your choice: physical or magical. Do you want to cast spells like that meathead wizard? Or swing a blade like the fool tied up over there?”

  Kael’s gaze flicked briefly to Ryan, who lay bound and unconscious near the edge of the clearing. “I’ll decide later,” he said, his tone dismissive.

  “You’re not excited,” Skrindle observed, his tone almost accusatory. “After all this? The kills, the achievements, the rewards? This is what it means to be a Master, Kael. This is the start of something big.”

  Kael said nothing, his attention shifting back to the remains of Jello. The faint glow of the orb reflected in his eyes, but his thoughts seemed far away.

  “You just fended off two parties. That’s no small feat. You should be dreaming of glory—of climbing the leaderboard, of becoming a legend. So, why the long face?”

  Kael didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the remains of his fallen slimes, the words catching in his throat. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper. “Jello is gone. And two others with him.”

  Skrindle rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “Gone? You can summon more slimes, Master. That’s the beauty of it. They’re expendable. In fact…” He gestured toward the orb hovering beside Kael. “You haven’t summoned any replacements yet. Why not get started?”

  Kael shook his head, his claws brushing against the rough wood of his sickle. “It isn’t the same.”

  The imp sighed, his sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. “Oh, here we go. Attachment. You’re too sentimental, Master. But…” He paused, his tone shifting slightly. “There is a way to bring Jello back. Reincarnation. It’s costly, but it can be done.”

  Kael turned to him, his expression unreadable. “How costly?”

  Skrindle grinned, sensing his Master’s interest. “Ten gold per level. Jello was level two when he—how shall we put it—gave his life for your cause. That’s twenty gold.”

  Kael’s shoulders tensed. His orb glowed faintly at his side, its light reflecting the turmoil in his mind. “Twenty gold,” he murmured. “That’s nearly a quarter of what I have.”

  Skrindle’s grin widened, and he clapped his small hands together. “Ah, but there’s good news! The loot from your latest guests—very generous of them to leave it behind—is worth something. Let’s see, there’s the amulet from the little one, the sword, and that delightful bo staff. Together, they’ll fetch about two gold.”

  Kael’s gaze shifted to the small pile of loot resting beside the orb. The amulet, once a symbol of faith, now seemed hollow. The sword, finely crafted but covered in dirt, lay still and silent. The bo staff, light and worn, carried no trace of its wielder’s life. They were treasures taken, but their value felt shallow in his hands.

  “So, what’s the plan, Master?”

  “I’ll keep the loot for now. But Jello… Jello deserves more. We need to bring him back.”

  “So you’re serious, then. Very well. Focus on the orb, Master. That’s how it begins.”

  Kael’s grip tightened on the orb, its glow intensifying as he closed his eyes. His mind sharpened, the edges of the square fading into a swirling void of light and shadow. The orb seemed to pulse in response, its rhythm matching the thrum of his own heartbeat.

  Suddenly, the ground beneath him vanished. He felt himself pulled forward, a rushing sensation that left him weightless and disoriented. The world around him blurred, the walls of the square replaced by an endless abyss of darkness.

  Kael opened his eyes, though it remained as dark as if he kept them closed. No light, no sound, only the cold weight of nothingness that surrounded him on all sides. It was as though the world had fallen away, leaving only a silent, suffocating emptiness.

  “Welcome to the Void.”

  Skrindle appeared out of nowhere, his small impish form materializing like a puff of smoke. His wings fluttered with that usual mischievous energy, his eyes glinting with amusement. “A bit of an underwhelming place, isn’t it?” he said, looking around with a bemused expression. “The Void, where all the summons go after death. Nothing but silence and a lack of purpose.” He hovered closer to Kael. “If you want to bring Jello back, you’ll have to call out. He won’t come unless you ask.”

  Kael blinked, his mind still grasping for clarity in the thick, oppressive void. He glanced at Skrindle, a deep ache pulsing within him as he thought of Jello, his loyal companion, lost to the pit. He had made the decision. He had paid the price. And now, he had to call back what he had lost.

  “Jello,” Kael said softly, his voice barely a whisper against the vast emptiness. “Jello, can you hear me?”

  “Really?” Skrindle said. “If you want Jello back, you have to call for him. And not just a whisper, Master. You must call with intent. With meaning.”

  Kael hesitated, his gaze fixed on the emptiness. Then, he drew a deep breath and shouted, “Jello!”

  The sound reverberated through the Void, a ripple of energy that seemed to disturb its stillness. Far in the distance, a faint green light flickered, so distant that Kael wondered if it was merely his mind playing tricks on him. But as his eyes focused, the light grew brighter, pulsing like a distant star, calling to him.

  “Jello!” Kael called again, his voice louder now, more forceful. The green light flared, flickering like the light of a fire caught in a storm. It was real. It was coming.

  Kael took a deep breath and shouted, his voice resonating through the void like thunder, shaking the emptiness around him.

  “JELLO!”

  The green light erupted into brilliance, and from its center, a shape began to form. The translucent spirit of Jello emerged, its gelatinous body shimmering like glass. The slime’s essence seemed fragile, ethereal, but as it floated closer, Kael could see the familiar quiver of its form, the faint glimmer of recognition in its formless surface.

  Kael stepped forward, his voice soft now. “Do you want to come home?”

  Jello quivered, the motion deliberate, unmistakable. It nodded—or as close to a nod as a slime could manage.

  Kael extended his hand, the connection between them as tangible as the pull of gravity. The Void collapsed around them, the darkness receding as a surge of light consumed them both.

  Kael blinked once more, his feet finding solid ground. The familiar hum of the square surrounded him, its blue walls casting their faint glow over the clearing. The oppressive stillness of the Void was gone, replaced by the faint rustle of leaves and the whisper of wind.

  Jello’s form solidified, his green slime now fully restored to his usual, cheerful self. His shape rippled with the same gentle fluidity, the same quiet joy. Kael’s eyes softened, and without thinking, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Jello in a hug.

  The slime wobbled slightly in response, a slight pulse of energy that Kael could only interpret as Jello’s version of a smile.

  “I’ll protect you. All of you. Not as my summons. But my companions.”

  Jello quivered in response, its silent agreement filling Kael with a newfound resolve. As he rose to his feet, his gaze swept over the square, his mind already turning to the battles ahead. Together, they would make the square a home. A dungeon. A legend.

  ******

  Square: Unknown

  Master: Kael

  Difficulty: Introductory

  Treasure: 70 Gold

  Residents: 8 Green Slimes Lvl 1

  Kills: 9

  Achievements Unlocked!