After several days of restless work, Caleb sat at his desk, the weight of a mountain of paperwork pressing down on him. His pen moved mechanically, an endless stream of signatures and budget reviews, but his mind was elsewhere. No matter how many numbers he processed or decisions he made, one thought refused to let go—Celestia. Her injury. Her last words to him.
His brow furrowed as he scribbled his signature with a sharp, almost angry motion. Why did it matter so much?
He couldn’t shake the image of her—sick, exhausted, helpless. Overwhelmed by something darker than just physical wounds. She had been on the verge of collapse when he saw her last, her eyes clouded with the weight of an unseen curse. His breath caught at the memory. Why did it gnaw at him so? Why did he care?
Caleb rubbed his eyes, pressing his fingers to his temples as if to ward off the headache that had settled there, one that had nothing to do with paperwork. She wasn’t someone he owed anything to. She was a stranger—someone he had only met briefly, yet her pain had somehow rooted itself deep within him, a knot he couldn’t untangle.
His position as the Duke’s son, his role as an unofficial adviser and steward for the Duchy, meant that he was responsible for managing the city’s affairs. He was used to keeping a cool, detached exterior—his influence was shaped through calm logic and carefully calculated decisions. Urban development, social welfare, justice—these were the things he was trained to focus on. The well-being of the common people, even their lives, were often just numbers and figures to him. But when it came to Celestia, everything felt personal, like the world of logic he operated in had suddenly bent, and unravelled, and everything became… emotional.
She had looked so small, so fragile when she stood before him. Her vulnerability in that moment had shaken something deep within him. The way she held herself despite the pain, trying to mask it, her pride clashing with the agony in her eyes—it wasn’t just her injury that had unsettled him. It was the depth of her despair, the way she tried to carry the weight of the world alone.
Caleb leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his tousled hair. He was known for his legendary status as an information broker and mage. He was adept at reading people, at sensing danger and uncovering secrets. Yet, when it came to her, his usual sharpness faltered. There was no unravelling her. Her strength was both baffling and heart-wrenching.
He couldn’t bring himself to ignore the confusion that tangled his thoughts. He was used to solving problems, uncovering hidden truths in the depths of the City Dungeon, and navigating the maze of politics and society with ease. But Celestia? She was a mystery he couldn’t decipher—a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve. Her suffering reached him in a way nothing else had before, and it left him wondering why.
His eye drifted to the window, staring out over the city. The glow of the street lights seemed to fade into the growing twilight, the city alive with its own pulse. Caleb had always thrived in this environment, moving in the shadows, observing, and managing from behind the scenes. But now, in this moment, all he could focus on was the shadow of Celestia’s pain.
Was this what it meant to care for someone? To feel so deeply for someone whose life had barely brushed against his own? He didn’t know the answer, but it left him feeling more vulnerable than he cared to admit.
With a sharp exhale, Caleb turned back to the papers before him, though his thoughts were far from them.
A sudden, hollow ache gnawed at him, pulling his gaze from the endless paperwork to the window. His eyes searched the darkening horizon as if hoping to glimpse her, to somehow sense if she was resting if she was healing. The question lingered, tugging at the edges of his mind. Was she still battling the pain alone? Did she have anyone to care for her, to ease her burden?
The thought unsettled him more than he expected. He barely knew her, yet the image of her suffering clung to him like a shadow. Caleb’s fingers tightened around the pen, the weight of his responsibility pressing down, but not nearly as heavy as the inexplicable pull he felt toward her.
With a sharp inhale, he forced himself to turn away, the distant lights of the city offering no answers. He needed to focus, to drown himself in the work that never ceased, yet his thoughts betrayed him. As he bent over the documents once more, a quiet resolve began to form. He couldn’t shake the feeling that their paths were bound in ways he didn’t yet understand.
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Meanwhile, Celestia navigated the oppressive depths of the dungeon, her weary steps echoing through the cavernous expanse of the 2nd Level. The air grew colder, the darkness more consuming with every descent, wrapping around her like a suffocating shroud. Occasionally, larger groups passed by, offering help, but she declined her determination to face this journey alone overriding any temptation for companionship. She had to confront the torment that lingered in her soul, a torment she couldn’t yet fully understand.
Exhaustion tugged at her every step, her body aching and her breath shallow. Her hand gripped the staff tightly—a weapon she had never favoured until recently. Celestia was a skilled sword user, but in her weakened state, wielding a blade felt impossible. The staff provided balance, a necessary crutch as much as a tool for casting spells. Each step felt like a battle, her mind clouded, shadows moving where none should, and whispers of disembodied voices slithering through the air, cruel and relentless. They taunted her, dredging up fears she couldn’t place but felt in every fibre of her being.
She stopped briefly to check her supplies, her fingers trembling as she took inventory. The potions were dwindling, and the food she managed to choke down barely sustained her. Her body craved rest, yet the urgency to press forward burned within her. Battling monsters had become a grotesque routine, each encounter sapping more of her strength and resolve. The dungeon seemed alive, its walls closing in, its dangers tailored to her deepest vulnerabilities.
By the time she stumbled into a small cave near the entrance to the 4th Level, her body was screaming for respite. Her gaze locked onto the staircase ahead, leading deeper into the unknown, a chill running down her spine. The oppressive weight of unseen eyes bore down on her, a sensation she couldn’t shake. Her mind swirled with half-formed memories, fragmented thoughts of Ryker and the overwhelming feeling that she was spiralling into a nightmare with no end.
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She fumbled with her pocket watch, the faint ticking grounding her in the present. Midnight was near. “I should wait until morning,” she whispered, her voice strained and hollow. Fatigue dragged her down, and she collapsed onto the cold ground, the unforgiving stone biting into her skin. With what little strength she had left, she cast a protective spell over the cave entrance, its dim glow a fragile barrier against the darkness pressing in.
As she curled up, her body shivering from the cold and the remnants of fear, her mind remained a battlefield. The voices didn’t stop, their cruel murmurs twisting reality into a kaleidoscope of dread. Shadows danced at the edge of her vision, and the feeling of being watched gnawed at her sanity. Sleep came in fits, her dreams plagued by unrelenting nightmares. The rest she craved eluded her, replaced by haunting echoes pulling her deeper into the abyss with every passing moment.
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As the days dragged on, Caleb found himself consumed by the never-ending mountain of work that piled up in his office. He signed papers with mechanical precision, his mind a haze of tasks and responsibilities, but beneath it all, something gnawed at him. The discomfort settled in his stomach like an unwelcome visitor, intensifying with each passing day. The unease refused to fade despite his attempts to bury himself in the routine.
By the third day, the feeling became impossible to ignore. He couldn’t shake the tight knot in his chest, the insistent tug in his gut. Caleb rose abruptly from his desk, an overwhelming urge pushing him out of his office. He didn’t understand why—only that something was wrong. It was like an invisible pull was guiding him, urging him forward. Without further delay, he switched his clothing. His ensemble embodied functionality and understated power. A dark, featherweight tunic hugged his physique, its resilience visible in the delicate stitching across the shoulders. A chestnut leather harness, fashioned with meticulous care, anchored a coordinating belt that supported his blade, the scabbard showing signs of regular use. His ebony breeches, supple and fortified at the joints, permitted fluid motion, while robust tan boots provided steady footing with each pace. Leather guards protected his wrists, their russet shade harmonizing with his other equipment, and his obsidian half-gloves suggested the accuracy he commanded, the sensory link between his palms and armament tangible. Each element of his garments served a purpose yet possessed an unpolished sophistication, similar to the individual who donned it. He proceeded to the dungeon’s gateway, compelled by an inexplicable pull.
The deeper he descended into the dark, musty depths of the dungeon, the stronger his unease grew. Each step felt heavier, his thoughts scattered with anxiety. The air thickened around him, stifling, almost suffocating. When he reached the entrance to the 4th Level, Caleb paused, squinting into the shadows. His heart lurched when he spotted a figure inside the cave. It took him a moment, but he recognized her—Celestia.
His chest tightened with a mixture of worry and relief. She was here, but why? What was she doing so far into the dungeon, alone, in the dead of night? His gaze flicked over her, noticing the exhaustion in her posture, the slight tremor in her movements, and the way the dark circles under her eyes spoke of sleepless nights and torment.
Inside the cave, the flickering light from a small fire circle illuminated her features. She was huddled on the ground, her face pale and drawn, as though she had barely rested at all. Her hands moved shakily as she stirred something in a pot, her eyes unfocused, distant. Caleb’s heart sank further as he realized she hadn’t been preparing food at all—she was simply going through the motions, trying to numb the exhaustion that had consumed her. The firelight flickered weakly against the oppressive darkness, casting long shadows over the cave.
Celestia’s head jerked up at the sound of movement, her eyes wide with panic as she startled awake, her hand instinctively pressing against her chest in fear. “AAH!” she gasped, eyes darting around wildly, her breath ragged from the nightmares that haunted her even in her waking hours.
Caleb froze, immediately regretting his quiet approach. “It’s okay,” he said softly, stepping forward but not too fast. “It’s just me, Caleb.” His voice was laced with concern, thick with guilt. His eyes softened as he took a tentative step closer, sitting down on the cold stone beside her. “What are you doing here? Why are you alone?” His gaze swept over her, lingering on the dirt-smeared leather armour and the dark, haunted look in her eyes.
Her surprise was evident as she tried to collect herself, but her voice cracked with exhaustion. “Lord Nightglen? What... what are you doing here?” The words stumbled from her, weak and uncertain. She had heard of his occasional trips into the dungeon, but this felt like something else entirely. To see him here, in the middle of the night, in the depths of the dungeon... it was more than just coincidence.
Caleb hesitated for a moment, guilt and concern battling inside him. “I don’t know... I had a feeling. I just... something didn’t feel right. And now I find you here, all the way down at the 4th Level, alone.” His eyes locked with hers, worry etched across his features. “This place is dangerous, Celestia. Especially for you.”
Her lips parted to speak, but the words seemed to get caught in her throat. Her eyes flickered away from him, trying to hide the deeper weariness beneath the surface. “I... I’m almost there,” she said softly, her voice hoarse. She gestured weakly toward the staircase leading further into the dungeon. “The 4th Level is close. I need to... I need to keep going.” She paused, attempting to ignore the fresh cuts on her arm, the way her armour had been torn in places from encounters with monsters she could barely remember. Her potions had run out, and healing herself had become an impossible task.
Caleb’s eyes darkened with concern as he took in her injuries. Anger flared in his chest—not at her, but at the situation she had put herself in. “Celestia, you’re hurt.” His voice trembled slightly as he reached out, gently taking her arm to inspect the damage. The blood was dry, crusted against the fabric of her armour. “You’re not... you can’t keep doing this alone.” His gaze shifted to her eyes, filled with a mix of helplessness and fury. “What if you’d been attacked? What if you didn’t make it out? Why aren’t you using your magic to heal?”
Her voice wavered as she swallowed, a tear threatening to slip free. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her words barely a whisper. “I can’t heal. The potions… they’re all I have left.” Her hands shook as she glanced at her empty pouch. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.” Her chest tightened, her breath shallow as the weight of it all pressed down on her.
Caleb’s chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in her voice. He could feel the overwhelming urge to offer comfort, to ease the burden he saw in her eyes, but he hesitated. She was still a stranger, and he didn’t want to overstep, especially when she seemed so guarded.
Instead, he softened his tone, carefully measuring his words. “I... I won’t force anything,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “But if you need something, if there’s any way I can assist you, I’m here.” He couldn’t offer more than that—he could only stand at a distance, quietly offering his presence.
It was the best he could do.
