The moment I stepped through the portal, everything changed.
The crisp, open air of the forest vanished like a dream, replaced by a sudden, smothering stillness. My boots met cold stone, the chill biting up through the soles like the floor itself had forgotten what warmth felt like. The temperature dropped fast—sharp and dry—carrying that ancient, stale scent of dust and minerals. The kind of air that made you feel like you’d stepped into a place the world had long since given up on.
A notification blinked into existence in front of me, glowing faintly in the darkness.
[You have entered: The Echoing Caverns]
The text lingered for a second before fading away.
The weight of it didn’t.
I let out a long, slow breath, letting the quiet wrap around me. The silence wasn’t silence. Not really. The cave pulsed with something deeper—something primal. A hum I didn’t hear so much as feel, low and resonant, like the whole place was vibrating with a heartbeat I wasn’t supposed to notice. The walls, jagged and uneven, stretched outward into twisting passageways, their surfaces worn smooth in some places, sharp in others—scars left by ancient underground rivers that had long since dried up or vanished into deeper darkness.
Far ahead, water dripped from somewhere above. A steady plink, plink that echoed endlessly, bouncing off stone and shadow alike.
Because obviously, the cave needed mood lighting and sound design. Creepy, haunted walls included. Fantastic.
I took a cautious step forward.
Pitch black.
Not a sliver of light in any direction.
But I wasn’t blind.
A subtle pulse flickered behind my eyes, like a switch flipping on. My Night Vision skill activated automatically, bathing the world in a washed-out palette of grayscale. Details blurred at distance, depth perception took a hit, but at least I could see the shapes of the walls and the contours of the ground. Subtle shadows shifted as I moved, outlining every crack and curve in eerie relief.
Not perfect. But good enough.
I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves.
This was a dungeon.
Which meant enemies. Traps. Ambushes. Things with too many teeth and zero respect for intruders.
And, knowing my luck?
Probably all three at once.
I had no idea what this place held.
But I did know one thing for sure.
I wasn’t alone.
 
I moved carefully, keeping my steps soft and deliberate on the uneven stone. Night Vision helped, but it didn’t make me invincible. The tunnels were wild—winding branches of rock and gravel that twisted with zero logic, some narrowing into tight, claustrophobic choke points, others opening into silent, yawning chambers that swallowed sound.
Some paths looked promising.
Others crumbled at the edges, little more than broken ledges that hinted at steep drops beyond.
Because of course the dungeon came with instant death options.
Every sound felt off. The gentle drip of water was amplified, bouncing in strange directions until I couldn’t tell where it originated. Wind—if you could call it that—brushed past me from impossible angles. And just beneath it all, the cave’s ambient hum never stopped. It was like the place was… listening.
I crept past a jagged wall, blinking at the sudden glint of something embedded in the stone.
Crystals.
Dozens of them, clustered in dark growths like tumors. Not the pretty kind you see in jewelry stores. These pulsed faintly, dim veins of violet light running through them in uneven rhythms. Breathing. Watching.
Because, sure. Let’s add living rocks to the list of things I absolutely didn’t sign up for.
I reached out—carefully—brushing my fingertips against one.
The hum intensified immediately, a low thrum that buzzed through my bones. It wasn’t sound. Not really. More like a pressure, deep and strange and wrong.
I yanked my hand back on instinct.
“Yeah, okay,” I muttered. “Not touching that again.”
I pressed on, keeping to the wall, ducking beneath a low arch of stone. Then I saw it—just ahead, in the dusty trail carved into the cavern floor.
Tracks.
But not boot prints.
Smooth, continuous grooves, as if something had slithered through the tunnel. Wide, deliberate, unbroken.
Whatever made them wasn’t walking.
It had crawled.
Nope. That wasn’t unsettling at all.
I crouched low, tracing the trail with my fingers. The groove was deep. Fresh.
It hadn’t passed long ago.
I straightened, unease creeping up the back of my neck.
And then I heard it.
A faint clack behind me. Stone on stone. Small, but sharp. Like a pebble dislodging from above and bouncing across the cave floor.
I turned fast, daggers drawn, heart hammering.
Nothing.
Just empty tunnel.
But the air felt… off.
Charged.
Like something was watching me from just beyond the edge of my vision.
I stood perfectly still, breath tight in my chest.
Probably just my imagination.
Probably.
Except paranoia had a funny way of turning into survival instinct when you became Chosen.
I narrowed my eyes, straining to hear anything over the strange hum of the cave and the endless echoes. But everything blended together—drips, creaks, distant shifts in air pressure—each one masked or mimicked by the strange acoustics of the dungeon. My mind spun, chasing shadows and phantom sounds.
Which, honestly, might’ve been worse than actual danger.
I took another step forward, blade at the ready, every sense on high alert.
I wasn’t alone.
And whatever was down here?
It already knew I was here.
 
That rock falling behind me hadn’t been random.
I knew that now.
Something was watching me.
I tightened my grip on my daggers, the leather hilts pressing against my palms as every nerve in my body snapped to attention. My breath slowed to a measured rhythm, more instinct than conscious effort, trying to quiet the noise of my own pulse thudding in my ears.
The silence had changed.
Before, it had been hollow. Eerie. A kind of emptiness that felt like the dungeon didn’t care I was here.Stolen novel; please report.
Now?
It felt like the whole cavern was holding its breath.
A scrape.
Faint. Almost inaudible.
Claws on stone.
I turned my head just a fraction, scanning the darkness through the silvered wash of my Night Vision. At first, all I saw were shifting shadows, the jagged lines of the rock blending into one another. Tunnels twisted off in every direction, merging with the gloom.
Then—movement.
A ripple where the stone shouldn’t ripple. The slightest distortion along the cavern wall. The glint of something wet and sunken—
Eyes.
Multiple sets.
They weren’t moving.
They were waiting.
Blending into the stone like living shadows.
The moment I recognized them, they moved.
Lurking Stalkers.
They didn’t growl. Didn’t posture. No warning.
Just pure, silent aggression.
One darted from the left, limbs too long and jointed at wrong angles, its claws slicing toward my throat. Another dropped from above, twisting midair with a predator’s grace, talons gleaming like curved blades as it aimed for my spine.
I didn’t think.
Didn’t plan.
I just moved.
Instinct surged to the surface like a fire catching dry tinder—
I ducked, spinning low as the first swipe tore through the air an inch from my ribs. Stone chipped beneath the force.
The second Stalker landed where I’d been a heartbeat earlier, claws skidding sparks across the rock as it missed its mark.
My heart thundered in my chest.
I moved.
Daggerstorm.
I flicked my wrist, and one dagger flew true, embedding itself in the side of the lunging Stalker. An instant later, the echo-dagger followed, almost like a shadow mimicking my intent. Both blades buried deep in the creature’s sinewy torso with a wet, crunching hiss.
It shrieked—high and unnatural—but didn’t fall.
Another blur of motion behind me.
I felt the shift in air pressure before I even saw it.
Shadow Step.
I vanished.
Reappeared behind a jutting rock, crouched low, trying to calm the riot in my chest. My body hummed with adrenaline, muscles taut. The Stalkers twisted where I’d been a moment ago, their milky, pupil-less eyes darting, limbs twitching in frustration. They couldn’t see me.
But they could hear me.
If I slipped up, even slightly, they’d pounce.
I stayed perfectly still. Slowed my breathing. Focused.
One of them crept too close—sniffing, posture shifting like it was losing interest. Like it thought I’d moved on.
Perfect.
Opportunist.
I surged forward from the shadows, blade flashing in the dim light. My dagger pierced its neck clean, then twisted hard, severing something vital.
The Stalker’s body seized violently, then crumpled in a heap.
The second the body hit the floor, the remaining two shrieked—a sharp, echoing cry that bounced off the cavern walls like an alarm. The sound hit something primal in me, freezing my blood.
No time to reposition.
One charged again, wild with desperation, claws slashing in furious arcs.
I dove sideways, the blow grazing the edge of my cloak, but the other was already moving—fleeing, fast, into the shadows.
Not happening.
I hurled a dagger at full strength, putting everything behind the throw.
It sliced through the air and struck home—right between the creature’s shoulder blades. The Stalker collapsed mid-run, limbs folding beneath it as it hit the ground with a heavy, boneless thud.
I didn’t celebrate.
Because the last one was still standing.
Twitching.
Bleeding.
But still alive.
Its claws scraped weakly against the stone, its limbs shifting erratically like it was trying to decide whether to fight or flee.
It hesitated.
It knew.
It was losing.
I rolled my dagger once in my palm, shifting my stance.
The Stalker hissed—one final, ragged defiance.
Then it collapsed in a heap.
The silence that followed was absolute.
I stood there, frozen, my daggers still raised, waiting for another ambush.
None came.
I slowly lowered my arms, exhaling hard. My hands were trembling slightly. Adrenaline burn. Or maybe just the delayed realization that that could’ve gone very, very badly.
Too close.
But I’d won.
My heart still pounded against my ribs, but I made myself scan the shadows, just in case. No sound. No movement. Just the soft flicker of the crystals behind me, and the corpses of creatures that—thankfully—weren’t getting back up.
For now, at least, I was alone again.
I took one more deep breath, sheathing one of my blades and running a hand through my hair.
One fight down.
And I had a sinking feeling there was plenty more to come.
 
I took a slow breath, trying to calm my pulse as I scanned the carnage around me. The bodies of the Stalkers were twisted, grotesque things—pale, sinewy, and all wrong. Even in death, they gave off the kind of vibe that made my skin crawl.
But hey. If there was one universal truth of being Chosen, it was this:
If something tries to kill you and fails?
You loot the hell out of it.
I crouched beside the nearest corpse, eyeing it warily before reaching out. Its skin was weird—tough and leathery with a faint, almost reptilian texture. A thin layer of rough, scale-like plating ran down its back like a natural armor upgrade.
The second my fingers brushed against it, the system chimed.
[Lurking Stalker Scale]
A flexible but durable material. Used in armor crafting. High resistance to slashing attacks.
I raised an eyebrow. “Huh. Fancy.”
I pried a few of the scales loose, tucking them into my void bag. They were surprisingly light but felt strong enough to stop a dagger. Might come in handy if I ever learned how to craft something that wouldn’t fall apart straight away.
Next, I moved to the claws.
Long. Curved. Nasty. The kind of natural weapon that made you real glad you weren’t on the receiving end.
[Lurking Stalker Claw]
Razor-sharp. Can be reforged into weapons or infused into armor for added lethality.
I turned one over in my hand, frowning. “You’re telling me I could make a knife out of this?”
The system didn’t answer, of course. But I could practically feel it silently judging me.
I sighed and tucked the claws away.
I didn’t know the first thing about forging gear. Hell, I could barely light a campfire on my first try. But apparently, I was now the proud owner of some top-tier monster bits. Not exactly a sack of gold, but if I could find a blacksmith who didn’t mind working with nightmare-chitin, maybe I’d actually get something out of this mess.
“Awesome,” I muttered, dusting off my hands. “Not only am I being hunted by a fanatical Enforcer, but now I’m also collecting corpse souvenirs like some deranged crow.”
I straightened, taking one last look at the wreckage around me.
At least the fight hadn’t been for nothing.
Now I just had to live long enough to use any of it.
I took another breath, rolling out the tension in my shoulders. The fight might’ve been over, but this dungeon was far from done with me. And standing around patting myself on the back wasn’t the best use of my time.
Time to move.
 
The path ahead narrowed, the main cavern splitting into several offshoots. Some spiraled downward into the depths. Others twisted sideways into passages barely wide enough for a person to fit through without getting scraped to pieces.
Naturally, I chose the sketchiest one.
A thin, jagged gap between stone led into a tight, winding tunnel that looked like it was just waiting to collapse on someone dumb enough to squeeze through.
Which, of course, was me.
I muttered a curse under my breath and slipped inside.
The tunnel was cramped, the ceiling low enough that I had to crouch for most of it. Loose gravel crunched underfoot, and every third step threatened to send me stumbling into a wall.
And then, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, I almost tripped over a skeleton.
“Son of a—!”
I caught myself at the last second, stumbling to a stop before my face could make friends with the floor. I stared down at what was left of someone who’d clearly had a very bad day.
The bones were half-buried in the loose gravel, the outstretched arm reaching toward something just ahead.
I followed the direction of the gesture.
And saw something very interesting.
Nestled between two jagged rocks was a rusted iron chest, the kind of thing you only ever find in dungeons or poorly written kid’s stories. The lid was stained, the metal pitted and worn, but the thing was still intact.
My eyebrows lifted.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
I dropped into a crouch, brushing dirt off the top of the chest. The locking mechanism was ancient, rusted… but not broken.
Which meant it was time to let Ghost Hands shine.
I pulled out my lockpicking tools, running my fingers along the rim of the lock. Ghost Hands activated with a shimmer of awareness, feeding subtle vibrations up through my fingertips.
The ability wasn’t just about steady hands.
It was about feeling the tumblers. Reading the mechanism like a story.
I adjusted the pressure gently, carefully—there. That one was tight. Back off. Shift to the left. Click.
The lock popped open with a soft metallic snap.
I grinned, pushing the lid up slowly as it creaked open with a groan that could’ve alerted every monster in this place.
No poison darts. No screaming skulls. No ghostly curses.
Just loot.
 
250 Gold Coins - Because even dead people believe in stashing emergency funds.
 
Axe of Flourishing (C Rank)
10% chance on hit to deal double damage on attacks.
 
Ring of Bottomless Lungs (B Rank)
Allows the wearer to breathe underwater.
 
I picked up the axe first, turning it over in my hands. Solid. Well-balanced. The handle was wrapped in aged leather, the blade etched with faint runework that pulsed slightly as I held it. All in all? Not bad craftsmanship.
But still… it was an axe.
I didn’t use axes.
Not exactly ideal for someone who fought by slipping through shadows and stabbing things before they knew I was there. I was more precision than power, more finesse than brute force. Swinging wildly and hoping something broke just wasn’t my style.
“Neat,” I muttered, setting it against the side of the chest. “Completely useless, but still neat.”
It wasn’t a total loss, though. Even if I couldn’t use it, someone else probably could. And a weapon with bonus damage? That would fetch a decent price at any gear vendor or blacksmith worth their forge. Which meant more gold. Which meant more stuff I actually could use. Which meant slightly fewer panic attacks.
I could live with that.
Then my eyes landed on the ring.
Small. Simple. Silver band, no gemstones or overly dramatic flair. Just clean, elegant craftsmanship and a faint magical shimmer when I tilted it in the light.
Now that was something I didn’t have. I didn’t have a single ring yet. And while I wasn’t planning on going scuba diving anytime soon, the idea of breathing underwater? That was weirdly comforting.
Because let’s be honest—given my luck, I’d probably fall into some cursed underground lake next week.
I turned the band over once more before sliding it onto my finger. It fit snugly, no awkward tightness, no weird tingling, no sudden ocean-themed system warnings.
No whispered voices promising I now belonged to the deep.
So, you know. Win-win.
I was just about to close the chest when something caught my eye—tucked in the back corner, half-buried beneath a dusty scrap of fabric. I leaned in, brushing the cloth aside and pulling out a tiny glass vial. It was no bigger than my thumb, filled with a faintly glowing golden powder that shimmered when I tilted it back and forth.
[Vial of Glow-Dust]
A fine, shimmering powder that clings to surfaces, marking paths in the dark.
My eyebrows lifted.
Now this was useful.
Navigation in pitch-black tunnels was already a pain—even with Night Vision—but in a fight? Losing my bearings could mean the difference between escaping or running face-first into a wall. But this glow-dust? This could mark paths, entrances, safe zones. Maybe even traps, if I was careful.
Cutting down on backtracking by marking where I’d already been?
Yeah. I’d take it.
“Alright, mystery skeleton,” I muttered, slipping the vial into my void bag. “You might’ve died horribly, but at least your treasure is going to a good cause.”
I dumped the gold into my bag, shoved the axe into my void bag for resale, and stood up, wincing as I rolled my shoulders. Stiff, sore, and still buzzing with leftover adrenaline.
One corpse’s forgotten treasure trove secured.
Now all I had to do was survive the next one.
I took a cautious step forward, shadows curling at the edges of my vision, and let the darkness swallow me whole.