Dungeon Diary

The dungeon rose like a forgotten wound in the earth, a place where silence settled heavy and ancient, a silence that stretched into the marrow of your bones and clung like the damp air, thick with the scent of rot and decay. Here, where the walls breathed darkness, where time seemed to fold into itself in the absence of light, there was no warmth, no respite for the weary or the weak, only the grinding pulse of the dungeon’s eternal hunger. The shadows whispered of beasts, unseen and fanged, waiting in the crevices where night never ended, and each breath, each step deeper into that black heart, carried the promise of the one offering that had never been refused—human flesh, torn and devoured, night after night, a feast that never ceased.

Robin moved with careful steps, each one deliberate, his hand clutched at the rope-belt on his waist as his eyes flicked toward every shadow that shifted, every faint rustle in the distance. His voice was steady, though his vigilance never faltered. "So, Minona," he began, pausing only when a soft, indistinct noise made him glance over his shoulder, his brow furrowed, before continuing, "you know something about this dungeon, right?"

Minona, her light form bobbing alongside him with a casualness that bordered on disdain for the darkness around them, let out a soft, almost amused hum. “I’ve been here since the day it erected its walls, manifesting monsters on its surface," she answered, her voice light and untroubled, as if she had long grown indifferent to the weight of the gloom pressing in on all sides. "I saw many come with brave hearts, yet they all met the same fate—nourishment for the beasts that call this place home."

Robin halted mid-step, eyes narrowing at the faintest rustle ahead, muscles taut beneath his murky clothes. He breathed in, steadying himself, and resumed walking, though his voice carried a sharper edge. “But how? Knowing this place is a death sentence, why would they keep coming?”

Minona drifted ahead slightly, her form casting a soft glow that did nothing to penetrate the deep shadows around them. She laughed softly, a sound that seemed almost out of place here. "Have you never heard of greed? Pride? Glory?” she said, her tone carrying a biting, effortless criticism. “These walls lure the desperate, the foolish, the power-hungry. All those dangers, treasures, the whispered legends that captivate their hearts. They come here thinking they’ll be different, but no heroic story, no gallant ballad, has ever been sung of their conquests. No one has lived to tell of it.”

Robin’s eyes darted once more toward a deeper shadow that seemed to move of its own accord, his hand tightening around his weapon, yet Minona’s light continued undeterred, unaffected by the creeping danger. She floated ahead, her glow serene, as if the very darkness that threatened to consume him was nothing more than a familiar companion to her, while he remained cloaked in murk, every instinct on edge, suspicion gnawing at him like the creatures that lurked unseen.

Robin paused, coughing as the dry air filled with dust stirred around them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing. "Damn it—dust again," he muttered, his voice rasping through the dryness that clung to his throat.

Minona floated beside him, her light flickering playfully. "Parched, are we?" she said, her tone laced with a smug amusement. With a casual flick of her form, a shimmering ball of water and dirt manifested in the air, hovering beside her in a form akin to glass of water. “Here,” she said, her glow softening around the conjured liquid. “Take it while it’s still cold.”

Robin’s brow furrowed, eyeing the glass of water warily. “So magic can just pull water out of nowhere?” he muttered, half to himself, reaching out slowly. His fingers brushed the cool, hardened clay that formed around the water, and he hesitated. “But... you sure it’s drinkable?”

Minona gave a light, dismissive laugh, the sound echoing faintly against the dungeon’s oppressive walls. “I used to drink it all the time when I had a mouth,” she said with a nonchalance that made Robin scowl.

Reluctantly, he lifted the clay vessel to his lips, the chill of it biting against his skin. As the cool water rushed down his throat, his eyes closed for a moment, savoring the relief. It was like a spring bursting to life in a barren desert. When he finished, he exhaled, his breath cold and refreshing. "Hey, that's clean," he admitted, a rare hint of gratitude slipping into his voice. “Fresh. Almost icy. Thanks.”

“Consider yourself lucky, then, human!” Minona's voice lilted with pride, her light flaring briefly. “I possess Elemental Mastery, control over all elements—earth to mold the clay, water to fill it, ice to chill it, wind to carve, fire to harden. Even the water floating there, guided by my psychokinetic prowess—Amra!” She floated higher, practically glowing with self-satisfaction.

Robin raised an eyebrow, unimpressed but tired of fighting her on every detail. “Well, that’s... a lot,” he muttered, shrugging his shoulders, his dark eyes scanning the dungeon’s depths again as though hoping for some unseen danger to interrupt her boasting. “Useful too. But why don’t you fight for yourself, then?”

Minona darted left and right in the air, as though shaking her head in mock disbelief. “No.”

“No?” Robin’s tone sharpened. “Why not?”

Her glow dimmed slightly, and for a moment she seemed to hesitate before bursting into motion again, voice rising. “Cursed!” she spat, darting around him, her light flaring in frustration. “I lost my power, some of my memory... I don’t even know how I ended up here! It’s infuriating!” She flitted angrily from side to side, her light swelling and waning like a storm about to burst. But then, just as quickly, she was calm again, drifting back to her usual smugness. “But let me assure you, human,” she added, almost purring, “I was once the most desirable in all of Lucia. Princes fought for my love. My body—voluptuous, white as pearl, hair like silk, lips like—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Robin cut in, his tone flat, exhausted. “But how do you get that body back?”

Minona darted forward, hovering close to his face, her glow unnervingly bright. “That’s the best part,” she said, her voice dripping with smug delight. “I don’t!”

Robin blinked, his hand brushing his forehead. “You—what?”

“But you’re helping!” she continued, spinning excitedly in front of him. “When a monster dies, it releases mana—magical energy. I absorb it, rebuild my mana, fix my body. And you, with your Dungeon Walker, get stronger too. A beautiful mutualism.”

Robin scowled. “Do you even understand what mutualism means?”

Minona twirled again, her light flickering with a playful arrogance. “I share my wisdom with you, don't I? My magic gave you water! My shine lights your way! And best of all, I am Minona Devia—the most charming princess in all Lucia. A mere peasant would commit crimes for a moment in my presence.”

Robin exhaled, his patience worn thin, his sarcasm returning like an old habit. “Right, right, Your Majesty. How could I forget?”

Her smugness deepened, her light hovering inches from his face, a mischievous twinkle in her glow. “Don’t you want to learn about magic?”

“Can I even learn it?” Robin asked, tired of the back-and-forth but unable to stop himself from asking. “How, tell me?”

Minona’s light flickered again, as though she was grinning. “Not a chance.”

“This little—"

Minona roosted on his head, after blowing dusts away from his hair with something Robin perceived as magic, blowing away the dirt and the desire to squeze this little creature. “Innates. All sentient beings in Lucia have it, at least one. Innate is still shrouded in mystery, but as far as I know, you can learn as many as you want, as long as you train for it.” She seemed to glow a bit brighter, clearly enjoying the role of the knowledgeable mentor.

Robin could feel it. The pulse, faint at first, then brighter, surer—Minona’s light, like a smug little beacon, always shining when she thought she had the upper hand, when her words filled the air with that relentless certainty of hers, twisting around his thoughts like a vine. He shifted, trying to shrug it off, that glow of hers, the way it seemed to press into him. “Train?” he muttered, voice thick like molasses, as if the truth were stuck behind his teeth, not wanting to come out. “You mean... like my Dagger Mastery? Because I was used to... handling knives?”

“Yes!” she burst out, her light swelling like a sudden flame, as if his hesitation had only made her surer. “That’s what we call innate exercise!” she went on, the words spilling out fast, too fast, like someone who never imagined being wrong.

Robin frowned, let the silence hang between them, thick and awkward, let it dig into her a little, the weight of his next words slowly bearing down. “But I don’t kill people with a knife,” he said finally, the words slipping free, cold and slow, each one a shard of something he wanted to break. He watched her, waiting.

Minona froze mid-air. The glow flickered, stuttering for just a moment, like a candle caught in a sudden draft. “What?” Her voice trembled, not used to being questioned, not used to the sharp edge of uncertainty. “But... you’re an assassin. That’s what you said, right? Sneaking through shadows, knives in hand, ready to strike. Dagger Mastery, that’s—”

“I was a cook,” Robin cut in, voice flat, but heavy, each word dropping like a stone into the empty space between them. “I knew how to chop things, mostly vegetables—not people.”

He could see her light shrinking, dimming into something small, something weak. “A... cook?” she echoed, the word soft, the certainty draining out of her voice as if she couldn’t hold onto it anymore. “That’s how you learned Dagger Mastery?”

Robin couldn’t help the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth, the way it felt to let her down, to shatter that image she had built of him. “I don’t know, you‘re the one from this world.”

Her light sputtered again, flickering like a dying star, struggling against the disappointment creeping in around her. She floated lower, her arrogance shrinking, her voice small now. “But... you’re an assassin,” she said, barely audible, clinging to the edges of her illusion like someone holding onto a dream as it slips away. “You’re supposed to be... slicing through enemies, like... shing-shing-shing,” she added, but her voice was empty, her words thin, fragile.

“No one goes ‘shing-shing-shing,’ Minona,” Robin said with a sigh, feeling the weight of it all pressing down on him. “Assassin in my world is silent, not reckless.”

The light from her body sputtered, flickered, and faded until it was just a faint shimmer, barely there at all, as if she were fighting to keep herself glowing, to keep her fantasy alive. “But... what about your Night Beholder?” she asked suddenly, desperately, her light swelling again, as if she found a thread of hope to cling to. “Seeing in the dark, like... a shadow... that had to come from your assassin days, right?”

Robin rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the ache of old memories, the weight of old truths. “I was a night security guard,” he said quietly, the words thick, like a confession he didn’t want to make. “That’s why I’m used to the dark night.”

Minona flared in shock, her light bursting back to life for just a second before dimming once more, her voice tight with disbelief. “Night guard, like a guard for for night? But... you said you were an assassin.”

“I needed the money,” Robin said simply, the truth hanging heavy between them. “Assassins isn’t job in my world.”

She hovered there, stunned, as if the entire world she had built around him was crashing down piece by piece, her voice small and fragile as she clung to the last shreds of her image of him. “But... but you still kill people, right? The Dagger Mastery... there was still... some shing-shing,” she said, voice trembling, zigzagging weakly in the air, her light flickering again.

Robin groaned, his hand covering his face. “Please, Minona... stop saying ‘shing.’”

Minona’s light flickered uncertainly, her usual bravado slipping in the brief, heavy pause that followed Robin’s words. Then, with a sudden burst of forced brightness, she shot upward, her voice tight, too quick. “Next is Dungeon Walker!” she announced, “Ask me!” she urged, swirling through the air in a hurried attempt to mask her faltering pride, the challenge sounding hollow, but her need to regain control painfully clear.

“Innate that makes me stronger with every monster I defeat?” Robin’s voice hung in the air, uncertain, as if he didn’t trust his own words.

Minona circled above, her light casting shifting shadows on the walls. “Your innate is connected to your past,” she mused, her tone laced with curiosity, “The assassin you were once. Who were they? What did you gain? And why did you kill them?”

Robin stiffened, the question sinking into him like a blade, and he flinched against it. “Why... why are we talking about this?” His words came out tight, almost brittle, as if spoken through clenched teeth, trying to shield himself behind them.

Minona hovered closer, her light flickering as she pressed on, but softer now, probing. “Is it so hard to tell? I’m not prying... but no one kills without a reason. There’s always something to gain. Especially someone who’s killed as much as you claim.” She paused, her words lingering like smoke in the stagnant air, curling around him. “What did you gain, human?”

“I...” Robin’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing, the weight of something unsaid pressing down on him. His gaze flickered away, but there was no escape in the darkness around him. Only Minona’s persistent glow, watching him.

And then, just like that, her interest evaporated. She flicked away with a sudden burst of light, her tone playful again, like the tension had been an illusion. “Never mind!” she laughed, her voice breezy and careless. “You don’t have to tell me, human! Secrets are dull when they’re given too easily, anyway.” She drifted farther, her light dimming as if retreating from the heaviness between them. “But still... no one survives down here without a reason. Even you, with your Dungeon Walker,” she added, her tone light but edged with something sharp. “At least you’ve got more to fight for than just survival.”

Robin remained still, silent, the air between them thick with unspoken things, the walls of the dungeon closing in, pressing tighter, until all that was left was the echo of her fading glow and the steady, quiet beating of his own secrets.

“This Dungeon Walker…” Robin opened his hands, studying the calloused palms as though something had shifted beneath his skin, but he felt nothing—nothing but the same weight of them. “I don’t feel different.”

“From just one kill?” Minona’s tone, light yet dripping with condescension, circled him like the air she commanded. “Please. You’ll have to paint these walls red with their blood before you notice anything. Dungeon Walker doesn’t grant you power in an instant, human. You have to earn it. One Hundstein? A grain of sand, barely a speck. It won’t even stick.” She paused, her glow flickering as she floated closer, blowing a soft gust of wind magic across his face. “See that grain of dust? That’s your current power.”

Robin blinked at the sudden breeze, catching her mischievous gleam, a flicker of curiosity rising in him despite himself. “So,” he began, voice steady, though the question carried the weight of something more, “can I really get another innate?”

Minona scoffed, her light flaring slightly in what felt like disdain. “They used to say innates were gifts from ultimate entities, from Lucia herself. But those beliefs are for the weak.” Her voice curled around him, dripping with scorn. “So you know, Lucia is the name of king’s mother, not some deity. If you want power, you work for it. No divine hand’s going to drop it in your lap.”

“Exercise and adaptation, like you mentioned?” Robin’s voice was calmer, quieter now, as though asking too much would unravel something he wasn’t ready to face.

“Innates come in different ways,” Minona began, floating lazily in front of him, her words half lecture, half boast. “You could be born with them, like a talent, some takes sweat to hone them. Or there are shortcuts—books, scrolls that hold the knowledge, but,” she added with a smug hum, “I’m not about to explain that until we see it ourselves.”

Robin exhaled, long and slow, weary already from the constant back-and-forth, the insistent light that never let him rest. The idea of a ‘cheat’ had piqued his interest, sure, but nothing seemed worth the relentless boasting, the patronizing torch that never stopped talking. He couldn’t endure much more of it, not when the knowledge was something he might never even touch. No, it wasn’t worth the cost of burned ears and a fried brain.

“So, what’s next?” Robin asked, a swift change of topic, hoping to steer the conversation away from her endless self-congratulations.

“We find you a weapon,” Minona answered, her voice brimming with excitement. “Keep walking. I know where to look. I saw a chest down one of these paths.”

As they moved deeper into the dungeon, Robin felt a strange undercurrent—hope, maybe, but tainted, twisted, like something wrong was taking root inside him. The dungeon’s oppressive air weighed on him, though the lightness of Minona’s endless chatter numbed the worst of it. There was something off about her, something that pulled at the edges of his suspicion. From the moment he’d met her, there’d been no hostility, no fear—not the kind he was used to from his world. In fact, she’d welcomed him, led him, like she’d been waiting.

Their footsteps echoed through the stone corridors, Minona’s glow leading the way. Robin followed, his eyes alert, ever-watchful, his Night Beholder skill making the shadows clearer, the dangers easier to spot. But no amount of skill could lift the weight pressing on his thoughts—the poison of doubt. Minona’s presence filled the silence, her brightness too cheerful, too eager. She was leading him, yes, but to what? And why? Robin’s instincts screamed to question her motives, but he was trapped here, alone in a world that wasn’t his, desperate enough to trust the light at his side—if only because, for now, he had no other choice.

The dungeon’s silence pressed down on him, thick as the stone walls around them. Yet Minona’s constant chatter filled the spaces, her light flickering as they ventured farther. Robin’s trust was thin, fragile, already poisoned. But in this foreign, desolate place, he needed her. Even if she was leading him to something he couldn’t yet see.