The soft hues of predawn had long since given way to the full light of morning by the time they stood before the black box.

Its smooth, unnatural surface rose from the earth like some buried obelisk, dark and silent. The group moved quietly, the morning's energy muted beneath a layer of tension. Each of them checked their gear one last time—tightening straps, patting pouches, running their fingers over blades, batons, or slung spearguns—before stepping forward.

At the centre of the box sat the familiar white hemisphere. Without speaking, they each reached out and rested a hand on the cold, polished stone.

A system message appeared before each of them:

Dungeon Entrance NAME: Dungeon at the End of the Beginning Level: Unknown Type: Unknown Highest Level Completed: 1 Party Members: 5 of 5 Do you wish to enter the Dungeon at your highest level reached (2)? Yes / No

Lily squinted at the floating words, then frowned. "Did you notice… there was no personal message this time?"

Everyone looked up from their respective messages. A few glances confirmed the same.

"Yeah," Zane muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "No flavour text. No backhanded compliment. Not even a sarcastic title."

"What do you think it means?" asked Kai, chewing his bottom lip. "Do you think it's gonna be normal from now on?"

"Not a bloody chance," Tarni said, just as a new message flashed in front of them all—layering itself ominously over the still-waiting dungeon prompt.

TICK TOCK

The glowing words pulsed once, then faded—leaving only the original prompt behind.

"Well shit," Kai muttered, leaning back with a nervous chuckle. "I guess not."

Nobody laughed. But a few weak smiles passed around the group like armour against dread.

One by one, they each answered Yes.

The stone surface shimmered and changed once again. What had once been a solid wall became a tunnel—angled down into the earth, its dark interior stretching into the unknown.

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The air shifted. The quiet hum of morning birds and breeze faded as if muffled by distance. The world narrowed to that sloping path, to the second floor of the Dungeon at the End of the Beginning.

And the clock, it seemed, was still ticking.

Sergeant Barry Smith was on his day off, though it didn't feel like one. Frustration gnawed at him as he paced his living room, arms folded tight. He'd spent most of yesterday trying to find someone—anyone—willing to do a quiet recon on the Riders' property.

No dice.

The people who would help him, couldn't. And the ones who could, Flat-out wouldn't.

Barry wasn't reckless—he knew better than to go out there alone. Something strange was going on out at that property, and every instinct told him poking the beast solo was a good way to wind up as a missing person case.

He stared out the window, scowling.

Damn, I wish I was a smoker, he thought bitterly. Could light one up and look all brooding—like some old-school cop from an '80s cartoon.

Instead, he stood there with empty hands and growing irritation, no closer to the truth than he'd been the day before.

Barry was teetering dangerously close to a spiral, when his mobile rang.

The ringtone cut through the room like a slap.

He frowned. The number wasn't one of his usual contacts—no silent prefix, no markings of official channels. Unknown, but not private. That alone made him hesitate.

Still, he answered.

"Sergeant Smith speaking."

A familiar voice came through, uncertain but polite. "Hi, Sergeant, it's Dave. I talked to you the other day—about delivering an excavator to that, property. You gave me your number… remember?"

Barry's eyes narrowed as the memory clicked into place. "Yeah, Dave. I remember. You got new information?"

"Well… not really," Dave admitted, clearing his throat. "Actually, I'm ringing because my boss is on my ass to go back out there and pick up the excavator. But I ain't going back out there alone."

There was a pause. Barry stayed quiet.

"I just thought, since you were so interested," Dave continued nervously, "you might want to come with me. You know. As a police escort?"

Barry blinked. The corner of his mouth twitched into a rare smile.

Perfect.

He kept his tone neutral. "Unfortunately, Dave, I can't come with you as a policeman."

On the other end of the line, Dave's heart sank audibly through the phone. The silence stretched. Barry could almost hear the man's panic setting in.

Dave had been having a rough couple of days because Zane Rider wasn't answering his phone or emails. And now his boss was losing their mind because the excavator license hadn't been signed off properly. Dave wasn't just uneasy—he was desperate.

But before Dave could spiral further, Barry continued.

"What I can do is come along as a colleague, off duty. I'll wear a body cam and a mic. That way, everything we see and hear will be recorded, just in case."

The relief in Dave's voice was immediate and genuine. "That's great, mate! Really appreciate it. Can you be at the local's town pub at ten?"

Barry checked his watch: 8:02 AM. He'd need to hit the station first—grab the gear—then make the hour-long drive to Mr. Rider's town.

"Yeah," he said. "I should be able to make that."

"Fantastic! There's a truck stop out the back of the pub. I'll swing by and pick you up at ten sharp."

The call ended, and Barry was already moving—grabbing his keys and making mental checklists. After all this time hitting walls, he finally had a foot in the door.

He had no idea what he'd find.

But he was going in.

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