There was little sound. Just the rough, unsettling creak of the cave filled the silence; a sound that spoke of age and unseen depths.

The color bled away from the world. The vibrance of moss and soil gave way to a lifeless gray, everything tinted in dark ash and shadow.

Plip, Plop.

Faintly, in the distance, droplets of water fell from stalactites; a steady rhythm, occasionally accompanied by larger falls.

Yet, the observers couldn't hear a sound. No. They weren't really there. They could only observe. In silence.

A cavern stretched outward, its walls distant and irregular, arched like the belly of some ancient beast. In its heart was a wide, circular chamber.

Bones littered the floor like snow after a blizzard. Cracked femurs, half-shattered skulls, cages of ribs gnawed inward. They lay in heaps and scatters, piled so deep in places that the stone below had vanished. Each a different size, possibly—from a different species.

At the center of the skeletal grave sat a black stone tomb. It was not decorative. No crest, no engraving—no mark of reverence. It was plain, yet within this chamber, at the centerpiece, it was anything but.

Far at the end of this chamber, sat a familiar figure.

It was a knight of dead.

A Mr., of bones.

But he didn't look right. He was injured. Half-broken.

One knee pressed into the grave-laden earth, his skeletal frame slumped forward—not from rest, but from ruin. His greatsword lay at his side, snapped in half, the upper blade nowhere to be seen. Its right arm was gone. Torn off from the shoulder. From a valorous knight, now stood a defeated soldier.

It looked forward. Staring at the tomb.

That was when the ground trembled.

It was faint at first, like a heartbeat through stone; a subtle shift beneath the bones. Dust fell from the ceiling. Pebbles stirred.

The surface of the tomb shifted.

Its lid, impossibly thick, scraped sideways with a deep, aching groan, stone grinding against stone. Not fast, not sharp. Just sheer mass and weight, sliding, grating against its base.

A sliver of blackness appeared beneath the lid. Then, from within, a hand emerged. It was rotten. Desiccated. Skin clinging like sun-weathered parchment, drawn tight over bone. One finger twitched. Then another.

The hand grasped the lid from within. Pushing it open further.

They couldn't see within. The tomb was shrouded in an oppressive darkness; the absence of light left only the faintest impression of the stone walls and their shadowy forms. It was impossible to see whose hand it belonged to.

The tomb's lid shifted another inch, and the cavern responded like a creature exhaling in dread. A windless shiver passed through the bones, rattling skulls like dice. The ground pulsed again.

And then—The vision shattered. Light bled in from the edges.

Color snapped back.

And time moved again.

Enya gasped—sharp and sudden—as though she'd been held underwater. Her breath caught in her throat before it came out ragged. She blinked rapidly, yellow light fading from her irises in flickering pulses.

She was still atop Ted.E, the skeletal beast standing silently as before, its empty eye sockets tilted in her direction, as much as its skull could turn.

Beside her, Pell jolted. A faint crackling of soul-flame leaked from the seams of his eye sockets as he took a breathless step backward—habit, not necessity.

He looked down at his bony hands, then back at Enya.

Both of them then turned and stared at the noble skeletal knight.

He stood a few paces ahead, sword drawn halfway, motionless. He hadn't moved from his watchful guard.

"What… the hell was that," Pell muttered. His voice was rougher than usual.

Enya didn't respond at first. Her eyes were still wide—focused on nothing. Then she blinked again and turned to him. "That… that was my vision skill activating again."

Pell's soul flames shrank and concentrated into tiny points. "That scene made no sense. Where even was that? I could barely see anything—it was that dark."

"I don't know," Enya said, shaking her head slightly. "But I don't like it," she continued.

Her grip tightened on the blanket laying below her.

Why… was the vision of Mr. Bones? Was he… fighting something?

That vision had involved Mr. Bones getting hurt. He was in some mysterious dark cave. And something dangerous was emerging from that tomb. Whatever it was—she wanted to avoid whatever happened to cause that vision.

Mr. Bones simply stood straight as he always had been. He stared back at the two. He showed no expression, like the silent, stoic sentinel he had always been. Seeing that nothing was happening, even though both Enya and Pell were staring at him, he simply turned and lowered his sword.

That's when the both of them realized they were still in the slime dungeon.

"L-lets go back," Enya said, not meaning to stutter.

Pell turned to face the portal. "Yeah. Let's go." His voice was lower than normal.

"Check… complete. No items recovered. No lifeforms detected. You two are free to leave."

The man spoke slowly. His gaze was focused entirely on the giant skeletal knight that had walked through the portal. He wasn't shocked or surprise by the creature. After all, he had already seen Pell enter the spiderling dungeon.

No. The portal manager wasn't shocked or scared.

He was apprehensive.

"Don't cause trouble on the way out," he commanded, his eyes fierce on the large monster. He didn't even look at the other two.

Enya had already dispelled Ted. E. The same couldn't be said for Mr. Bones, as he still belonged to the dungeon.

"Okay. Bye bye," Enya said.

"Don't cause trouble on your way in," Pell mocked as they began to leave.

The man's gaze flicked over to Pell. And if gazes could kill—well, Pell was already dead. It was obvious that the man wasn't a particular fan of monsters. Especially ones that could talk and tried being a smart-ass.

"That doesn't even make sense, mush for brains," he retorted. "I only manage the portal access. I don't conduct raids."

As Enya, Mr. Bones, and Pell began to leave, Pell simply held up a middle finger to the man as they left. "Yeah. Too scared to fight some slimes," Pell said, cackling as he walked.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

The man was about to retort again, his throat already growling, but the trio left through the door before he could.

"Undead scum. Should have stayed dead," he muttered.

To his right was the assistant portal manager. She was there as well when Pell, Enya, and Josier, the War Paragon, entered the spiderling dungeon. Her coworker's unpleasant interaction with the skeleton was something she was there to witness.

She sighed. Hopefully, nothing would ever escalate higher than a few harsh words.

"That's great to hear," Renwick said.

Pell and Enya were back in the Crafter's Guild, once again seated in the quiet comfort of the upper meeting room. The lighting was gentle, almost homely, and the faint aroma of roasted herbs and polished wood made the space feel more like a parlor than a bureaucratic office.

Enya lounged on the plush sofa, one leg tucked beneath the other. She had a fresh meat skewer in hand—courtesy of the hospitality Renwick had arranged—and was nibbling through it with lazy contentment. Pell leaned back in the sofa with arms crossed, one foot tapping lightly against the floor.

"Now that you have enough mana—or whatever that energy is you mentioned—we can proceed with registering your dungeon core to the network," Renwick continued.

"Okay," Enya replied, before taking another bite of the skewer. "So how does this work?"

Renwick offered a brief smile and adjusted the glasses perched on his nose. "Let's begin with the basics first. Enya, do you know how dungeons work? Or how they're traveled to?"

She tilted her head, chewing. "Not really," she admitted with a shrug, before pointing her skewer slightly toward the man. "I just ask that man at the guild and the portal just goes whoosh!"

Renwick chuckled politely, then stood and walked over to a cabinet along the wall. From within, he retrieved a small crystal globe and placed it on the center table. With a tap of his finger, the globe shimmered to life, casting a light illusion into the air above it— a shifting lattice of nodes, glowing and intersecting across layered lines.

"At the Adventurer's Guild," he began, "there exists a registry. A growing map of known dungeons—hunting grounds, raid sites, sanctums. Most of the ones you travel to, you don't physically walk into. You connect to them from a stabilized portal. These are generated using the coordinates of dungeons others have discovered."

He gestured toward one of the glowing nodes. "When a new dungeon is found and notified to the guild, adventurers are sent in to document its terrain, materials, and threats. They assign it a dungeon rank, sometimes a name, and then upload its coordinates to the guild's public records. After that, any branch with access permissions can open a portal directly to it."

Enya leaned forward, curiosity lighting her features. "So it's like… a bookmark?"

"Precisely," Renwick said with a faint smile. "Though, those apply to spatial dungeons. Yours is… a little different."

He paused, lifting a finger to tap the glassy orb again. The illusion above shimmered and shifted—now displaying a pulsing well of blue light. Energy—mana—gathering slowly at a single point, then radiating outward in slow, deliberate waves. Land began to take shape in the projection, hills rising from nothing, valleys stretching across unformed space.

"Spatial dungeons exist naturally throughout the universe," Renwick explained, his voice calm and even. "Most of them are formed by ambient mana collecting at a point in the void, gradually condensing into matter. But your core… it was forged within our own world. That makes it rare."

He steepled his fingers, gaze flickering to Enya. "More than rare, in fact. Dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Enya echoed, her mouth still half-full of skewered meat.

Renwick nodded once. "Because your dungeon core exists inside our layered realm, it has the potential to manipulate and reshape land on a significant scale. Imagine if someone implanted it into the heart of a city and began expanding it unchecked—entire landscapes could be swallowed or rewritten. That's why creating sanctums within the layers is strictly forbidden."

"So what happens instead?" Pell asked, scratching the side of his temple. "We just… toss it out into the sky?"

"Essentially," Renwick said with a low chuckle. "We anchor it to a set of open coordinates in the surrounding void. Empty space, far from any claimed or inhabited zone. Once placed, it will operate like a traditional dungeon—drawing in ambient mana from the surrounding cosmos and using it to form matter. That is your sanctum. Your personal world."

He shifted slightly, gesturing toward the orb again. "And the more of your own mana you feed into it, the faster it will expand. Simple structures at first: rooms, passages, space to walk and work. But over time? The limits are dictated only by what you're willing to pour in."

Enya's brow furrowed slightly. "So they just… grow? Forever?"

"To a degree," Renwick replied. "That's how you end up with dungeons the size of cities. Some, if left unchecked, become worlds unto themselves. There are rumors of one that holds an entire ocean within it."

Pell shifted in his chair, a flicker of skepticism flashing behind his soul-flames. "I've heard stories like that when I was younger. Could never tell if it was fairytales or just drunk tales told by a campfire."

"I'm no adventurer," Renwick admitted, his tone modest, "but I've spoken to many. Some of their reports—well, they're too consistent to ignore. If people can live inside their own sanctums, sustained by mana and time, why not a kingdom? It's not impossible. Just... unlikely. The energy required to sustain such a realm would be astronomical."

Pell let out a low hollow whistle. "Mana's always expensive. Nothing's free."

Renwick smiled faintly at that. "Exactly. Not to mention that the mana our own bodies create, are vastly inferior to ambient mana in the cosmos. Creating matter requires exponentially more energy than destroying it, and using our own personal mana will be very time consuming and labor intensive."

"How do people find dungeons or make their own sanctums then if they don't have a dungeon core like mine?"

"Good question. The adventurer guild works closely with the magic association for this. There are numerous teams scattered across the layers of adventurers, scholars, and researchers, all discovering coordinates themselves. It's like a guessing game. There are some numbers involved that are out of my expertise, but…" Renwick trailed off, trying to think of an explanation.

"Basically, there are some high-level formulas that they use to inspect specific areas in space, ones that show signs of activity. If they find one, they send a specialized scout with the teleportation gate. These scouts are usually people that have special skills or spells that let them explore with no danger to themselves. Like a detached consciousness, or a spectral body."

"So in case the area is too dangerous, they won't actually die," Pell commented.

"Exactly," Renwick nodded. "Some coordinates just lead to an expanse of empty void and space. Instant death, might I add. Other times, it could be an incredibly dangerous dungeon. But if the scout successfully gets there and can confirm some basic details—that's when they come back, and then the Adventurer's Guild assigns a raid team to clear it out for the first time."

"Oooh…" was all that Enya could say. It seemed fascinating to her.

The illusion above them flickered once more before dimming entirely. Renwick tapped the orb gently, and the lights faded.

"Now, we got a bit off topic. Let's get back to the matter at hand. Since you've finally gathered enough mana—or, rather, your alternative energy—we can move on to the next step. We'll select an unclaimed pocket of space, stabilize your coordinates, and implant your core."

"With your own hands," Renwick affirmed. "That's the privilege, and burden, of a sanctum owner. As a crafter, it'll be important to have your own personal forge too. Creating items in ambient space has a higher chance of success. Sometimes, even anomalies will occur and unpredictably affect your items, in unique and powerful ways."

Enya leaned back with a small, satisfied hum, licking a bit of grease from her thumb. "Then I better make it pretty."

Renwick chuckled. "Are you ready to begin the process?"

She gave a firm nod, a spark of excitement finally bubbling beneath the calm. "I'm ready."

"Excellent," he said, clasping his hands together. "Then let's not delay. My apologies, you just came from the Adventurer's Guild, but that's where the sanctum creation array is housed. All set up and calibrated. It's where everything will be prepared. I wasn't sure when you both were going to be finished with your tasks, otherwise, I'd have met up with you there first."

Pell exhaled faintly and pushed himself up from the couch with a creak of bone. "Figures. Back to the guild again."

Renwick stood as well, straightening his tunic and adjusting a small pin on his collar. "A courier will transport your dungeon core ahead of us, just so you don't have to lug the thing around. It'll be more… inconspicuous. We'll meet them there."

As he turned toward the door, he gestured politely. "After you."

Enya hopped down from the sofa and ran over to a trashcan to discard of the skewer stick, before moving to the door.. Pell stretched his back out with a few pops and followed. Enya reached for the handle, and opened the door. But instead of the hallway outside, she saw something else.

Standing just beyond the threshold was a young man in a uniform, hand raised mid-knock. His eyes widened slightly, surprised to find the door opening just as he was about to tap on it.

"Oh," he said. "Pardon me. I didn't expect your meeting to be over so quick."

Renwick, standing just behind Enya and Pell, stepped forward, expression calm but curious. "Yes? Can I help you? Are you with the Crafter's Guild?"

The man looked briefly toward Renwick, then gave a short shake of his head. "No, sir. I'm not here for you."

Pell's invisible brow lifted slightly. Something about the man's posture, the insignia on his chest—it didn't match the guild's livery. He's not with the crafters, Pell thought.

The man pointed directly at Pell. "I'm here for him."

Pell blinked. "Me?"

The man nodded. "You made a request at the Information Guild a few days ago. I'm here to inform you that your results have come in. The information you requested has been processed and delivered. It's waiting for you."

There was a brief silence. Enya turned to look at Pell, curious. Renwick stayed quiet, watching the exchange with his hands folded behind his back.

Pell's thoughts narrowed in an instant. His mind jumped, unbidden, to a single name: Elara.

"…I see," he muttered, voice lower than before. He turned to Enya and Renwick, scratching the side of his skull absentmindedly. "You two go on ahead to the guild. I'll catch up later."

Enya tilted her head. "You sure?"

"Yeah," Pell said. He tried for his usual smugness, but it came out different. A bit more quiet. "Been waiting on this for over a week. Rather not put it off."

Renwick gave a courteous nod. "Very well. I shall lead Miss Enya here over to the Adventurer's Guild and begin the preparations with her. It'll be a bit of an involved process, so by the time you're done, we should still be working, in case you wanted to see everything fall into place."

Pell nodded once, then turned back to the information guild staff member. "Lead the way."

The man nodded, then turned, walking down the hall, with Pell following in tow.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.