"You must be…"

"This is Pell. Pell Meltere, sir," the guide introduced.

"Ah. I see. I'd heard that you were… a skeleton—but honestly, I thought it was a joke or some exaggeration. But…"

"No," Pell said flatly. "I'm an actual skeleton."

They stood in the quiet, dignified lobby of the Information Guild. Pell had left Enya and Renwick behind, his soul-flames flickering with quiet anticipation. It had taken over a week, but the information he requested was finally ready. The man in front of him, clean-cut and neat in a white vest and tailored tan trousers, regarded Pell with faint curiosity. He seemed around forty, sensible and poised, with a neatly trimmed mustache that twitched slightly as he nodded.

"Thank you, Lou," he said calmly, dismissing the guide. "I'll take it from here."

Lou inclined his head respectfully and vanished down the corridor, leaving Pell alone with the official.

"My name is Clark. Clark Welters. If you'd follow me, please."

The official led Pell through a set of doors into a private chamber. It was sparse but comfortable, furnished only with a wooden table, neatly polished, two cushioned chairs, and dim lanterns fixed along the wall. Using old-fashioned lanterns like this in such a big city—it gave a much more… personal feel to the room.

On the table, a thick envelope lay waiting for Pell.

"Your report," the man said evenly. He gestured politely. "Take as long as you need."

He nodded once. The man gave a courteous bow and quietly left the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Pell approached the table slowly. He stared down at the neat parchment, fingers hovering just above it. He stood frozen for several long seconds.

Then, he reached forward, and slowly—he opened it.

At the top, printed clearly:

Name: Elara Elm Age: 37 at time of death Appearance: Auburn hair, hazel eyes, slender build Occupation: Director of Elm's Orphanage Birthplace: First Layer, Eiyuria Status: Deceased Cause of Death: Suicide

Pell froze, bones utterly still. He re-read it again.

Status: Deceased Cause of Death: Suicide.

"No," he murmured softly. The word rasped hollowly, an empty sound from an empty throat. "No, that's not possible."

His fingers curled tighter around the paper, edges beginning to crumple. He kept reading, desperate to find something—anything—to prove it false.

But the report continued mercilessly.

Details:

Following a severe financial downturn, the orphanage managed by Elara Elm accrued substantial debt to Nobleman Amberdean Hainesworth. Unable to repay the mounting debt within a year, Elara Elm transferred into personal servitude under Amberdean Hainesworth, relinquishing all of her rights until said debt is repaid. Most children previously under her care were forcibly relocated—some sent to distant provinces, others pressed into forced labor within city jurisdictions. Any remaining individuals were under the care-taking of a city official by the name of Galvin Marsh.

Approximately one year into her servitude, Elara Elm was reported deceased, her death classified officially as suicide. Immediately following her death, the orphanage property was repossessed entirely by Amberdean Hainesworth and subsequently converted into a private combat training facility for his son. No personal belongings of Elara Elm were discovered, nor recovered. Her gravesite is designated Lot #243 in Eiyuria's Memorial Graveyard.

Pell read the report once, then again. And again. And again.

His mind froze on each line. His jaw clenched so tightly he could hear bone scraping against bone. The soul-flames within him burned brighter, fiercer, as denial built like a storm.

No… no… this isn't true.

The words blurred, distorted by disbelief.

This is a lie. This has to be some cruel joke.

His bones rattled faintly, trembling harder with each reread sentence. The soul-flames in his skull flickered violently, weakening with every passing moment.

"No," he said aloud, as if challenging the paper to respond. "This...this has to be some sick joke. Some mistake. She wouldn't—"

His denial crumbled into silence. He re-read every line. Each word chipped away at him, slow and relentless, until disbelief cracked into grief, into despair.

The cruelest part was the date recorded.

He left the first layer at forty-two, journeyed two years before discovering Sable's dungeon. Four years trapped there, then months with Enya after. Six and a half years away.

Elara, enslaved a year after his departure. Dead a year after that.

He had died at almost the exact same time she did.

That meant... that he wasn't there when she needed him most.

And he hadn't even known.

The promises he had made rang cruelly in his mind. How he swore to pay her debts, to avenge the cruelties Amberdean had visited upon her. But he'd done none of that. He'd gambled away his chance. If he'd only returned sooner, paid the warp fees, ignored his greed—maybe things would've been different. He wouldn't have enough to pay the debt off, but it'd be close. Close enough to prevent the debtors.

Maybe she would still be alive.

He had known Amberdean's cruelty. His obsession with Elara. His greed for the orphanage. Pell knew all of it—and still stayed away.

Pell's soul-flames dimmed, flickered weakly, and vanished entirely, plunging the room into a cold, lifeless shadow.

Yet, as silence enveloped him, as the realization sank deeper into the marrow of his bones, something small nagged at the edge of his grief. A quiet, nagging voice.

The report said the orphanage had only been repurposed after Elara's death. Which meant that until then, it still stood. Operated. Sheltered children. Protected them. An official watched over it, but it was still under her name.

Even if she was enslaved, it must have been an indentured servant contract. She would have had free time. That time must have been spent at that orphanage. Not only was it her place of work, but it was also her own home.

Pell knew her.

Elara… would she truly have abandoned hope? Taken her life with the orphanage still standing, children still depending on her? Could she have done that?

Pell's soul-flames flickered weakly, barely holding on.

No. She wouldn't. Elara was stronger than that. Fiercely protective. Never surrendering, never abandoning the children she swore to protect. Many a time, Amberdean had made an attempt, but she protected herself plenty enough times. With or without Pell there.

If she didn't take her own life, then…

Pell's flames flared back to life, burning violet with fury. Rage built swiftly, overwhelming the despair.

Elara hadn't taken her own life. It just simply wasn't possible. Not logical.

There was only one conclusion Pell could come to:

She had been murdered.

—Amberdean.

The name burned hot in Pell's mind, hotter than his own flames. Amberdean had done it—there was no doubt. Who else would have motive and means? Who else had tried so desperately to possess her, to break her spirit, and when that failed—dispose of her quietly?

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Pell slowly straightened from the table. His seat scraped back with a quiet screech against the floor. His bones creaked and rattled with tension, each joint rigid with restrained anger. He stared down at the parchment again, at the cruel mockery of Elara's final moments distilled into ink.

He couldn't change the past—couldn't reverse his choices, his failures, or the years he'd wasted pursuing empty wealth. But he could still make Amberdean pay. And he would.

For Elara. For her mother, Melly. For the children they'd protected until the very end.

Pell folded the crumpled parchment carefully and held it close.

He turned toward the door and opened it without hesitation.

The man in the white vest stood waiting outside, eyebrows raised slightly in polite curiosity. Pell's posture must have betrayed something, because the man's expression shifted subtly—surprise giving way to careful neutrality.

"Was the report satisfactory, Mr. Meltere?" Clark asked gently.

"It was enough," was all Pell could manage to say. He stepped away quickly, disappearing down the corridor.

He moved toward the exit, cloak fluttering behind him, steps steady and deliberate. No hesitation, no second thoughts. For the first time since waking as a skeleton beneath Sable's cursed dungeon, Pell felt clarity.

He'd spent his life running from ghosts.

Now it was time he chased ghosts—and confronted the demons who'd created them. Many people filled that list. For now, however, only one mattered.

Amberdean's reckoning was coming. Pell would see to that personally.

The adventurer's guild was pretty empty at the moment. Even with only a few people in the hall, Catarina still held half of their attention.

After talking to the other clerk, one clearly male—Pell made his way to the back room, where the portal gate was.

Sure enough, the annoying portal master was standing guard inside.

Pell ignored the man completely, walking past as though he wasn't even there. The guard's scowl deepened, but Pell couldn't have cared less. The searing memory of the report occupied his mind, leaving no space for petty grudges.

Inside the room, Enya was curled up comfortably in a chair, absorbed in a book. He caught sight of the title as he approached: The Summoned Saintess becomes a Skeleton. Pell paused a second, bones rattling softly. Somehow, that title felt oddly familiar. He chose not to comment.

Enya noticed him immediately. She dropped the book onto the table and sprang up, rushing forward.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, stopping just in front of him. She crossed her arms, tapping one foot dramatically. "I've been waiting for nearly an hour."

Pell forced his voice steady. "Sorry. Got… held up."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting as she stared at him closely. He had no face to betray him, yet Pell felt oddly exposed beneath her scrutiny—as if she sensed his discomfort regardless.

He waited, for her to continue.

Enya's expression softened a moment later. If she suspected anything, she let it slide for now.

"Well, it's fine," she sighed. "I've already formed a basic room in the sanctum. Wasn't really hard, just used my soul-energy. But since someone took forever, I spent some extra time refining it."

"That so?" Pell replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, casual.

Enya nodded brightly. "Only problem is—I forgot to add any lights. It was probably pitch-black in there." She smiled sheepishly. "But lucky for me, Renwick got me some emberstick candles. I had the dungeon core absorb them, so it should be bright in there. Haven't gone inside yet, though. I wanted to wait for you."

He felt a twinge deep in his chest, where his heart once beat. She'd waited specifically for him, excited, cheerful. And here he was, consumed by frustration and rage over something she knew nothing about. It felt almost unfair.

But Pell kept it buried deep beneath the flickering violet flames in his skull.

"Well," he said evenly, "let's see what you made, then."

She grinned broadly, grabbing him by the arm without hesitation. Her fingers tightened gently around his bony wrist.

"Portal master!" she called toward the door. "We're ready! Open the gate."

The portal master scowled from across the room, clearly displeased by Pell's presence, but he didn't refuse. He moved slowly to the control array, grumbling quietly to himself as the runes flickered alive around him.

Pell stared straight ahead, ignoring the man's hostility entirely. He had bigger things to think about—Amberdean, Elara, revenge. The weight of guilt still clawed at him, but for now, he couldn't let Enya see it. She deserved at least one moment of peace and pride, free from his burdens.

The gate flared open in a gentle swirl of blue and silver.

"Come on," Enya tugged his arm again, practically bouncing with anticipation. "It's time to see our new sanctum."

Pell allowed himself to be pulled forward, as the both of them stepped through the swirling portal.

The portal's light faded gently behind them, leaving Pell and Enya standing quietly in the new sanctum. The emberstick candles Renwick had provided flickered softly in the corners, casting faint golden pools of light onto gray stone walls.

Pell slowly scanned the room. It was small, spacious—and oddly familiar.

Too familiar.

His violet flames flickered slightly. He turned toward Enya, the question already forming in his mind.

"Did you really just copy the design of Sable's study?"

She flushed, quickly crossing her arms defensively. "It was the first thing I thought of, okay? Besides, it's not exactly the same… just very similar."

He glanced around pointedly.

This is almost an exact replica, aside from the missing bookshelves and desk, he thought.

Plain, gray stone bricks made the walls, floor and ceiling. There was a pedestal at the center, holding up the dungeon core. And right behind it, Zerus's heart, sitting plainly inside the glass phylactery.

"Yeah," Pell replied dryly, "completely original."

Enya rolled her eyes, though she didn't bother hiding a smile. "It's not like you really care. Anyway, it's temporary. I'll upgrade it over time, add furniture, maybe some windows. I'm not sure what we'll see outside, since I think it's just… dark. But apparently, I can even craft something to teleport directly here whenever I want."

Pell nodded, but didn't respond right away. He was lost in thought again, the weight of the earlier report still pressing heavily on him. Frustration lingered, burning just beneath the surface, but something else now joined it—a flicker of hope, quiet and fragile.

He hesitated, then spoke.

"Enya."

She glanced up immediately, eyebrows raised slightly. He rarely called her by name, usually just "kid" or something grumpier. She noticed.

"What's wrong?"

Pell chose his words carefully. "The Lightway Academy won't open yet, right? Because of the whole Zerus thing?"

"Probably not," Enya admitted slowly. "There was still the final stage to go through, but it was stopped after the city shut down. RIsha also told me there was a redemption tournament too, so school probably won't be open for a while."

He had already mentioned to Enya about the city's offer. Her acceptance into the academy.

Pell nodded. Silence filled the small sanctum again. He turned toward the dungeon core, the gentle glow reflecting softly on his Soul-Forged bones.

Finally, he spoke again—more directly this time.

"I… got news of Elara. She's…" he hesitated. "She's not doing well. I need to go back to the first layer for a couple of weeks. There's someone there… someone I need to… deal with." His voice dipped into quiet steel. "But I'm not entirely sure I can do it alone. It's not your fight. I know that. And I know it's asking a lot—dragging you away again, especially after tricking you into a class you never asked for, into more of my personal problems. You've made some friends here, you have school now, I don't like that Custodian guy, but he seems trustworthy enough. You have an actual future, a path—"

"Stop," Enya said abruptly.

Pell's jaw clicked shut. He glanced down at her.

She stepped closer, meeting his empty eye sockets fiercely. Her voice softened but remained firm.

"I'll go wherever you go, Pell. I already forgave you for all of that. And honestly… school, tournaments, classes—I don't care about any of it if it means you disappearing on me and getting lost."

She had felt it all this time. Even before Pell entered the guild. There was just… a connection. A feeling or something terrible. A madness, a chaos that she felt between her link with Pell. She could feel a maelstrom of emotions from him. Most of it, sadness, the rest—anger.

"If you want me to help, I'll help you. You don't have to keep feeling guilty Pell. I like my class. And even if you don't think so, you did save me from being eaten by the monsters in Sable's dungeon," she said, hands on her hips.

She pointed up at him. Directly at his skull.

"You need to stop blaming yourself for things you couldn't help."

He stared at her quietly, something inside him stirring in a way he couldn't quite grasp. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in decades—since he was just a child under Melly's gentle care in the orphanage. Warmth. Acceptance. Maybe even family.

But quickly, that fragile feeling drowned beneath renewed anger.

Amberdean's face rose in his mind, twisted into a sneer of triumph. The fires of vengeance flared brighter. Pell knew exactly what needed to be done—and exactly who needed to be destroyed.

"All right," he said quietly. "Then I'll ask you again: will you help me. Help me take revenge on Amberdean. The man who murdered Elara." His expression was neutral, but every word he spoke carried his very essence, his soul.

The words hung heavy in the air, and Enya's eyes widened with a mixture of shock and confusion at the revelation. But considering the weight in his words, and the connection she felt—she nodded firmly. She smiled faintly as she moved closer, taking her place at his side without hesitation.

Of course, she'd help.

Pell's skeletal hand tightened into a fist.

They'd made it this far. A dungeon collapse, a mutated rat, spiderlings, and even a demon kidnapping.

Now was the next challenge. It wasn't one for Enya—it was one for him.

Amberdean had stolen too much. Hurt too many. And Pell would see to it personally that he paid the price.

But this time… he didn't have to go alone.

He turned around, facing the guild's portal. He was feeling strangely comforted by the small, familiar room around them. It was a starting point—a home base. A foundation built of a home. Reminiscent of memories, ones he spent 4 years in solitude, and weeks with Enya, even if it wasn't the same.

And somewhere in the dim candlelight, he felt a ghostly presence—warm, reassuring, proud. Like Melly's gentle hand on his shoulder, or Elara's quiet laughter in his ears.

Pell let out a soft, bitter chuckle, shaking his skull.

He'd spent his whole life chasing coin and comfort. An orphanage became his home after his father left him. He died once pursuing greed, but now lived a second life driven by vengeance.

But maybe, just maybe, there was something else worth chasing after all. Every decision led somewhere. And his—lead him to this exact point.

He glanced down at Enya once more, nodding slowly.

"Alright. Before we go down to the first layer—let's get you that hulking abomination. I think we're going to need it.

Enya smiled with glee. She was going to actually work towards a new, powerful minion, and complete another class quest of hers. "Alright!" she exclaimed, grabbing hold of Pell's hand.

Together, side by side, they stepped forward through the portal—toward revenge, toward answers, and towards an uncertain future.

Whatever awaited them on the first layer, beneath the shadows of Eiyuria city, behind the mystery of Elara's demise—this time, he wouldn't wait.

If Amberdean was going to go down—Pell would make sure it wasn't swift and painless.

He'd start, by slowly stripping away everything that man had.

Down, to the last bone.

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