Eila watched in disgusted fascination as the strange, young man, Tristan, scarfed down his meal with the ferocity of a starving animal. He barely stopped to breathe, ripping into the chunks of bread with dirty, mud-caked hands, chewing the salted meat nearly whole.

“Oh,” he groaned, “this tastes so good.”

He was short, almost as short as her. His outfit was ridiculous. He wore a [Leafsworn Top] flanked by a disturbing wolf cloak, a too-big amulet dangled around his neck, some kind of goblin-based armor on his legs, and a pair of leather boots. His skin was deeply tanned, almost burnt, and his messy black hair had a twig sticking out of it.

“More meat, please!” he yelled with a grin.

Despite all that, there was something about him. The way he’d met Duran’s gaze and held it without flinching… How had he known Duran set a Trap? Not to mention the way he’d talked about clearing [Withering Roots] alone with such confidence, as if it was just another day for him.

At the thought of the Dungeon, her heart wrenched painfully. She slumped, guilt and pain and fear all writhing in her guts.

“He’s quite something, isn’t he?” Varya said, sitting down beside her. They were arranged in a circle around Eila’s [Illuminate] card, passing around rations, chatting quietly. Tristan was alone a little off from the group, seeming oblivious to the tension around him as he sucked down ration after ration.

Duran stood a little ahead with Mosi, no doubt discussing what to do about Tristan, not to mention the Dungeon ahead. Eila still remembered the look of disbelief and shock on Duran’s face when she, Varya, and Marr had barged into the guildhall, blood-and-tear-soaked, and cried that they’d disobeyed his orders. Went into [Withering Roots] alone and, in the process, had left Aidas behind.

A flick on her forehead drew her out of her memories. She scowled up as Varya frowned down at her.

“You’re in your head,” the older woman said. “Not good. There’s too much shit in there.” She pulled out a card from her [Binder] and converted it, revealing a bottle of rum. She popped the cork, took a deep sniff, then reluctantly put the bottle away.

“You can drink, Var,” Eila said, rubbing her forehead. She knew Varya was in pain like her. “Might as well before tomorrow.” Though we should be going in right now, every part of her screamed.

Varya set her jaw and shook her head, her close-cropped hair swinging around her neck. “No. Not until we kill that fucking monster.”

For as long as Eila had known Varya, the woman had seemed invincible, though she was only two years older than Eila’s 19. Tall, sturdy, and full of life, she was the type to get hit and hit back harder, laughing all the while.

That is, until the Devourer.

Marr came and sat on the other side of Eila, putting a thin arm around her. “You doing alright?” she murmured.

Eila rested her head against Marr’s shoulder in response, closing her eyes and breathing in her familiar floral scent. It still baffled her that she and Varya were twins; Marr had the build and temperament of a particularly dainty willow branch. Her wide eyes always had a little twinge of softness in them, as if she viewed everyone as someone who needed a hug. Varya viewed everyone as someone who needed a punch.

Eila buried herself closer, trying to shut it all out; the noise of the strange boy, Tristan, horking down his food; the sight of Aidas charging the Devourer; her own mind screaming at her for her leaving her brother behind.

“I’ve never seen someone enjoy rations the way you are,” commented Genn, sipping on a mug of wine. He was the oldest of the group, a man in his fifties with graying hair and a bit of a gut, who recently decided to take up cardbearing in the twilight years of his life.

Eila opened her eyes as Tristan snorted.

“You should see the rations I’ve been eating,” he said, throwing back one last morsel of meat before leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you for the meal. Seriously, it’s the best thing I’ve eaten since I came here.”

Varya frowned. “Since you came here? Where are you from, the Continent?”

“Yup. I’m from the Continent. Landed in Sol a week ago.”

“I see you’re done eating,” Duran said, walking back into the group, Mosi trailing behind him with a frown on her lined face.

Tristan nodded. “So, you guys are here to clear [Withering Roots] too?” For some reason, his eyes flashed to Eila, and she frowned.

“We are.” Duran sat down with a grunt, then summoned his [Binder]. He riffled through and pulled out a card, which converted into two bottles of beer. He handed one to Mosi, took a deep pull off his, then sighed. “It’s strange. The Dungeon should not have respawned for another three years. But nine days ago, that message from the System appeared, and the whole world went to shit.”

Tristan leaned forward, eyes suddenly wide. “The message about the Divine rank?”

Mosi grunted in confirmation. “Dungeons, Rifts, and Dominions all across the world suddenly regenerated well before their time, along with a whole crop of new ones. Not to mention that new landmass off the coast of Astalos, and whatever that whole ‘strength to defeat what is coming’ nonsense was. News is slow in coming in, but the Continent is in a state of total chaos.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“I was planning a joint venture with another Guild to clear out the Roots,” Duran continued, “but…”

Eila shrank down, Marr and Varya suddenly still beside her. Genn rubbed his face, and Mosi sighed.

“What happened?” Tristan asked.

Eila couldn’t speak. Her throat felt as if an invisible hand clutched it.

“We…” Marr swallowed.

“We went ahead,” Varya said, self-loathing thick as blood in her voice. “Me, Marr, Eila, and… and Aidas. We thought we were ready and disobeyed the Guildmaster. We wanted the glory for ourselves.”

A silence fell on the group.

We can do this!

Aidas’s voice suddenly rang in Eila’s ears, the memory of the night he gathered them fresh in her mind. [Withering Roots] is solved. We know the ins and outs. Why should we share the spoils with the others?

Guildmaster Duran says we need to be more cautious, Eila had said, though she had a small smile on her face. The Dungeon respawning prematurely could mean things changed.

Guildmaster Duran is wise indeed, Aidas had replied, sagely nodding. But he’s also comfortable. He has all his Adept cards. He’s reached the peak of what he can attain. But not us. We’re going to the Continent, are we not? How can we let a little Apprentice-rank Dungeon stop us?

That was the problem with having an older brother as charismatic as hers. Even Marr had been convinced, the most hesitant and cautious out of them all. Varya of course was game from the get-go.

And Eila… she’d follow her brother anywhere.

“So, what happened?” Tristan asked, breaking the silence and bringing her out of her thoughts.

“The Dungeon changed,” Eila whispered. “The final boss is no longer Apprentice. It’s Adept.”

“Adept?” Tristan whistled, leaning back.

Then, to her shock, he smiled.

“I’m coming with you guys,” he said, voice firm. “That settles it.”

“That decision is not yours to make,” Duran said, stern. “I don’t like the idea of entering into a Dungeon with a stranger, much less a person of unidentifiable origin as yourself.”

“Then I’m going in alone.” Tristan shrugged. “Doesn’t really make a difference to me.”

“Did you not hear what she just said?” Genn growled, eyes narrowed. “The boss is Adept, lad, and boss monsters are of a magnitude stronger than ordinary foes. To go in alone is suicide.”

“I heard her,” Tristan said calmly, looking the older man in the eyes.

Hey,” he said suddenly, looking around at the group, “what builds do you guys have?”

Eila blinked in surprise, but she was grateful for the change in conversation.

Mosi frowned. “Young man, that’s a personal question, and one not easily asked nor answered.”

“Oh. Sorry,” he apologized, not looking sorry at all. “I can tell you mine first, if that helps. I’m just curious about these kinds of things.”

“Tristan,” Marr said gently, “you really shouldn’t be revealing your build to strangers.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” Varya said, leaning forward, “if you tell me your build, and it so happened to be the same as mine, what’s stopping me, a morally-corrupt individual, from forcing you to give me your cards?”

Tristan grinned. “If you could force me to give you my cards, you would deserve them.”

Varya stared at him for a second, then barked a laugh. She wagged a finger at him and matched his grin, though hers had a distinctly more predatory bent. “How about this? We do a quick, friendly Duel. First to three hits: no damage, no Perks, no equipment. Just cards and brains. If you win, we’ll tell you our builds. If I win, you give me one [Main Deck] card from your [Binder].

“Varya!” Eila hissed, right as Marr slapped her sister on the arm—the most disapproving gesture Marr could make.

“A Duel before we enter a Dungeon?” Mosi sighed, rubbing her eyes. The older woman was the Vice Guildmaster, and perennially in a sour mood. Eila couldn’t really blame her, not with the personalities they had.

“Consider it a warm-up,” Varya said. “Besides, if he’s good, why not bring him along?”

“No.” Duran glowered at Varya. “You will not be Dueling this stranger.”

“I accept,” Tristan interjected, standing up. “But let's change the wager. You guys don’t have to tell me your builds. Instead, if I win, I want you to answer some questions for me.”

Eila frowned. “Some questions?” she echoed.

Tristan’s dark eyes fell on her. “Yes. They’re probably going to sound strange, but I need those answers.” He shrugged, looking around at the group. “You guys seem like friendly folk. You’d probably just tell me anyway. But,” he summoned his deck with a grin, “this way seems more fun.”

Varya stood up as well and walked over to Tristan, eliciting a groan from Duran and a chuckle from Genn. Mosi just raised her hands in surrender.

Varya towered over the young man. But he met her gaze without a hint of doubt. For the not the last time, Eila wondered about this strange young man in the woods.

“I won’t go easy on you,” she warned. “I’m on a hot streak and I don’t plan on losing now.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he said.

Varya nodded. Eila could tell she admired Tristan’s grit. She could also tell that Varya was going to destroy this young man with no pity, having now recognized him as a worthy fighter.

She sighed, as Marr grumbled under her breath about her stupid sister and Duran muttered that no one listened to him.

This wasn’t going to end well.