"Alright, Rhael, old boy. This is it. The big one. Level one of the Silent Dungeon. No big deal, right? Just a massive, ancient hole in the ground filled with things that probably want to eat your face. Piece of cake. Absolute walk in the park."The heavy stone doors of the entrance groaned as they settled into their frames behind him, the finality of the thud echoing through the vaulted vestibule like a gavel. Rhael flinched, his knuckles turning white as he tightened his grip on the worn leather handle of his heater shield. He adjusted his stance, planting his boots firmly on the damp flagstones."Great. Locked in. Because of course I am. Fate just loves a locked door, doesn't it? Really adds to the whole 'hopeless adventurer' vibe I’ve got going on today. Okay, shield up. Chin down. Don't trip over your own feet, and for the love of everything holy, try not to scream like a kid if a bat flies past."The air in the dungeon was thick, smelling of old copper and stagnant water, a heav

"Ilyra, put the sword down," Dalen said, his voice trembling with a frantic, wet edge. "It’s me. I swear on my mother’s grave, it’s me. You’re seeing things. The light... the magical veil... it’s playing tricks on your eyes.""The veil doesn't touch the shadows, Dalen," Ilyra hissed, her blade steady against his windpipe. "Mirra, tell him. Does your magic mess with the way a man’s shadow behaves?"Mirra, her face pale under her silver-trimmed hood, shook her head slowly. "The veil only suppresses the travel of light. It doesn't decouple a reflection from its source. Dalen... your shadow didn't move. It stayed still while you laughed.""It was a fluke!" Dalen cried, his hands raised, palms out. "A glitch in the dungeon! Rhael, tell her! You saw me! I gave you the bread, didn't I? A monster wouldn't feed you!"Rhael scrambled backward, his boots skidding on the stone. "I—I don't know, man! I’m new here! But the laugh... it sounded like a recording. Like you were playing back a memory of

The mimic’s jaw was a black hole lined with glass needles, and it was inches from Rhael’s throat when a heavy iron pike slammed into its side."Get away from him, you filthy parasite!" Mavin roared, putting his entire weight into the thrust.The creature’s body folded around the pole, its ribs snapping with a sound like dry kindling. It didn't scream. It didn't even grunt. Instead, as Ilyra’s saber followed up with a vicious horizontal arc that severed the thing's head from its distorted shoulders, a sound erupted from the rolling cranium."Haha... ha... stupid, stupid Rhael," the head chuckled, bouncing across the stone floor. It was Rhael’s voice—perfectly pitched, mocking, and full of a mirth he had never felt. "You think... killing the skin... stops the song?"Rhael scrambled back on his hands and knees, his breath coming in jagged, pathetic gulps. "Shut up! Just die! Why won't you just die?""It’s okay, Rhael," the mimic’s headless torso whispered, its vocal cords still vibrating

"So, Choice C, then? Let's find out which one of us is the snack."Rhael felt the words crawl up his spine like cold spiders. He gripped his sword so hard the hilt groaned, his knuckles white and trembling. "Choice C was my joke. My thought. You’re just a parrot in a stolen tunic."The other Rhael took a step back, his face a mirror of Rhael’s own terror. "That’s exactly what a copy would say, isn't it? Give the original a bit of lip to make it seem authentic? You’ve got the stutter down, I’ll give you that. It’s a nice touch.""I don't have a stutter!" Rhael barked, his voice cracking. "I have a... a hesitant way of speaking when I’m under extreme duress! It’s a personality trait!""Call it what you want," the copy said, his eyes scanning the grotto. "But I remember the smell of the damp hay in the barn back home. I remember the way the floorboards creaked in the middle of the night when I’d sneak out to the larder. I remember the scar on our knee from when we fell off the fence tryi

The air in the lower levels was not merely stagnant; it was a physical weight, a slurry of suspended particulate and aerosolized chemical suppressants that coated the back of Rhael’s throat with the metallic tang of dried blood. He remained pressed against the quartz pillar, his skin slick with a cold, frantic sweat. Across from him, the Copy stood with an eerie, composed grace that Rhael found entirely alien, yet fundamentally, horribly, identical to his own reflection."Don't listen to it, Ilyra," Rhael croaked, his voice raw. He could feel his heartbeat thrumming in his ears, a frantic, irregular rhythm. "If you kill me, you’re killing the only one who knows the sequence of the gate. You know the lock requires a heartbeat—a real, biological, terrified pulse. A copy doesn't have a soul to anchor the mechanism."Ilyra didn't pull her blade back. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were clouded with the haze of the facility’s insidious influence. She looked from Rhael to the Copy