The flames had long gone out.
But Thane could still feel the warmth they left behind, faint and humming in his chest like a hidden ember.
He stared at the floating screen, its gentle blue light the only thing separating him from absolute darkness. The words glowed steady, waiting, like they expected him to understand.
He didn't.
He didn't understand what had just happened. How the fire came. Why the screen appeared. Or what it meant to have something called a "status."
But he wasn't dead.
And the dungeon beast—the one that had come for him—was.
Thane pulled his knees up to his chest. He sat in the darkness, breathing softly. His hand trembled where the flame had erupted from it. He held it up and stared at his fingers, expecting to see some mark, some burn.
There was nothing.
Just skin. Dirt. A bit of dried blood.
He lowered his hand and forced himself to stand.
He needed to leave.
He didn't belong here. He didn't even know what here was. A cave? A tomb? Something worse? Wherever he was, it wasn't a place for children. And he wasn't going to survive another attack like that.
He turned and followed the tunnel upward, toward the direction he had come from. His legs ached with each step. His shoulder still burned from where it had scraped against the stone. He kept one hand on the wall and the other close to his chest, ready to raise again if fire somehow answered him.
The moss-light had faded, but his eyes were adjusting.
The air grew warmer the closer he got to the surface. He felt the shift. Heard the distant wind, faint but real. Hope stirred in his chest.
Then he froze.
There was a sound ahead. Wet. Heavy.
A shadow moved across the tunnel mouth.
It was massive. The size of a wagon, at least. Low to the ground and wide. Thane crept forward, careful not to breathe too loud. Just close enough to see.
And he saw it.
A creature squatted in the mouth of the cave, too large for the space it occupied. Its skin was slick and pale, like it had been left to rot in water. Its arms were too long, resting on the stone like twisted roots. Its mouth hung open, revealing rows of teeth that didn't fit inside its skull.
It didn't move.
But it breathed.
Thane backed away slowly.
There would be no getting past it. Not now. Not without being seen. Not without dying.
So he turned.
And went deeper.
The downward tunnel sloped into the earth like a vein carved by time and hunger. The air grew colder again, damper. The walls were slick in places, broken in others. Strange roots jutted from the ceiling, pulsing faintly like they had their own rhythm.
He walked until his legs gave out. Until the sound of the frog-beast was just a memory pressing against his spine.
Then he collapsed onto the cave floor.
His body ached in places he hadn't noticed before. The sharp adrenaline from before had faded, and with it, his strength. He closed his eyes and listened.
Nothing followed him.
He was alone again.
At least here, the silence didn't feel like a predator. It felt… indifferent. Cold, but not hostile.
His thoughts returned to the flame.
Firebolt.
The word had carved itself into his mind, not through learning, but through experience. It hadn't been taught. It had been earned.
He remembered how it felt. The heat building in his chest. The sharp pulse as it left his body. The rush of something ancient flowing through him, like breath held too long and finally released.
He sat up slowly. His limbs protested, but he ignored them. He focused.
His right hand rose.
The air didn't change. The silence didn't waver.
Still, he spoke.
"Firebolt."
Nothing.
Not even a flicker.
He closed his eyes and remembered how it had felt when it worked. He tried to recall the exact tension in his chest, the exact image in his mind. He pictured the spark, the trail of light, the impact. He reached for it again.
"Firebolt."
A twitch.
A sharp, sudden ache bloomed in his chest. His eyes opened. A weak flicker sparked at his fingertips—brief and dim, but real.
His mana was almost gone. He could feel it now. A low pressure inside him, like a nearly empty well.
One more cast.
Maybe.
He gritted his teeth.
"Firebolt."
The word left his lips with the last of his strength.
This time, the flame burst forward.
It was small. Weaker than the first. But it was there. A real, living fire. It shot from his hand and fizzled against the stone wall across from him, leaving behind a small scorch mark.
He saw it.
He smiled.
Then the world tilted.
His vision swam.
His body fell sideways, and he didn't have the strength to stop it.
He hit the ground, breath escaping in a slow, quiet exhale.
The last thing he saw was the flickering edge of the flame as it died out.
Then, darkness.
And sleep.