The entrance to the dungeon was about a mile outside the city wall, along a well-worn path that cut through low, sun-bleached grass and the occasional clump of stubborn wildflowers. The morning air was crisp, edged with the scent of earth, dew, and woodsmoke drifting from the city’s outer hearths. Overhead, gulls circled, calling out to each other as the city shrank behind them.

  There was a special gate set into the city’s outer defenses. A line of travelers, small traders, and a few other adventuring parties wound ahead, most looking half-awake and grumpy about the wait. The gate guards took down their names, glanced at their Adventurer’s credentials, and—after another round of thinly veiled extortion and a forced “processing fee”—finally waved them through.

  Pixie grumbled about the lingering scent of oil and cheap armor polish. Buster eyed a merchant’s cart stacked with fresh bread, but Moose nudged him back in line with a silent look. Lyra watched the exchange at the gate, sharp-eyed, while Amelia stuck close to Ethan’s heel, tail down but curious.

  Once outside the wall, they followed the path to a small fort built around the dungeon entrance. The place buzzed with quiet activity—runners hauling crates, a few posted guards, and the faint metallic tang of cold iron mixing with the earthier scent of mud and leather. At the checkpoint, a bored-looking clerk with thinning hair and ink-stained fingers finally looked up as Ethan approached.

  “You here for a dungeon run?” His voice was flat, barely interested, but he eyed the group to make sure they belonged.

  When Ethan nodded, the clerk started his spiel. “Only five parties allowed inside at a time—the dungeon locks it, nothing I can do. Lucky for you, you’re number five today.” He gestured vaguely toward a battered slate where four other groups were listed. “When a party makes it out or…well, doesn’t, we let the next group in.”

  He gave them a dead-eyed stare and recited, as if he’d said it a thousand times, “Be sure to use the party interface before you enter. No exceptions, or the doors won’t open for you as a group. You join the party, you step through. Got it?”

  Pixie looked like she wanted to ask something, but the clerk rolled on. “If you all die in there, the city and the city lord aren’t liable. No rescue, no compensation, no next-of-kin claims on lost gear. If you disappear, nobody’s coming after you—the dungeon doesn’t allow anyone not in your party to find you, not even if we tried.”

  Ethan frowned. “Wait, what do you mean? If there’s another team inside, couldn’t we run into them? What if someone needs help?”

  The clerk shrugged, flicking a bit of dried ink from his ledger. “Doesn’t work that way. Soon as you enter, the dungeon’s instance splits you off. Each party gets their own ‘pocket world’—their own entrance, their own run. People theorize all those pockets connect deeper in, near the core, but no one’s ever proven it. I’m not a scholar, so that’s all I’ve got for you.”

  Buster huffed. “So basically, it’s just us in there?”

  “Just you and whatever’s waiting,” the clerk confirmed, sounding almost pleased to be done with the spiel. “Rules are posted. Fees are non-refundable. Sign here.”

  Ethan scribbled his name, and the clerk handed over a stamped token. “You’re clear. Good luck—and try not to make more work for me.”

  Ethan tucked the token away and led the team down the final stretch of packed earth toward the dungeon mouth. Up close, the entrance looked even more imposing—a wide, arched tunnel carved into the stony mound, ringed with protective runes and a pair of ancient, half-worn statues flanking the dark threshold. The air seemed to hum with a low, anxious energy.

  Pixie slowed, ears up and tail stiff, nose twitching as she caught the complex mix of scents rolling out of the dungeon—old stone, damp earth, and something sharp and chemical beneath it all. Buster paced in a tight circle, muttering about snacks, but the usual bravado in his voice had faded. Even Moose looked extra alert, muscles tensed just beneath his fur.

  Lyra scanned the entrance with Appraisal, her eyes flickering as she quietly shared the results with Ethan over the bond. Amelia stuck close to Ethan’s leg, but her gaze was steady, shadows already flickering under her paws.

  For a moment, the whole team stood silent, taking in the weight of it.

  Ethan took a breath, feeling nerves and excitement churn in his gut. “Alright. Let’s make this count.” He glanced at each member of the Pack, meeting their eyes—one by one—and nodded. They all stepped up together.

  He raised the stamped token and pressed it to the iron plate set beside the entrance. Runes flared, then faded; the dungeon door shuddered and slowly opened, stone grinding against stone.

  They stepped forward, and the world behind them fell away.

  The first thing that hit them was the acrid stench—like acid chewing its way through metal. Ethan gagged, covering his nose, and glanced around as the world snapped into focus.

  They were standing in a cavern shot through with stalactites and stalagmites, jutting up and down like the jaws of some enormous beast. The stone was slick and damp, the air thick with chemical tang and an undercurrent of rot.

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  A narrow path, maybe five feet wide, wound its way between the stone teeth, snaking deeper into the gloom. On either side, the ground dropped off sharply into darkness—Ethan couldn’t see the bottom, only more shadowy spikes below. Every sound echoed, the space feeling much larger than it looked.

  He took a careful step forward, boots scraping on the wet stone. “Watch your step. One bad move and it’s a long way down.”

  Pixie sneezed, ears pinned back. Buster muttered something about missing the grass outside. Moose was already sniffing the air, searching for danger.

  Without a word, they shifted into their practiced formation. Lyra moved to the front, her sharp eyes and luck making her the obvious choice to check for traps and hidden dangers—just as the Guild had warned. Pixie and Amelia flanked just behind her, ready to react if anything jumped out. Moose took up the rear, broad and steady, keeping an eye on the backtrail. Buster hovered close to the center, tense but alert, scanning for any hint of movement or sound out of place.

  Ethan stayed near the middle, watching Lyra work, and letting the Pack’s routines settle his nerves as they started down the narrow, twisting path.

  A wet, sucking sound echoed overhead. A slime plopped down in front of them, dropping from a stalagmite like a giant water droplet gone wrong. It hit the stone path and immediately reared up, gelatinous body shimmering in the dungeon’s dim light.

  Tendrils shot out, snapping toward Lyra at the front of the group. But she was already moving—leaping backward with foxfire swirling to life above her palm.

  Pixie’s fur bristled as she shot out in front of the group, darting to the right to make sure her angle was clear of the team. A crackle of electricity burst from her, arcing straight toward the slime. Almost before the attack landed, she used her speed to vanish back into the inner circle, sliding behind cover and out of harm’s way.

  At the same moment, Lyra tossed her foxfire, the blue-green flame spinning across the path to join Pixie’s bolt—both attacks converging on the creature.

  Buster and Amelia responded in perfect tandem—flowers, vines, and thorns erupted across the path, impaling the slime and grabbing at the writhing appendages, while Amelia’s shadow stretched out, wrapping around the slime’s base and pinning it in place. The combined efforts slowed the monster’s momentum, keeping it locked long enough for Moose to raise a wall of dirt and stone, stopping the rest of the tendrils cold.

  The foxfire and Pixie’s bolt struck home. The slime convulsed, then popped with a muffled, wet sound, splattering the path with charred, sticky goo. All that remained was a reddish core about the size of a golf ball, still faintly pulsing with mana.

  All of it happened in a heartbeat—their first real dungeon monster, and in the span of a few seconds the battle was over. Ethan hadn’t even lifted a finger.

  Pride and relief welled up in him, unexpected and fierce. He’d worried about bringing everyone into the dungeon—wanted to level up, to test their limits, to make sure the Pack could really handle themselves in this world. But watching all their practice, training, and new powers come together like that...

  He let out a slow breath. Maybe they were more ready than he’d let himself believe.

  Buster broke the moment with a bark of laughter. “Careful, boss. Blink again and you’ll miss all the action. Good thing I was here to save everyone with my flowers.”

  Ethan shot him a look, deadpan. “Absolutely. If it weren’t for you and your floral heroics, we’d all be done for.”

  Pixie snickered. Moose let out a low huff, and even Lyra cracked a rare smile. Amelia hid her face behind her tail, but her eyes sparkled with amusement. The whole Pack was grinning—at Ethan, at Buster, and at each other, but underneath it all was a rush of real happiness. Their first fight in the dungeon, and they’d won it together, clean and fast.

  They kept walking along the winding path until it opened up into a small chamber. The moment they reached the center of the room, slimes started dropping from above and oozing out from cracks in the walls, surrounding them from all sides. This fight was messier—these slimes didn’t go down nearly as easily as the first one.

  Buster, seeing how the slimes absorbed any blunt force, avoided using Body Check or anything that would have him slam into them. Pixie skipped Quick Strike too—she wasn’t about to stick her paw into that mess just to slash at it. The Pack fought hard, but Ethan could see the fatigue setting in; their stamina and mana were already dipping.

  Lyra, breathing hard, called back, “I’m almost out of mana, and this is only the first room!”

  Physical weapons barely worked against the slimes, but Ethan kept at it with his sword. Between the self-repair enchantment and Ethan pouring arcane mana through the blade, it held up surprisingly well.

  After the last slime burst, Pixie suddenly started yelping and jumping in circles. Ethan, worried, rushed to check her for injuries—but Pixie shouted, “I GOT A NEW SKILL! I GOT A NEW SKILL!” She pulled up her stats window, made it larger with a triumphant flourish, and zoomed in to show everyone.

  Static Shock (Active)

  After moving at high speed, discharge built-up static electricity as a bolt of lightning. Deals light electrical damage, with a chance to briefly stun targets. Damage and stun chance scale with AGI and INT. Crit chance scales with LUK and WIS.

  Lyra said, “Congratulations. If you keep doing something with your powers and mana, the system can give it a name and add it to your skills list.”

  Pixie spun in circles, then struck a pose—chest out, ribbons and cape flowing—trying her best to look like a superhero, or maybe Krypto from Superman.

  After Ethan finished looking everyone over to make sure they were safe, he pulled out the scooper and started collecting all the cores and as much slime as he could. Some of the goo was burnt, and a few cores were cracked or inert, but by the end they had five intact cores—including the first one—and a few bottles of salvageable slime.

  As he scooped up the last of the mess, Ethan sighed. “I never pictured being an adventurer would be so much like being a janitor,” he muttered, scraping charred slime into a jar.

  While he worked, his mind turned over the problem of mana. He noticed he had barely made a dent in his own pool, even after supporting everyone during the fight. Testing a theory, he reached out with his bond, sharing a little mana with Lyra—she perked up immediately.

  “That filled me up already,” she said, surprised.

  Ethan frowned. “That can’t be right. I only used, what, fifty points to top you off?”

  He checked with the rest of the Pack. Each one confirmed their mana was full, and Ethan realized his own supply had barely dropped at all. The implications started to sink in. He could share his mana with the whole team, and his reserves hardly budged.