POV: Mark


    The road stretched like a ribbon of dusty ochre, winding its way through a landscape that alternated between sprawling grasslands and dense pockets of trees. Mark squinted at the horizon, where the late afternoon sun bathed the world in hues of gold and amber, casting long shadows that danced on the uneven terrain. A faint breeze carried with it the earthy scent of recent rain, mingling with the crispness of the open air. It was a stark contrast to the dim, metallic confines of the dungeon they had left behind, its dark corridors still haunting the edges of Mark’s thoughts.


    The world outside the dungeon was alive in a way the underground realm could never be. Fields of wildflowers in riotous colors swayed with the breeze, their petals shimmering like jewels in the sunlight. A distant brook babbled unseen, its melody underscoring the rhythmic creak of their wagon’s wheels as it rolled over the uneven trail. Around them, the plains teemed with life: small critters darted through the tall grasses, birds flitted from branch to branch, and insects buzzed lazily, their hum blending into the symphony of nature.


    Mark adjusted his position on the wagon’s bench, wincing as the worn wood dug into his legs. His gaze wandered to his companions. Angelica sat to his left, her white cleric robes somehow pristine despite the dust, her head resting against the side of the wagon as if she might drift into one of her infamous naps at any moment. On his right, Alexander balanced his open notebook precariously on his knees, furiously scribbling notes. Every now and then, the young wizard’s lips moved silently as he recalculated figures or reorganized his findings from the dungeon.


    Mark sighed. Alexander’s obsession with data analysis was, at times, endearing, but mostly exhausting.


    “Do you ever stop?” Mark asked, nudging Alexander with his elbow.


    “Stop what?” Alexander didn’t look up, his quill scratching away.


    “Thinking,” Mark replied with a wry grin. “You know, about numbers and strategies and all that. We’re not in the dungeon anymore. Enjoy the fresh air for once.”


    Alexander snorted, finally glancing up. “Fresh air doesn’t prepare us for the next dungeon, Mark. What we saw in there, those changes, it’s unprecedented. If we don’t figure out what’s happening, the next group might walk into something they’re not prepared for. Data is how we stay alive.”


    Mark opened his mouth to argue, but Angelica stirred before he could get a word out.


    “Will you two stop bickering?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes. “I was trying to get a little shut-eye before we get back to the academy. Some of us need rest to function, you know.”


    Mark chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Don’t let us disturb your beauty sleep, princess.”


    Angelica shot him a glare, but it was half-hearted at best.


    The wagon continued its journey, the academy looming ever closer. It was perched atop a hill in the distance, a sprawling complex of stone towers, domed halls, and terraced gardens that gleamed in the sunlight. The Academy of Orithar, as it was formally known, was both a place of learning and a fortress of sorts, standing as a testament to the region’s dedication to preparing adventurers for the dangers of the world.


    Beyond its gates lay a bustling city where cobblestone streets wove between shops, taverns, and homes, all teeming with life. Merchants shouted their wares, children darted through alleyways, and the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer rang out in steady rhythm.


    The academy itself, however, was a world apart. Its high walls enclosed an environment of discipline and rigor, where students trained tirelessly to earn their place in the adventurer’s guild. But for all its rules and structure, the academy was not immune to the vibrant chaos of the city. Street performers often gathered outside its gates, hoping to entertain and earn a few coins from students, while shopkeepers set up stalls offering enchanted trinkets, potions, and rare artifacts.


    Mark’s thoughts turned inward as the wagon crested the final hill before the academy. The sight of the familiar towers should have brought him comfort, but instead, it stirred unease. The dungeon they had just left was supposed to be a training ground, a controlled environment where novices could cut their teeth without real danger. Yet, the changes they had witnessed, Mechalon’s strange creations, the unnerving energy shifts, and the eerie perfection of that cube statue, suggested something deeper was at play.


    But who would believe them?


    As the wagon trundled past the academy gates, Mark exchanged a glance with Angelica and Alexander. They hadn’t discussed what to tell their instructors about the dungeon, but the unspoken consensus was clear: they wouldn’t say much. Not yet. Students voicing concerns about dungeon anomalies weren’t likely to be taken seriously, especially when those anomalies sounded more like the ramblings of overactive imaginations.


    “Let’s just drop off the report,” Mark said as they disembarked from the wagon. “Stick to the basics. No point in getting laughed out of the hall.”


    Angelica nodded, her usual levity replaced by a rare seriousness. “Agreed. They’d just brush it off as paranoia. We can keep an eye on things ourselves.”


    Alexander hesitated, his gaze lingering on the notebook in his hands. “But what if, ”


    “They won’t listen,” Mark cut him off. “Not unless we have proof. Solid, undeniable proof. And right now, all we’ve got is a gut feeling and some unusual loot.”


    With that, the trio made their way through the academy’s bustling courtyard. Students of all levels milled about, some sparring with practice weapons, others engrossed in study. A group of seniors in gleaming armor laughed boisterously as they recounted tales of their latest dungeon raid, their confidence a stark contrast to the unease simmering in Mark’s chest.


    The administrative hall loomed ahead, a grand building with arched entrances and stained-glass windows depicting legendary adventurers of old. Inside, the air was cooler, the stone walls adorned with banners representing the academy’s various disciplines: combat, magic, support, and exploration.


    Mark approached the desk where an attendant sat, her quill poised over a ledger. Without looking up, she asked, “Name and report?”


    “Mark Halston, Angelica Maren, Alexander Fenn,” Mark replied. “Routine training dungeon expedition. No significant incidents to report.”


    The attendant hummed, jotting down their names before motioning toward a stack of blank forms. “Fill these out. One for each of you. Leave them in the box when you’re done.”


    Mark nodded, grabbing a form. As he filled in the details, he kept his account deliberately vague, focusing on the standard hazards and loot. No mention of the statue, the Cubic Cutter, or the unsettling changes.


    Once they had completed the paperwork, the trio left the hall in silence. The weight of unspoken truths hung heavy between them, but they didn’t dare voice them here. Instead, they headed for the student quarters, where the familiar sights and sounds of academy life began to chip away at their tension.


    The dormitories were modest but comfortable, each room shared by two students. Mark’s roommate, a boisterous warrior-in-training named Gavin, was sprawled across his bed when Mark entered.


    “Back already?” Gavin called out, sitting up with a grin. “How’d it go? Slay any dragons? Find any treasure?”


    Mark forced a chuckle, dropping his gear onto his own bed. “No dragons, just the usual. A few scraps of loot. Nothing to write home about.”


    Gavin laughed. “You’ll get there, mate. One day, you’ll come back with a story worth telling.”


    Mark managed a smile, but his thoughts were elsewhere. As Gavin launched into a tale of his own recent exploits, Mark found himself replaying the events of the dungeon in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling that they had stumbled onto something far bigger than a simple training exercise.


    Mark shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his bed, Gavin’s voice droning on in the background about some exaggerated adventure involving a chimera and a “heroic leap” that apparently saved half his party. The details of Gavin’s tall tale blurred together, his enthusiasm as bright as a roaring hearth, but Mark’s thoughts were elsewhere, swirling around the peculiarities of the dungeon.


    What they had encountered wasn’t normal. Dungeons didn’t just change like that, not dead ones, anyway.


    The academy had only one training dungeon within a hundred leagues, and even calling it “properous” felt like stretching the truth. It existed more out of necessity than opportunity. The other dungeons in the area were small, weak, and often too unstable to be useful, their cores long since diminished. Yet this one training dungeon had managed to linger, steadily maintained by a minimal flow of energy provided by the academy’s mages.


    But while it held up well enough for early-stage adventurers, it wasn’t anything to write home about. Its creatures were basic constructs or weak imitations of real monsters. Its rewards were simple: bits of salvageable material, low-grade weapons, and the occasional potion. And for most students, it was enough. A place to cut their teeth, learn the basics, and prepare for greater challenges in far-off lands.


    That was the pattern, Mark realized. The academy trained adventurers, but the best of them didn’t stay here. They moved on to better, grander opportunities in more prosperous regions. The handful who remained were often tied to local obligations or personal reasons, but the adventurer’s guild here was a stepping stone, not a destination.


    For Mark, that used to be a comforting thought, knowing his time here was just the beginning. Now, though, the idea that the dungeon was nothing more than a stepping stone felt... wrong.


    Mark barely noticed when Gavin’s story tapered off, the young warrior flopping back onto his bed with a self-satisfied grin. It wasn’t until Gavin tossed a stray pillow at him that Mark blinked, snapping back to the present.


    “You okay, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Gavin said, propping himself up on one elbow. “Come on, what’s eating you? I told my story, your turn. Let’s hear about your big adventure!”


    Mark forced a grin, shaking his head. “Nothing exciting, I promise. Just the same old training grind.”


    Gavin groaned. “You’re no fun. At least make something up! Say you fought off a swarm of goblins or found a secret treasure vault. Give me something to work with!”


    Mark laughed weakly, but his thoughts remained heavy.


    Soon enough, they’d be heading to their next class. A subject Mark had been waiting for ever since his first dungeon run: dead dungeons.


    He rolled the phrase over in his mind as he gathered his things. Dead dungeons were supposed to be the safest, most predictable environments for adventurers. Once the dungeon core was destroyed, or the Dungeon Master slain, the energy that sustained the dungeon’s ecosystem would dwindle, reducing it to a shadow of its former self. Over time, these dungeons would degrade into ruins, their walls crumbling, their traps malfunctioning, and their creatures becoming fewer and weaker.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    The dungeon they’d just left fit that description perfectly. Until it didn’t.


    Mark planned on asking a question in class, one that had been gnawing at him since they stepped out of the dungeon: Can dead dungeons ever come back to life?


    He’d read about it once in a dusty tome in the academy library. There was only one example recorded in history, a story as rare as tales of resurrecting the dead. In that case, a dungeon that had been lifeless for decades suddenly sprang back into activity. But it hadn’t just reactivated, it had transformed, its ecosystem mutating into something darker, more dangerous.


    The cause? A rogue cultist had taken the place of the slain Dungeon Master, pouring their own corrupted energy into the core. The story was vague, bordering on myth, but the implications were clear: for a dead dungeon to return to life, something, or someone, had to step into the Dungeon Master’s role.


    Mark frowned as he pulled on his boots, the thought chilling him. A cultist, an anomaly, had been enough to reanimate a dead dungeon centuries ago. But that kind of occurrence was so rare, it was practically unheard of. The odds of it happening again, especially in such a small, insignificant dungeon, seemed impossibly slim.


    Didn’t it?


    <hr>


    The classroom was a sprawling lecture hall, its stone walls lined with banners representing the academy’s major disciplines. Students filled the rows of wooden benches, their chatter buzzing through the air as they waited for the lecture to begin. Mark, Angelica, and Alexander sat near the middle, their usual spot offering a good balance between visibility and anonymity.


    The professor entered with a brisk stride, her robes billowing behind her. Lady Renalith was a stern woman with sharp features and a voice that carried authority. Her lectures on dungeon theory were known to be both challenging and fascinating, blending dry facts with tales of her own experiences as a seasoned adventurer.


    “Settle down,” she called, her voice cutting through the noise. The room quieted almost immediately.


    “Today,” she began, “we’ll be discussing a topic that many of you will encounter throughout your careers: dead dungeons.”


    Mark leaned forward in his seat, his focus sharpening.


    “As most of you know,” Lady Renalith continued, pacing the front of the room, “a dead dungeon is one whose core has been destroyed or whose Dungeon Master has been killed. These dungeons no longer generate new creatures or traps and gradually decay over time. They are, for lack of a better term, defunct.”


    She paused, letting the weight of the word settle over the room.


    “However,” she added, her tone shifting slightly, “there are rare exceptions to this rule.”


    Mark’s pulse quickened.


    “In recorded history, there have been instances, albeit very few, where a dead dungeon reactivated. These cases are exceedingly rare, often dismissed as folklore, but they do raise intriguing questions about the nature of dungeon ecosystems and the energies that sustain them.”


    Lady Renalith gestured toward a chalkboard, where an intricate diagram of a dungeon core appeared with a flick of her wand.


    “In the most well-documented case, a cultist replaced the slain Dungeon Master, injecting their own energy into the dormant core. This act not only revived the dungeon but also transformed its ecosystem, creating an environment far more hostile and unpredictable than its original state.”


    The room buzzed with murmurs, students exchanging excited whispers.


    Mark hesitated, then raised his hand.


    Lady Renalith’s gaze fell on him. “Yes, Mr. Halston?”


    Mark swallowed, his voice steady despite the weight of his question. “Is it possible for a dead dungeon to reactivate on its own? Without external interference, I mean?”


    The professor considered him for a moment, her expression unreadable.


    “In theory, no,” she replied. “A dead dungeon lacks the energy required to sustain itself. For reactivation to occur, an external force must introduce new energy, be it a person, an artifact, or a similar anomaly. Without such interference, a dead dungeon should remain dormant until it crumbles into ruin.”


    Mark nodded, but the professor’s answer only deepened his unease. What they had witnessed in the dungeon didn’t fit any of those criteria. Yet something was undeniably happening there.


    Lady Renalith continued the lecture, delving into the mechanics of dungeon degradation and the ways adventurers could safely navigate such environments. But Mark’s mind was elsewhere, turning over the pieces of a puzzle he couldn’t yet solve.


    <hr>


    After class, Mark lingered in the corridor with Angelica and Alexander, the weight of unspoken questions hanging between them.


    “You think she’s wrong?” Angelica asked quietly.


    Mark shook his head. “No. But I don’t think she has all the answers, either. Something’s happening in that dungeon, and we’re not going to figure it out by staying here.”


    Alexander frowned, clutching his notebook. “If we’re going back, we need to be careful. Whatever’s causing these changes... it’s not normal.”


    Mark nodded. “Agreed. But I can’t shake the feeling that if we wait too long, we’ll lose the chance to figure it out.”


    The day stretched on, its hours heavy with the weight of Mark’s thoughts. He walked alongside Alexander and Angelica through the bustling academy grounds, the energy of the campus filling the air. Students exchanged lively greetings, and the chatter of magic experiments and training duels echoed from every corner. Despite the noise, Mark’s mind was far from the academic bustle. His thoughts were still on the dungeon, on what they had discovered and what it could mean.


    “I’ll be heading to the library,” Alexander said, breaking Mark from his reverie. He adjusted the stack of notes in his hands, eyes alight with a familiar, excited gleam. “There’s so much more to uncover, Mark. I can feel it. The way the dungeon changed… it’s not natural. If I can get my hands on more records, maybe there’s something we missed, some anomaly that could explain it.”


    Mark gave a half-hearted nod, his attention elsewhere. “Yeah, sure. Do what you need to do.”


    “You should come,” Alexander pressed, the excitement in his voice only growing. “There’s bound to be something, ”


    Mark raised a hand to cut him off. “I just… I need some air. I’m going to head to my next class. Maybe I’ll meet you at the library later, alright?”


    Alexander opened his mouth as though to argue, but then seemed to reconsider. With a sigh, he shrugged. “Fine. But don’t ignore this. We need to be prepared for anything.” He turned toward the nearest path leading to the library, his mind already elsewhere.


    Mark watched his friend go for a moment before letting his gaze wander across the courtyard. He had always admired Alexander’s passion for the unknown, but right now, it felt like Mark needed something different. The weight of the day’s questions, the unsettling change in the dungeon, and the unshakable feeling that something bigger was at play, it was too much for him to keep in his head all at once.


    “I’ll catch up with you later,” Mark muttered to Angelica, who was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.


    Angelica nodded, her voice soft. “Take your time, Mark. It’s a lot to process.”


    He gave her a small smile before turning toward his next class, the rhythmic steps of his boots echoing against the cobblestone path as he walked toward the lecture hall. The warm afternoon sun still hung in the sky, but the freshness of the breeze did little to clear the fog in his mind.


    <hr>


    The first class of the day had already passed in a blur, and now, as Mark entered the lecture hall for the second, the oppressive weight of uncertainty still clung to him. This class was the one that might shed more light on the nature of dungeons, and more importantly, why they couldn''t simply be eradicated, even when labeled “dead.”


    The classroom was packed with students seated on the wooden benches, their chatter dying down as Lady Renalith entered. Her usual sharp, confident demeanor had shifted slightly, giving off an air of authority that made the room fall into a respectful silence. She stood before the class, her chalky wand poised in her hand, ready to write on the board.


    “Dungeons, as you know, are strange entities,” she began, her voice steady. “We’ve discussed the basics of how they function, how their ecosystems form around the Dungeon Core, and how a Dungeon Master plays a role in shaping that world. But now we must turn our attention to the more... delicate subject. Why, when a dungeon is deemed dead, do we still treat it as a potential threat? Why can’t we simply destroy a dungeon entirely?”


    She paused, letting the question hang in the air.


    “We are told, time and again, that a dungeon is ‘dead’ once its core is damaged beyond repair, that it is no longer a threat. In truth, that’s only half the story,” Lady Renalith continued. “A dead dungeon is not a dungeon that’s been entirely destroyed. A dungeon core, once damaged, can no longer regenerate the dungeon''s ecosystem. But a dungeon isn’t truly dead unless it has been systematically wiped clean of all life, its creatures eliminated, its very essence erased.”


    Lady Renalith turned to the board, and with a wave of her wand, a diagram appeared, depicting a dungeon core surrounded by a cluster of creatures and labyrinthine hallways. She circled the core with a single line and began to annotate it.


    “Let’s define it this way,” she said, “A dungeon that has merely suffered damage to its core, that has no Dungeon Master to sustain it, is often referred to as a ‘dead dungeon.’ These dungeons are still held in a state of suspended animation, they’re not truly dead. They simply lack the regenerating force that keeps them functional. For a dungeon to be destroyed completely, someone, or something, must destroy the core, yes, but they must also cleanse the entire dungeon.”


    The words on the board flickered to life as Lady Renalith spoke, emphasizing the idea. Cleansing the Dungeon was underlined with a second, bold phrase.


    “Cleansing means eradicating every living creature inside. Every trap, every insect, every creature born from the dungeon’s energy. This process ensures that the dungeon no longer has a foundation from which to regenerate. It is an immense task, requiring not only great strength but also precision. This is why such actions are rarely undertaken. Destroying a dungeon is not just about killing the core, it’s about wiping out every element of life within it, a task that demands both power and resources.”


    Mark leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. It was a side of dungeons he hadn’t considered before, the effort required to utterly erase them. He hadn’t known that cleansing a dungeon meant systematically annihilating each creature inside. The thought was almost unnerving.


    Lady Renalith seemed to sense the tension in the room as she shifted the lesson into a more practical direction.


    “Smaller nations, or those near the Kingdom’s borders, sometimes resort to castrating dungeons. This means destroying the Dungeon Core to reduce the dungeon''s ability to create more powerful monsters, but without eliminating the core completely. Castration is used to regulate the monsters within the dungeon, ensuring they don''t grow too powerful, which could threaten the stability of the surrounding area.”


    She glanced around the room, making eye contact with a few students who looked confused.


    “This is a form of control,” she explained. “When a dungeon is castrated, it weakens the monsters inside, preventing them from evolving into serious threats. It’s a method often employed by smaller nations, those who can’t afford to send adventurers into dungeons every time a new threat emerges. Instead, they target the core, rendering it incapable of further creating stronger monsters. The dungeon continues to exist but without the risk of growing too powerful.”


    Mark thought back to the dungeon they had just left. Could something like that be the case with what they had seen? Could the damage done to the core actually be a deliberate effort to control the strength of its inhabitants? He wondered if that could explain the strange happenings, if someone was, perhaps, trying to control the dungeon’s potential for some greater purpose.


    Lady Renalith’s voice cut through his thoughts. “But what you need to understand, class, is that destroying a dungeon completely, completely eliminating all life within it, is a national offense.”


    There was a heavy pause, and Mark caught his breath. Lady Renalith''s words hung in the air like the edge of a blade.


    “The Kingdom’s dungeons are integral to the balance of power in the region. They aren’t just breeding grounds for monsters. They are sources of vital resources. Forcing a dungeon into complete destruction would disrupt the ecosystem, and without a Dungeon Master to manage the energies, the dungeon could destabilize entirely. This could cause the dungeon to collapse, spreading chaos throughout the surrounding land, creating dangerous anomalies, and even causing widespread magical disasters.”


    She leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering with gravity. “This is why it is illegal to harm the national core of a dungeon under the Kingdom’s jurisdiction, especially near a castle or vital city. The consequences of tampering with a dungeon’s core are severe, not just for the region but for the kingdom as a whole.”


    Mark’s stomach twisted. The implications of what Lady Renalith was saying seemed to resonate with something in the back of his mind. If something, or someone, was messing with the dungeon core, tampering with it for reasons beyond simply “killing” it... the consequences could be disastrous.


    “And,” Lady Renalith concluded, “although many dungeons are considered ‘dead,’ the fact remains that their cores still exist, and mages from the academy are constantly maintaining a flow of mana into these dungeons to ensure they continue functioning. Without this constant supply, dungeons would cease to exist in any functional way. Their traps, their monsters, their very energy would collapse into nothingness. This is why ‘dead dungeons’ often remain under our control, even if the core is damaged.”


    Mark thought about things, frowning noticing that things seemed to fit into place a bit easily each subject notating things that crossed his mind pulling up his system he noted something was different, he had a title that came with a buff:


    Title Gained:


    The Witness: Become the main witness to something that is going to change the world as people know it.


    +5 to luck


    "Great, that isn''t ominous.." Mark sighed as the class finished.