The chamber behind them sealed without ceremony.
The water simply smoothed itself flat, the etched paths fading until the floor looked like ordinary, pale stone again. Whatever awareness had been focused on them withdrew, turning its attention elsewhere.
Nick paused, taking a moment to breathe.
His clothes were still soaked. His heartbeat hadn’t fully slowed. His shoulders ached like he’d braced for an impact that never came, and held the position for far too long.
“…I think,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “that was the first time I’ve ever won by losing.”
Kelsey glanced back at him, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Congratulations. Most people don’t even realize that was an option.”
He sat down against the wall for a moment and unlaced his boots, pulling them off with a squelch. Then he poured out the pooled water inside.
But… what next?
His boots were still soggy, and so were his socks. He could take them off and walk barefoot the rest of the way, or he could put his boots back on so that they could fill with water again later.
But walking around barefoot in a hoodie and long pants was kind of tacky…
Nick stared at his boots for another moment, then sighed and left them off. He wrung out his socks with a grimace and draped them over a low stone lip nearby, hoping the dungeon’s ambient magic leaned in a warm direction.
He leaned back against the wall again, legs stretched out, bare feet resting on cool stone.
“This place has a very specific sense of humor,” he muttered.
Kelsey glanced over, already settled a few paces away with her pack beside her. He wasn’t sure where she’d pulled it from or when. She was sitting cross-legged, hands resting loosely on her knees, posture relaxed in a way that felt confident rather than careless.
“In what way?” she asked. “Because it made you confront your flaws? Or because it’s the natural enemy of shoes?”
“Yes,” Nick said.
She smiled a little wider. “It’s a lesson you only need to learn once, right?”
They sat in companionable silence. The corridor behind them remained sealed, while somewhere deeper ahead, water moved, distant and unhurried.
Nick glanced over at Kelsey.
“You know,” he said. “I’m not used to this.”
She tilted her head. “‘This’?”
“Having someone around who knows what they’re doing, for one,” he said. “I’ve been in three dungeons before this, and all of them were tense and brutal in their own ways, but this one is by far the most unique.”
“You’re not used to being able to relax,” she concluded. “But how often do you give yourself moments like these?”
He laughed. “You’re joking, right? This is only possible because you’re here.”
She shrugged. “That may be true in this case, but I’m not omnipotent, nor did I always have the knowledge and experience that I have now.”
“I know that’s how life is,” Nick said. “You can never know as much as you could possibly need. You can only do the best you can. But that’s why I can’t stop. Even when I’m in danger, it feels like if I slow down, then when something goes wrong, I won’t be able to say I did the best that I could.”
Kelsey didn’t answer right away.
“That’s common,” she said eventually. “Especially for people who survive things they weren’t supposed to.”
He glanced at her. “Is that your scholarly opinion?”
“It’s my lived one,” she replied lightly.
That earned her a look.
She noticed. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I just keep forgetting that you’re not… just a tour guide.”
She smirked. “And you’re not just a walking catastrophe.”
Nick snorted. “Please. I’m at least three catastrophes.”
“And yet,” she said. “You haven’t managed to end the world once yet. Doesn’t that make you impressively bad at your job?”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still just getting started. I barely even have a concept of what the ‘world’ is here. I can’t end something when all I know is one city.”
She stared at him.
“You… I didn’t think it was possible, but you have no idea what kind of impact you’re already having.”
He met her gaze.
“And I assume that is also your scholarly opinion?”
She looked away. “Right. Anyway.”
He sighed. “You’re pretty great, you know. Except when you do things like that.”
She feigned innocence. “Like what?”
“You’re pretending like I’m already doing something important,” he replied. “That I’ve got impact. That people notice me.” He rubbed at the heel of his palm absently, gaze drifting to the damp stone at his feet. “But I’ve barely done anything yet, so every time you say it, it feels like you’re talking about someone else.”
She paused, but this time her hesitation felt genuine.
It wasn’t contrived.
She genuinely seemed… caught. As if she hadn’t expected him to call her out.
“You don’t see it,” she said finally.
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is. You just don’t like it.”
“I like answers that don’t make me sound oblivious. Metaphors and vague language are only fun when you’re the one being cryptic or reading literature. For everyone else, you’re just an asshole.”
Kelsey leaned back on her hands, looking up toward the ceiling where the crystal veins pulsed softly, their glow slow and steady. “You’re measuring impact by outcomes,” she said. “Immediate, visible results. Big moments. Explosions. Declarations. Consequences you can point at.”
“That’s usually how impact works.”
“It’s how you work,” she corrected. “But that’s not how society works. By the time outcomes are visible, impact has already happened.”
She sighed. “I’ve only known you for a day, but I’ve already worried that you failing to understand this is one of your most fatal flaws. It’s not evil, but it will keep you blind until it’s too late to choose differently.”
He followed her gaze upward. The ceiling didn’t feel oppressive, but it didn’t feel distant either. It was like being inside something that was quietly aware of its own size.
“This dungeon,” she continued, “doesn’t respond to intent the way others do. It responds to behaviors.”
Nick frowned. “What’s so problematic about my behaviors? Contrary to what you seem to think, I do understand that the process matters.”
She laughed. “I’m sure you do.”
“They say that sarcasm is a sign of low intelligence.”
“Wasn’t it you that said ‘they’ is an incredibly wise scholar who knows everything?”
“…”
“I’m not criticizing your understanding,” she clarified. “But nobody is perfect, and nobody can be perfect.”
“I know I’m not perfect…” he muttered sullenly. “I was taught that lesson very thoroughly.”
Then he shifted, drawing one knee up and resting his forearm on it before changing the subject. “You keep bringing people here,” he said. “You’ve mentioned that a few times now. ‘Most people fail.’ ‘Almost anyone else.’” He glanced at her. “Why?”
She looked back at him, expression neutral but attentive.
“Because it’s a filter,” she said. “And because I get tired of watching people mistake strength for control.”
“That sounds… judgmental.”
“Correct,” she replied, pleased.
Nick huffed. “So what, you drag people out here, toss them into a dungeon that hates arrogant people, and see if they break?”
She shook her head. “Is that what you think I did to you?”
He hesitated.
“No,” he admitted. “You warned me. Repeatedly.”
“And you listened,” she said. “Mostly.”
“Mostly,” he echoed.
“I don’t bring people here to prove they’re weak,” she said. “I bring them here because this dungeon gives exactly as much grace as it’s given. It doesn’t forgive arrogance, but it rewards humility.”
Nick stared at the floor.
“I’m sure you know already,” he said quietly. “Humility gets people killed.”
“False humility does,” she replied. “The kind that pretends you’re small so you don’t have to act. This place doesn’t tolerate that either.”
He let out a slow breath. “You’re really committed to this theme, aren’t you?”
“It long passed into preachy territory, didn’t it?”
“I dunno if I’d say that…”
They fell quiet again.
Nick glanced at his socks draped over the stone lip. They were still damp, but no longer dripping. He peeled one free, grimaced, then pulled it back on.
“Alright,” he said, standing and testing his weight on bare stone. “Break’s over before I start getting comfortable.”
Kelsey rose smoothly, shouldering her pack. “I’m sure you’ll never forgive yourself if you do.”
“That’s the spirit.”
He bent to grab his boots, then considered what he should do with them. After a moment’s thought, he turned them over once, then tied them together by the laces and slung them over his shoulder instead of putting them back on.
Kelsey noticed but didn’t comment.
They moved forward together, the corridor ahead widening gradually as the light shifted. The stone underfoot remained cool and smooth, but water began to creep back in along the edges, thin sheets sliding upward along the walls in defiance of gravity.
Nick forced his tense shoulders to relax.
Even after a brief rest, his body still expected resistance.
There had to be a trap, a monster, something that justified the tension in his spine.
But this dungeon only offered a corridor.
Kelsey walked ahead of him, unhurried, her pack slung loosely over one shoulder, her bare feet padding softly against the stone. The water beaded and rolled off her skin without clinging, as though it understood her presence.
They walked like that for a while.
There were no breaks to the monotony.
Just the sound of water moving somewhere ahead of them.
Nick broke first.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to ask one question, and then I’m going to let it go.”
She glanced back. “That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not,” he said. “Probably.”
She slowed just enough to walk beside him.
He gestured vaguely at her. “Is that… safe?”
She blinked once.
Then smiled.
“Yes.”
“I’m sure you believe that, but I can’t, for the life of me, understand how.”
“That’s why you asked, isn’t it?”
Nick huffed quietly. “So what’s the reason? Is it something abstract like ‘the dungeon doesn’t care’ or ‘armor disrupts the flow’ or some bullshit like that?”
“You’re fundamentally misunderstanding what’s going on here,” she said. “Armor is for things that hit you, and it also protects against accidents.”
He stopped.
She took another step, then realized he wasn’t beside her anymore and turned back.
“Your mindset is wrong because we called this place a ‘dungeon’. This place is difficult for you because of your instincts.”
Nick looked down at his soaked hoodie, the weight of it still dragging at his shoulders.
“And that justifies conquering it in a swimsuit… how, exactly?”
“That,” she said, pointing at him. “That right there. You called it ‘conquering’. That’s exactly the problem. I’m not conquering anything. I’m going to the beach. The dungeon between me and my destination just happens to be filled with water.”
She glanced pointedly at his soaked sleeves.
“If I know I’m going to be in water the whole way,” she added, “why would I dress like I expect dry ground?”
“…I guess?”
“Or are you going to pretend like your waterlogged boots were remotely comfortable?”
She had him there.
She turned forward again, the subject closed firmly.
They continued.
The corridor widened gradually, the ceiling lifting until it disappeared into darkness, leaving only the glow of crystal veins to suggest scale. The water returned in shallow sheets along the walls, flowing upward this time, defying gravity.
Nick watched it.
But he didn’t try to understand it.
“People usually die around here,” Kelsey said casually.
Nick stumbled half a step. “You really need to stop saying that without warning.”
“Sorry,” she said. “Occupational habit.”
“Your occupation as… a scholar?”
“That’s right.”
He gave her a look.
She sighed. “Alright, fine. Most groups fail here because they assume that the dungeon only has three trials. It’s a pretty common trend in literature, as I’m sure you know.”
The corridor opened into a broad, descending ramp, water cascading gently down its center in a thin, steady flow. The walls were etched with old patterns—spirals, waves, overlapping circles. They looked like records frozen into stone.
“The fundamental premise of this dungeon isn’t to punish ‘ignorance’,” she continued. “It punishes ‘certainty’.”
Nick frowned. “That feels unfair.”
“It is,” she agreed. “Certainty feels good. People cling to it. The more powerful you are, the more likely you are to fail in this place.”
The ramp leveled out.
Ahead, dusk settled over the water.
“So what happens now?” he asked.
Kelsey stopped beside him.
“This is as far as I go with you like this,” she said.
That drew his attention.
“…’Like this’ how?”
“Teaching,” she replied. “Pointing you in the right direction.”
She looked ahead, where the water deepened into shadow and the glow sharpened into something colder.
“Whatever’s beyond that point doesn’t care if you’re learning,” she said. “It cares what you are.”
Nick raised an eyebrow.
“And what am I, exactly?”
She considered him for a moment longer than strictly necessary.
“A… fire that’s never learned how to burn low,” she said. “And a person who thinks that stopping means failing.”
He scoffed.
She smiled. “I’m not here to inspire you. You asked for my assessment and I gave it. Do with it what you will.”
The water ahead stirred.
Kelsey stepped back half a pace, giving him the space without fully stepping away.
“You did well today,” she said. “Better than almost anyone else I’ve brought here.”
“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ coming.”
“There is.”
The glow ahead brightened, resolving into movement beneath the surface, slow, graceful, deliberate. Something large shifted in the dark, water folding around it like silk.
Nick felt heat stir in his chest.
“…So,” he said quietly. “If I mess this up—”
“You won’t,” Kelsey said.
“You sound very sure.”
She met his eyes.
“No,” she said. “I just trust you.”
The water parted ahead of them.
Project Knightfall 