Absolute Cheater

Asher and Valeris stood at the base of a jagged cliffside, the winds above them howling with a strange cadence—almost like whispers layered atop one another. Mist clung to the rocks like ancient breath, veiling the entrance from mortal sight.

"This is it," Asher said softly, eyes narrowing as he raised his hand.

He traced a sigil into the air—one only someone attuned to Void essence could perceive. The rocks shivered. The mist thickened, then spiraled inward like a draining vortex.

A heartbeat passed.

Then two.

The cliffside rippled.

A seam appeared across the rock—vertical, unnatural, and humming with sealed force. Roots recoiled from it, stone groaned as something forgotten began to stir.

It wasn't a gate carved or built.

It was grown into reality itself.

A forgotten Void Lock Gate, hidden in dimensional overlap—only visible to those who possessed enough Void resonance to wake it.

Valeris stepped back instinctively as black veins of magic bled from the center, forming a lattice of sharp, intricate patterns that throbbed like a heartbeat.

"Looks like it hasn't opened in ages," she whispered.

"It hasn't," Asher replied, stepping forward and placing his palm against the gate. "It was sealed because no one ever made it out alive."

Valeris raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. "And you think we will?"

He smirked, eyes glowing faintly with knowing confidence. "I already know the winning condition. So no worries."

She blinked. "Wait… you do?"

Asher nodded, his hand still resting against the gate's surface as it pulsed with Void resonance. "This isn't your usual dungeon where you fight your way to the end and claim the boss core. It's a story-driven dungeon—one of the rare types."

Valeris tilted her head, intrigued. "Story-driven…?"

"Yeah," he said. "In here, we won't just fight. We'll take on roles. Become characters—guides, heroes, maybe even villains in a forgotten tale. To complete the dungeon and unlock the core, we have to finish the story—follow its threads, make choices, survive the narrative."

She let out a slow breath, her expression thoughtful. "So... we're walking into a living legend. A place that tests more than strength."

"Exactly." Asher smiled, a flicker of excitement behind his calm. "And if we play our roles right, the rewards will be beyond anything a regular dungeon could offer."

The gate gave one final hum—like a heartbeat in reverse—before the shadows inside thickened into a tunnel of starless night.

Valeris stepped beside him, eyes sharp. "Then let's give this story the ending it's been waiting for."

As the two stepped through the veil of shadows, the world around them twisted—not violently, but as if shifting pages in a massive, ancient tome.

The Dungeon didn't roar to life.

It whispered.

They emerged onto a cobblestone street beneath a twilight sky, neither day nor night, suspended in eternal dusk. Ancient towers pierced the horizon, their spires crooked and jagged like broken quills. Fog rolled through alleyways, thick with memories. There was no wind. No sun. Just the slow pulse of something watching.

A bell rang in the distance.

A soft, mournful toll.

Valeris stepped closer to Asher, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword, soul energy instinctively flickering to life.

"This doesn't feel like a dungeon," she muttered.

"Because it isn't," Asher replied. "Not in the traditional sense. This is a realm memory. A place built from a forgotten story. We're not here to kill the dungeon—we're here to finish what was left undone."

As they moved forward, a spectral mist rippled along the streets, and shapes began to form—people made of smoke and half-light, acting out long-lost scenes.

A woman weeping beside a fountain.

A knight kneeling, his blade broken.

Children laughing in an abandoned square.

"They're echoes," Asher said softly. "Ghosts of the tale. We'll need to follow the main thread if we're going to reach the core."

Suddenly, a figure stepped out of the fog ahead.

A man—regal, draped in old noble robes now threadbare with age. He bowed, but his face was blank, featureless like a puppet.

"Champions," the figure spoke, though its mouth never moved. "The kingdom has fallen. The last page was never written. Will you carry the ink?"

Valeris glanced at Asher. "This is it, isn't it? The start?"

He nodded. "The prologue. And now, we begin."

Quest Initiated: The Forgotten Crown

Objective: Restore the rightful heir and uncover the truth behind the fall of the Kingdom of Ylthar.

Failure Condition: Lose your role. Break the narrative. Die before the tale concludes.

The fog thickened—and in the distance, an ancient castle shimmered into view, its gates cracked open like the jaw of some silent beast.

Asher reached out his hand to Valeris.

"Ready to write history?"

She took it without hesitation. "Let's finish their story."

The moment they passed through the gate, the mist thickened—then suddenly parted like curtains drawn back by unseen hands.

Asher and Valeris stood at the threshold of a place both grand and sorrowful.

They had not simply entered a location…

They had stepped into a memory.

The air shifted. The light dimmed. And before them lay what once must have been a kingdom of immense splendor, now drowned in silence and ghostly stillness.

Massive, regal buildings lined the avenue—arches of silver and bone-white marble, their towers spiraling high into a twilight sky that bled violet and gray. Gold-plated domes gleamed faintly in the distance, even as vines of forgotten time clung to them like skeletal hands. The entire city seemed suspended in the moment after its fall, frozen in quiet decay.

Statues lined the walkway, carved with exquisite precision—heroes, kings, queens, scholars. Yet each statue had been defaced. Eyes gouged out. Names erased. History, stolen.

Music floated in the air. Not alive. Not played. But remembered—echoing harp chords and fading choir hymns that rose and fell like sighs on the wind.

"This place…" Valeris whispered, spinning slowly as she took it in. "It's beautiful. And broken."

Asher narrowed his eyes. "A kingdom meant for legends… and buried in tragedy."

They stepped forward.

The streets weren't empty. Shadows moved, faint and distant—citizens made of memory, performing the routines of a life long ended. A man opened a market stall. A woman laid flowers at a shrine. Children ran through an alley, chasing light that wasn't there.

But none of them noticed Asher or Valeris.

This wasn't the present.

It was a ghost of a story.

And they were walking through the final chapter.

Valeris paused by a fountain in the center of the plaza. Water no longer flowed, but the carving along its edges was clear—a crowned figure with wings outstretched, holding a sword in one hand, and a quill in the other.