There are a lot of ways to start your day in post-Shattering London.
Some people wake up to the smell of mana-brewed coffee and the distant sound of Guild trainees yelling through their morning drills.
Others—namely me—wake up to a soldier in leather-and-plate armor throwing a bundle of enchanted gear at their head.
"Get dressed," Zoya said. "You've got ten minutes."
I blinked, still half-asleep on the medical cot. "Where's the fire?"
"In Zone 2," she said. "And if we're late, it'll be under your ass."
Ten minutes later, I stood in a Guild-supplied staging tent, wearing a mismatched set of light combat leathers that smelled faintly of charred basil and regret. My boots were too tight, the mana-absorbent cloak was too long, and the rune-inscribed gloves kept tingling like they were trying to talk to my hands in Morse code.
Zoya, by contrast, looked like a walking nightmare in steel. Her armor gleamed with runes that flared softly every time she moved, and her longsword rested across her back in a custom sheath etched with silver foxes. She didn't even bother to draw it as we passed through the checkpoint.
"Remember," she said as we approached the rift gate, "this is a C-rank dungeon. Low threat. Stick with me, don't get cocky, and if something looks like it wants to eat your soul—"
"—run?" I offered.
"Stab it first. Run second."
"Noted."
The rift gate loomed before us—an elliptical tear in space, shimmering with soft blue light. Around it, a perimeter of runes pulsed steadily, keeping the magic contained. Two rune-gunners stood on either side, watching for flickers of instability.
Zoya scanned her Hunter's badge. The gate flared.
Then she turned to me.
"Ready, Your Majesty?"
"Please never call me that again."
"Too late."
She shoved me through the gate.
Dungeons feel wrong.
They smell wrong, sound wrong, and taste wrong—yes, I've tasted them. The air in here always carries the weight of an old wound. Time doesn't work right. Distance shifts. Your skin itches in places you didn't know could itch.
This one was worse than I expected.
It looked like a half-sunken cathedral, flooded ankle-deep with cold water. Marble columns stretched into darkness, and the faint echo of chanting drifted from nowhere. The air was thick with arcane tension—enough that even I, classless, could feel the pressure crawling up my spine.
Zoya stepped through beside me, hand on her sword.
"Area reads stable," she muttered. "At least for now."
I tried to suppress the shiver crawling through my bones.
"Remind me," I said, voice hushed, "what's this dungeon's theme?"
"Trial of the Hollow Judge," she replied. "Spawns illusion-class monsters, some mind-affecting elements. Final boss is a judicial wraith. Wields truth-bound chains."
"Oh good. A legally themed horror show. Can't wait."
We moved through the first few chambers without issue.
The monsters were weak—shadows in robes, their attacks little more than illusions that passed through us like fog. Zoya dispatched them with casual flicks of her hand, slicing through mirages like paper. I stuck close, trying to look useful while keeping out of the way.
My system was quiet. Too quiet.
That was always a bad sign.
By the time we reached the cathedral's inner sanctum, the water had risen to our calves, and the air had turned cold enough to fog breath.
The chamber beyond was vast. Stone pews stretched out in perfect rows, half-flooded. At the far end, behind a cracked altar, a throne of black stone waited.
Upon it sat the Hollow Judge.
It rose the moment we stepped inside.
Tall. Robed. Its face hidden behind a mask shaped like a balance scale—one side pristine gold, the other rusted iron. Chains floated in the air around it, each one inscribed with glowing runes in a language I didn't understand but felt in my teeth.
Boss Identified: Hollow Judge (C-Rank)
Status: Domain-Bound. Truth Trial Initiating...
"Domain?" I choked. "I thought this was a regular C-rank!"
"It's a degraded domain fragment," Zoya growled, drawing her sword. "Happens sometimes. Stay close."
Trial of Truth: Begin.
All intruders shall be judged. Lies shall be punished. Verdict shall be binding.
The room shuddered.
A beam of light slammed down between us, and a glowing circle of runes spread out from its center.
Answer Truly, or be Condemned.
The Hollow Judge raised one hand, and its voice split the air—not with words, but with the crushing weight of questions.
"Do you seek power?"
The words echoed inside my skull.
Zoya didn't flinch. "Yes."
I hesitated. "I mean—sort of? Depends on the—"
Lie detected.
Chains lashed out of the air, wrapping around my arm and slamming me to the ground.
"AUGH—"
Zoya spun toward me. "Answer clearly!"
"Okay! Yes! Fine! I want power! Eventually! Maybe for rent and survival reasons!"
The chains hissed and loosened.
I groaned. "This system sucks."
We fought as the questions continued. The boss moved slowly, deliberately, hurling chains and bursts of pressure that forced the truth from our lungs. Every falsehood was punished with pain—mental, physical, or both.
Zoya held her ground, dancing between attacks, her blade carving runes into the air with each strike. I hung back, avoiding questions as best I could, trying not to draw attention.
But the system had other ideas.
Final Blow Required to Claim Fragment.
Dominion Protocol Active. Witness Present.
Of course.
I gritted my teeth, ducked under a chain, and ran toward the boss.
"Zoya!" I shouted. "I need the kill!"
She glanced at me, confused. "What?!"
"No time! Trust me!"
To her credit, she didn't question it. She knocked the boss off balance with a flurry of precise strikes, forcing it to stagger back—
—right into my path.
I grabbed a fallen chain, focused every drop of energy I had, and threw it like a spear.
The chain struck the Hollow Judge in the chest.
It screamed—a soundless, psychic rupture—and collapsed into mist.
Boss Defeated.
Fragment Claimed: Judgment Chains (Stage 1).
Status: Incomplete. Side Effect Active: Truth Aura.
Truth Aura?
I turned to Zoya.
"I didn't mean to steal your kill."
Lie detected.
Chains whipped out of nowhere and wrapped around my mouth.
Back at the gate, I sat on a rock with a blanket around my shoulders, sipping something hot and vaguely spicy. Zoya paced in front of me, not angry... just confused.
"You killed the boss," she said, watching me carefully. "You weren't supposed to be able to do that."
"Yeah, well." I flexed my fingers. The chains were gone, but I could still feel them coiled somewhere inside my core. "Neither was I supposed to kill the last one with a chandelier."
"Do you know what this power is?"
I hesitated.
Then I looked her in the eyes. "Not yet."
Zoya studied me for a long moment.
Then she sighed. "You're a disaster."
I grinned. "Thank you."
She turned away. "We're doing another run next week."
"Wait—what?"
"Observation protocol. I'm not letting you go in with anyone else until we figure out what you are."
"Zoya—"
She raised a finger without turning around. "No arguments. And if you ever try to lie to me again, I will feed you to your own aura."
I opened my mouth. Thought better of it. Closed it.
Somewhere deep inside me, the system chuckled.
Literally. I heard it.
The Crown is amused.
Oh, great.
Now even my powers had a sense of humor.