The Architect

In a room cluttered with blueprints and crumpled sketches that never saw the light of day.

A man around his youth stared at his screen, half-finished coffee going cold beside him, while he works on yet another uninspired project for a client who won't care.

In a tired moment, he sketches something entirely different on the side, a layout of a grand castle with hidden chambers, twisting staircases, and secret escape routes.

He smiles, almost forgetting the reality of his situation, before snapping back to his work.

Or, perhaps he looks at his old sketches for inspiration, but instead, feels the weight of regret over ideas that never came to fruition.

Either way, the moment conveys his longing for a creative freedom he's never experienced.

Under this drawing was a name that seemed to be written at the bottom of it.

Looking closely it was written on all the drawing in this room.

It was probably a signature to signify that he was the sole creator of this work.

As simple as the initials were, they spelt in an eye catching manner; Seth.

Seth had spent his life in the relentless grind of architectural design, his creative ideas constantly stifled by clients who cared more about cost-cutting than innovation.

He had dreams of creating spaces that told stories, structures that inspired awe, but instead, he'd been stuck in a job where every decision was reduced to numbers and checklists.

Growing up, Seth had always been fascinated by ancient ruins and the idea of building worlds from the ground up.

He spent his youth sketching complex designs, from castles to entire cities, with every detail meticulously crafted.

But practicality and a stable paycheck had pushed him into corporate life, where he was just another cog in the machine.

Whenever he was alone in his apartment, surrounded by drafts of uninspiring projects, he felt a gnawing emptiness.

Deep down, he'd always known he wanted more.

He wanted to build something unique, something that would last, but the world seemed determined to deny him that chance.

.....

Everything was ordinary the moment before the ground opened beneath me.

I'd been working late again, as usual, burning through the night on architectural designs for a company that paid me just enough to keep my small apartment.

The hum of my computer and the scent of burnt coffee it was routine, repetitive, and mundane. And then came the sharp jolt, like an earthquake, except it wasn't the building shaking, it was me.

Suddenly, I was falling. Darkness swallowed me whole, an endless void with no up, no down.

My body tensed as if gravity was just a suggestion, and before I could scream, I slammed into solid ground.

Or at least, what felt like ground. When I opened my eyes, I wasn't in my office anymore. I was in a throne room.

Towering pillars carved from black stone stretched up into a sky I couldn't see.

The room was lit by flames that seemed to hover midair, their light casting strange, shifting shadows across the polished floor.

At the far end of the room sat a figure on a throne—a god, or something close enough.

"Welcome, mortal," a voice echoed through the chamber.

It wasn't a voice that belonged to a single person. It was many, layered on top of each other, male, female, ancient, young.

"You have been chosen."

I blinked, heart racing. My throat was dry.

"Chosen for what?"

"To become a Dungeon Architect."

The figure on the throne leaned forward, and I could finally make out its face if you could call it that.

It was featureless, just a blank canvas of light, shifting between forms as it spoke.

"In the game of gods, dungeons are our playgrounds. We need builders, creators of challenge and chaos. And you, mortal, will serve us"

I took a step back.

"Wait, I think you've got the wrong person. I design buildings, not… dungeons."

The figure laughed, a sound like thunder and wind colliding.

"Oh, but that's why we chose you. You see, your skills are exactly what we need. In this realm, the weak perish, and the strong rise. You will build, or you will die. There are no other choices."

I glanced around the room, searching for an escape. Nothing. The walls seemed to stretch into infinity, trapping me in this nightmare.

"What happens if I say no?"The god on the throne leaned back, shadow swallowing it whole.

"You won't."

The ground beneath me trembled again, and before I could react, the floor gave way.

I was falling, again, into nothingness, with only the god's laughter ringing in my ears.

When I hit the ground this time, it was different.

Cold. Damp. I groaned, pushing myself up to my hands and knees. I was in a cave, a dungeon.

The walls were slick with moisture, and the air smelled like earth and rot.

In front of me, a small glowing orb hovered, casting a pale blue light.

[Dungeon Core Detected.]

A voice, not the god's voice, but something artificial and cold, echoed in my mind.

[You have been granted access to the Dungeon Architect System.]

"What… is this?" I muttered, getting to my feet. My whole body ached, but I had to figure out where I was.

The orb blinked, and a series of glowing symbols appeared in the air in front of me—text, like a game's interface.

< Dungeon Status:>

< Core Integrity: 30%>

< Monsters: None>

< Traps: None>

< Resources: None>

<Objectives: Restore Dungeon Core.>

< Defend Dungeon from Adventurers.>

"What kind of sick joke is this?" I whispered.

Before I could gather my thoughts, the voice returned.

[Warning: Adventurer Party Approaching.]

[Prepare for defense.]

My heart jumped into my throat.

Adventurers? I glanced around the empty cave, panic setting in.

There were no traps, no defenses—nothing but cold stone and the weak glow of the Dungeon Core.

"What do I do? How do I stop them?"

The orb pulsed once, and more text appeared.

[Command Available: Summon Basic Monster (Slime).] Cost: 10 Mana.