Moving

These frog creatures are relentless. Each one we take down seems to bring another, each more aggressive than the last. They're strong, far stronger than anything we've faced before, and they're agile—darting up walls and blending into the damp, moss-covered stone like shadows. Their tongues lash out in flashes, strong enough to crack stone, and slick with a poison that leaves a sizzling trail wherever it touches. I've fought in plenty of dungeons before, but this is an A-class, and it's like nothing I've seen. Hours pass with barely a breath in between attacks, and the exhaustion is starting to set in.

Kirelle fires off another volley of fireballs, illuminating the narrow passage in bursts of orange and red, casting twisted shadows over the dungeon walls. Korin, with his bow, is right behind her, sending arrows into the fray with deadly accuracy, pinning the creatures back long enough for me to finish them off. It's a rhythm we've perfected over countless fights, each move seamless, our attacks hitting like a well-oiled machine.

Tristan is darting around us, keeping his distance but close enough to step in, his hands glowing as he heals our injuries in a near-constant stream of mana. I catch glimpses of him working, bending over fallen creatures to cut away any parts that might sell well back in the fortress. Normally, he'd be collapsing by now, his face pale, gasping for breath. But today, he's going strong, the necklace Ben gave him radiating a steady, comforting green light. That necklace is working overtime, keeping him stable, and for once, we don't have to stop to let him rest. It's almost unreal—Tristan is relaxed and focused, right here in the middle of an A-class dungeon.

We've been holding our own, but the next creature that appears is different—larger, more dangerous, with muscles rippling under its slimy green skin. Its eyes are sharper, more aware, and it lets out a guttural croak that echoes down the hallway, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Before I can react, it lunges, a blur of green muscle and raw power, and suddenly I'm slammed into the wall. My vision blurs as pain erupts through my side, sharp and deep, and I can feel my bones give under the force. The others hit the wall, too, their groans of pain mixing with mine. It feels like I've been hit by a sledgehammer, and the air is forced from my lungs, leaving me gasping.

I cough, and something wet and metallic fills my mouth. Blood. It's hard to breathe, every rib aching, but then I feel it—a warm, gentle glow spreading across my body, and the pain starts to ease. The green light surrounds me, soothing the throbbing in my bones, knitting broken skin back together. My fatigue melts away, replaced by a refreshing energy that makes me feel almost weightless. It's Tristan's healing, but stronger, steadier than ever before. I push myself up, my strength returning in a rush, and lock eyes with the beast.

Tristan is doing something extraordinary today; I don't know how, but he's keeping us alive in ways I never thought possible. The knowledge fuels me, sparking a fierce determination. I can fight harder, knowing I have someone to put me back together.

With a nod to the others, I launch myself at the creature, daggers flashing. It snarls, its tongue whipping toward me, but I dodge, sliding low and bringing my blade across its legs, cutting deep. Kirelle and Korin are right there with me, Kirelle's flames hitting it from one side, while Korin's arrows rain down, piercing its tough hide. The beast swings its massive arm at Kirelle, but Tristan's green glow pulses around her just in time, protecting her from the worst of the blow.

The monster stumbles, and that's when I see my chance. With every ounce of strength, I leap, driving both daggers into its neck. It gurgles, eyes rolling back, and collapses with a shuddering, final breath.

We don't get a moment to savor the victory. More sounds echo from deeper in the dungeon—slithering, wet dragging noises. I catch my breath, looking at the others. Kirelle's face is set in a grim determination, her hands already sparking with flame, and Korin's got his bow drawn, eyes scanning the darkness ahead. And Tristan—Tristan is watching us, his face pale but resolute, the green necklace pulsing softly at his chest, a beacon of hope in this relentless place.

"Everyone still standing?" I ask, and they nod, grim smiles breaking through their exhaustion. My own heartbeat steadies, the pain all but gone, replaced by an unbreakable resolve. We're hurt, worn, but not beaten. Not yet.

"

Let's keep moving."