Elementalism

I lost track of how many turns I made through the hallways. A right here, a left there, another left, and so on. The pattern was meaningless—just me following a whisper of air, waiting for the breeze to return, guiding me like a phantom hand toward what I hoped was a way out.

Would it be too much to hope that it also led to food?

There was no tracking time in a dungeon. Electronics glitched and died inside these places, so my phone was as good as a paperweight. No calls, no messages, no GPS—just a useless slab of glass and metal. Even the clock had frozen, as if time itself had no authority here. It wasn't ideal. It was outright terrifying. The only thing still working was the flashlight, and even that felt like a fragile luxury.

The torch in my right hand, however, never dimmed. A steady flame, unwavering, as though something unseen willed it to burn eternally. It made sense. The torches lining the walls flickered but never truly faded. How long had they been here? Weeks? Months? Years? Gates and their dungeons never stuck around long enough for real studies. Their origins were a mystery, their lifespans unpredictable. No one knew what they were, why they appeared, or how old any of them truly were. Just that they existed—and they killed.

I stopped at another fork in the path, pressing my back against the cold sandstone wall, straining to listen. I never chose blindly. I always waited for the draft to return, to tell me which direction to go. It had guided me this far, hadn't it?

Minutes stretched. Then—there. A whisper of air, curling around my skin. Left.

I was just about to move when a sound shattered the silence.

A low groaning, deep and guttural, reverberated against the walls.

My body locked up, a cold sweat trickling down my spine. I didn't turn around. Some primal instinct screamed at me—don't look. Another breath of wind rushed past me, but this one came from behind.

The groaning returned, bouncing through the corridor, impossible to place. Too close. Too wrong. It wasn't human. It was something trying to sound human.

A trick. A lure. A voice designed to pull in the kind-hearted, the unsuspecting.

I moved.

Fast.

Not running. Not yet. Just a controlled, urgent pace, careful not to make a sound. Left, then right. I wasn't waiting for the wind anymore. I needed distance. Whatever was back there—whatever had mimicked pain and suffering to bait me—I wasn't sticking around to see what it really was.

Then I hit something.

A wall. A solid, unyielding mass.

No. Not a wall. A person.

The impact knocked my torch from my grip. It clattered against the ground, the flame extinguishing in an instant.

I didn't think—I reacted. My hand shot out, grasping at the air, pulling at whatever water I could command, desperation making my control slip.

The figure grunted.

Shit.

Shitshitshitshit.

Not a creature. A person. A person who was now pissed.

I spun, ready to bolt, but fingers wrapped around my ankle, yanking me back. I hit the ground hard, my arms barely catching me before my face smashed into the dirt. Grit bit into my palms, my heart a frantic hammer against my ribs.

"He—"

I kicked out, twisting, my foot connecting with something solid. Another grunt, and the grip on my ankle loosened. I scrambled forward, trying to get my feet under me—

Too slow.

A weight crashed into my back, forcing me down again. A knee dug between my shoulder blades, pinning me. I thrashed, but the hold was firm, unyielding.

"Would you stop hitting me?" a voice snapped, male, thoroughly unimpressed.

Dust filled my mouth as I coughed. "Maybe if you didn't scare the shit out of me! Get off!"

"Are you going to attack me again?"

"That depends. Are you going to keep pinning me to the floor?"

Silence. Then, slowly, the weight lifted. I pushed up onto my elbows, wheezing in a breath before scooting away, pressing my back against the wall for distance.

The stranger stepped back, finally letting me get a proper look at him.

He was young—mid-twenties, maybe a few years older than me. Messy dark hair, brown eyes, a sharp jawline. There was a slight bend in his nose, like it had been broken before. His black shirt clung to broad shoulders and toned arms, the neckline low enough to reveal the start of an awakening mark. I couldn't make out the shape of it, but if I had to guess—

Fighter.

Great.

"Who are you?" I demanded, still catching my breath.

The corner of his mouth quirked. "I could ask you the same thing."

Ah. An asshole. Wonderful.

"Did you fall through a gate too?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

He studied me, his gaze unreadable. Then, finally, he nodded.

"Yeah. And it ain't just us."

That caught my attention. I straightened. "There's more?"

"If you're the last, that makes twelve."

Twelve. The number wasn't what unsettled me—it was the way he said it.

I frowned. "Were you looking for me?"

Another nod.

"How?"

"Air. Think of it like echolocation, like bats. I was feeling for movement."

An elementalist, then. And a strong one.

I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair. The stranger watched the movement, gaze sharp, calculating. I didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Do you know where we are?" I asked, trying to shift his focus elsewhere. "Or what type of dungeon this is? Is there a way—"

He held up a hand, cutting me off, before shifting his stance.

"Let's get back to the others before you start throwing questions. It's not safe here. You heard it, right?"

As if on cue, the groaning returned, slithering through the halls, wrapping around us like a noose. A shudder rippled through me. I could hardly bring my eyes to look in the direction it came from, the stranger's gaze focused that way, too.

The stranger lingered a second longer, eyes narrowing at the darkness beyond. Then, he turned, walking away.

"Come on. It's safer where we are."

I hesitated only a moment, thoughts running through my mind. This could be a trap. I was entirely naive. I had heard of hunters betray others inside dungeons. How certain deaths didn't always seem like it was done by a creature. But beyond the gates, Korean law didn't matter. It was a jungle in here where only the strongest survived.

What were the chances this man was lying to me?

As if sensing my hesitation, he glanced over his shoulder at me. Quick. Simple. And then he turned back, continuing on like he didn't care whether I followed or not. The low groaning sounded once more, and I decided I'd rather take my chances with the stranger.