Chapter 500: Face Me Head-On

Adam set his cup down slowly, the ceramic clicking against the worn wood of the bench. His voice came out quiet, but there was an edge beneath it.

"What do you mean by that? When I went in there, the dungeon was normal."

The old man didn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the dark entrance of the Dream Grave, steam curling from his own cup.

"That’s because your mind is strong," he said. "This place can’t touch someone like you. And you entered with others. You had people to anchor you, to remind you of what was real."

He took a slow sip of his tea.

"But that woman went in alone, and her mind is troubled. The Dream Grave won’t let someone like her wander freely inside."

Adam was on his feet before the old man finished speaking.

"Then I have to go get her."

The old man shook his head slowly.

"I’m sorry, but that won’t work."

Adam turned on him, eyes sharp and burning.

"Why not?"

The old man raised a hand, palm open, calm as still water.

"Calm yourself, young man. Making decisions while you’re angry will only lead you to the wrong ones."

Adam’s jaw tightened. His fists clenched at his sides.

"Do you think I can stay calm when Ignis might be dying in there right now?"

The old man met his gaze without flinching. His voice was quiet, but each word landed like stone.

"The dungeon doesn’t work that way. It moves its challengers into other spaces. Even if you go in now, you won’t find her."

Adam stared at him for a long moment. Then he turned toward the entrance, wings already beginning to stir at his back.

"If I don’t try, I won’t know."

He took a step forward.

"I’ll find her. Even if I have to tear this whole dungeon apart."

The old man sighed softly, but there was no mockery in it. Only a tired, patient sadness.

"That would be a wasted effort too."

Adam stopped.

The old man set his teacup down on the bench and rose slowly to his feet. His faded cloak stirred in the cold air drifting from the dungeon mouth.

"Even if you destroy the dungeon, that woman will vanish with it. The Dream Grave doesn’t let go of what it takes. Not without a price."

Adam stood frozen at the threshold, staring into the darkness where Ignis had disappeared.

The old man’s voice came from behind him, quiet and final.

"If you want to save her, you’ll have to do it the way the dungeon allows. Not the way you want."

Adam didn’t move. His fists were still clenched, his breathing shallow, and for a long moment, the only sound between them was the soft hiss of steam rising from the abandoned teapot on the bench.

"...Then tell me," he said at last. "What way does it allow?"

The old man looked at him for a long moment, then slowly sat back down.

"That," he said, "is a question worth asking."

The old man lowered himself back onto the bench with a soft grunt, joints creaking like old wood. He gestured toward the empty space beside him.

"Sit."

"I’m not in the mood to sit."

The old man let out a quiet breath through his nose, something between a sigh and a chuckle.

"Fine. Stand, then. But listen."

Adam said nothing. He didn’t sit, didn’t move closer, didn’t relax his stance. But he stayed. His eyes stayed fixed on the old man, sharp and unblinking.

The old man took that as agreement and nodded slowly.

"You have to trust her."

Adam’s jaw tightened. "Trust her?"

"Yes." The old man wrapped both hands around his chipped teacup, watching the last wisps of steam curl upward. "That woman walked into the Dream Grave on her own two feet. Whatever she’s carrying inside her, she chose to face it alone. If you force your way in now, if you drag her out before she’s finished..."

He paused, letting the words settle.

"...you’ll only prove to her that she was right to doubt herself."

Adam’s expression didn’t change, but something behind his eyes flickered.

The old man continued, his voice slow and measured.

"The Dream Grave doesn’t bury people who are strong. It buries people who don’t believe they are. If she can’t stand on her own in there, nothing you do from out here will save her. But if she can..."

He looked up at Adam, his old eyes steady.

"...then she’ll walk out that door herself. And she’ll never doubt herself again."

Adam stood there in silence. His fists, still clenched, loosened by a fraction.

The old man took a sip of his tea.

"All you can do is wait. And believe in her."

Adam understood what the person in front of him was trying to say. Ignis was not a weak woman who always needed his help, and he had to trust that she could solve this on her own.

Then, finally, he sat down beside the old man without a word.

Meanwhile....

Inside the dungeon, the golden fire still raged. It clung to the walls, the floor, the shattered remains of the ice golems, refusing to die. The air shimmered with heat, thick and warping, and every few seconds another impact cracked through the chamber like thunder trapped underground.

Ignis stood at the center of it all, blood still drying on her split lip, her breath coming in sharp, controlled bursts.

The eyes in the tear of reality watched her. Dozens of them, unblinking, cold. One by one, they fired.

Spears of ice screamed toward her from every direction, spiraling through the air with killing precision.

Ignis twisted under the first, drove her fist through the second, and shattered the third with a backhand. Shards of frost scattered across the molten floor and evaporated on contact. She didn’t stop. She ducked, spun, and launched herself upward, punching through another volley of ice with both fists wreathed in gold.

Each impact shattered the spears into nothing. Each shattered spear sent fragments raining down across the glowing stone.

The eyes narrowed.

The air around her shifted. Invisible pressure clamped down on her arms, her legs, her chest. Telekinesis. The eyes were pinning her in place, locking her joints, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Ignis gritted her teeth. Her flames flickered, compressed, then surged.

She forced her arms outward against the invisible grip. The pressure screamed. The air warped around her. Her muscles burned, but she pushed anyway, one inch at a time, until her hands were free.

"You think you can hold me?"

She opened her mouth and fire poured out, a torrent of gold that slammed into the tear of reality. The eyes flinched. Some of them blinked out, burned away in an instant. But the pressure didn’t stop.

More eyes opened. More energy pressed down on her, tighter than before, locking her legs, her arms, her throat.

Ignis’s flames guttered for half a second. Her knees bent.

Then she straightened.

Her voice came out low and rough, each word forced through clenched teeth.

"I’ll burn whatever’s holding me."

The golden fire around her compressed into a single blinding point at her core, then exploded outward in every direction. The telekinetic grip shattered like glass. The pressure vanished. The eyes recoiled, some of them smoking, others flickering wildly as if in pain.

Ignis landed on both feet, flames roaring around her, and raised her head to face the tear.

"I told you," she said, her voice cold and absolute.

"I’ll burn everything you throw at me."

The eyes shifted. The air in the chamber changed, grew heavy and wet. From the tear in reality, water began to pour. It started as a trickle, then a stream, then a roaring tide that swept across the molten floor in waves.

The water crashed toward Ignis from every direction, walls of liquid taller than her, surging forward to drown her, to smother her fire, to end her.

Ignis’s lips curled into a fierce grin, her teeth flashing like a predator’s.

"Then I’ll erase the water too."

Her flames roared hotter. Brighter. The gold turned white at the edges, and the air around her screamed.

It swallowed her whole, a crushing wave that should have snuffed out any fire. Steam exploded outward in every direction, thick and blinding, filling the chamber with a hissing wall of vapor. The water boiled on contact, evaporated in an instant, and the wave that had come to kill her dissolved into mist before it could even touch her skin.

The eyes darted back and forth, searching through the steam. Searching for her. But the vapor was too thick, too bright, and every direction looked the same.

Then a voice cut through the mist, calm and cold, right beside one of the eyes.

"You shouldn’t hide from me."

A hand shot out of the steam and drove its fingers into the eye.

Ignis dug her fingers deeper, golden fire pouring from her palm straight into the eye’s core. The eye burned from the inside out, cracked, and dissolved into nothing.

She ripped her hand free and turned toward the rest of them.

"Fight me head-on," she said, her voice low and sharp, steam curling off her shoulders. "Stop hiding like cowards."