A Lonely Dungeon

Zephyr existed. A poor description perhaps, but really the only appropriate one. One moment there was no Zephyr, and the next there was. Not that the dire wolf that was spun into being from raw mana had yet been granted his name. He was a mere puppet of a dungeon, to be used or disposed of as it saw fit. He didn't mind. He didn't have a mind to mind with. He was nothing but a soulless killing machine of fangs and claws.

The dungeon ordered him to turn the pages of a book. That was an unusual use of a murder puppet but he did his best, trying to stab his sharp claws between the delicate sheets of paper. It did not go well. Far be it from a puppet to question its puppeteer, but even so, the dire wolf felt that he was being used inappropriately. Then he was ordered to cut all of the pages from another book. That was rather more successful; his claws were very sharp, after all. The wolf looked on in silence as the dungeon continued to do things that he couldn't comprehend. After a while he was sent away, left to sit alone and forgotten in a pitch black room.

The wolf received a new order. How long had it been since the last? There was nothing in this place with which to measure time, and it wasn't as if he was counting anyway. He had been ordered to stand by, and so he had. How long for was irrelevant. This time he was sent downstairs, where the mana was heavy and weird. His claws were used once more, this time for pruning vines. Again, this did not seem an entirely appropriate use, but nevertheless he did not question. The task completed, he was sent back to his room to once again wait. A new room, on a lower floor. It didn't make any difference. The mana was a little heavier, but the darkness remained the same.

The dire wolf raised his head from its curled up position on the floor as a new order came through. An order not to attack invaders. The wolf had never seen an invader but diligently noted the order regardless, before tucking his head back down. And raised it again. Something had changed. Something in the air was different. The wolf could hear a distant sobbing. It occurred to the wolf that the sobbing had been happening for some time already, but until now it hadn't seemed... important? But now it felt like it was calling to him. Almost like an order, but somehow different. The wolf obliged, heading towards the noise.

He found himself looking at something he hadn't seen since his birth: The dungeon core. A little larger and more majestic than the first time he had seen it, but radiating a feeling of pure sadness. The wolf whined in sympathy, nuzzling his head against the core. The feeling changed. The sobbing he could hear cleared up, and changed to laughter. The puppeteer spoke to him.

"Sorry. I've gotten so caught up with the outside world that I've been forgetting my own monsters."

The wolf was confused. It was the same voice with which orders were issued, but there was no order. But it didn't feel like he'd missed something, or done something wrong. It felt right. The voice spoke again.

"I should give you a name. How about Zephyr?"

Was that one an order? Perhaps; an odd certainty came from those words. Zephyr. He was Zephyr, and Zephyr was him. It was a gift. A gift from his master. A name! Feelings of joy bubbled up in the freshly christened Zephyr. He barked happily, blissfully ignorant of the fact that a puppet was not supposed to feel.

"Hah. It's like you understand what I'm saying."

The feelings of happiness emanating from the core gave way to confusion.

"Zephyr, were you... trying to comfort me?"

That one... wasn't an order, but nevertheless felt like it required a response. This was even harder than that thing with the books. All these words, so hard to figure out what they meant. It didn't sound bad, more like... uncertainty. Like it wanted reassurance. Zephyr relied on instincts, giving a quick bark and licking the core.

"I don't know how, but thank you."

That seemed to have been the correct response. Zephyr nuzzled against the core again. His task had been a success, and now it was time to return to his assigned room. But as he turned away he realized that he didn't like the thought of that. He didn't want to return. He wanted to remain here, close to the core. He turned back, and curled up next to the pedestal. He received no orders to leave, and descended to sleep in blissful ignorance of the fact that a puppet was not supposed to think.

Sleep didn't last long. The floor itself shook Zephyr awake. He looked around, startled. Maybe this was one of those invaders that were supposed to be a big thing? Then he needed to protect his master. He took up position between the core and the rooms entrance, and remained vigilant. Nothing came, and as Zephyr calmed down he realised that the core was once again crying. Turning, he saw the aura of sadness was even denser than last time. Well, what worked once should work again. He whined and nuzzled, and again the aura slowly dissipated. There was no laughter this time.

"Zephyr, I'm going to do something about this. I don't know what I can do, but I will find something. I will not abandon those who are bound in torment."

Zephyr had no idea what that meant, and there wasn't even a hint of an order in it, but he knew that his master had made an important decision. He barked encouragingly. There was no more crying.

For a while nothing changed. Zephyr could feel the determination of his master and knew that important stuff was happening elsewhere, but it didn't involve him and he was content to wait. Then the mana went weird. It went bright. And it kept getting brighter. Zephyr had spent most of his life in darkness, the core being the only light source in the dungeon, but now the air glowed. The slimes were the next to change, shining so brightly that they hurt. It was too bright. He covered his eyes with his paws, and hunkered down miserably. New walls appeared, blocking off the light from the slimes. That was better. Zephyr looked around curiously. Then the core vanished.

What was happening? Was this an attack? No, the light smelled of the master. In fact it was as much a part of the master as Zephyr himself was. The master was more now. Bigger, deeper. Zephyr pottered down the staircase, but the light down there was even brighter. The core hadn't been stolen, but had been moved somewhere he couldn't follow. That was... unfortunate. But the master was safe, and this room was the only way down. If Zephyr couldn't go deeper himself, then he would remain here and protect the staircase. No invaders would pass!

But to defend this room, he needed strength. He was a monster suited to the fifth or sixth floor of a dungeon, yet now he was positioned on the tenth floor. And even then, the mana was denser than it should be. He was considerably weaker than even the slimes that wandered the floor. How could he defend the staircase like this? Any invader that was capable of reaching him would not even see him as a threat. The slimes had changed species, mutated by the light affinity mana. Why could he not evolve too?

Conditions met. Commencing evolution to lumenfang.

The System responded to his will. Of course, just like it was not supposed to feel or to think, a puppet was certainly not supposed to have its own will. That didn't matter a single iota to Zephyr, who stood proud with his new found power. He had doubled in height, with fur changed to white and fangs now protruding impressively from the front of his mouth. A second pair of eyes opened behind the first, all eyes glowing a faint pink.

And so Zephyr stood guard. The master spoke to him from time to time, not to give orders but just to remind the faithful servant that he was not forgotten. The master seemed to like the idea of having a strong monster guarding each staircase downwards. It called them floor bosses. So Zephyr was a boss now? Was that a promotion? It certainly didn't change anything, but Zephyr was proud of having given the master a new idea.

The time rolled into years. From time to time the dungeon changed. The taste of the mana shifted a little, a few extra notes of complexity hinting that the dungeon had grown deeper. Later he was moved down five floors as the mana density dropped, but then the complexity of the mana increased further. At one point he could feel the masters fear, followed by a brief disgusting tinge to the taste of the mana. That was followed by a large pull on the ambient mana as it was literally sucked from the air. The fear vanished, replaced by satisfaction. Of course the master had won against whatever was threatening it; the master could do anything!

Later on the feel of the mana changed radically. The light mana which previously had been coming right out of the air vanished. It wasn't gone for long, but what came back seemed to be coming from certain spots in the ground instead. It no longer seemed to be a part of the master. Zephyr didn't know what was happening, but neither did he care. The sadness had never come back, not even once. Currently there was determination, and... care? Not just for the monsters, but for the world. The master was obviously off doing complicated things that it was not Zephyr's place to worry about. All he had to do was continue to stand guard.

It was centuries later when Zephyr's eyes snapped open at something he had never once in his long life smelled before. There were intruders approaching! He grinned toothily to himself as he stood. Soon tales of the fearsome boss of the fifteenth floor would spread in the fledgeling settlement above.