It was a quiet day in Australia, the kind that felt almost too still to be real. People walked past a construction site, barely sparing it a glance as they went about their routines.
Heavy machinery stood frozen in place, coated in dust as if it hadn't been touched in months. Empty concrete sacks were scattered across the ground, torn and disorganized, hinting at work that had long been abandoned.
The unfinished structure loomed silently, its purpose left incomplete.
On the far side of the site, a lone cement mixer stood behind a tall metal frame. It looked out of place, like a forgotten tool waiting for workers who would never return.
The skeletal outline of a building stretched upward, but it stopped abruptly, as if construction had been halted mid-thought. Wind passed through the hollow structure, creating a faint, eerie hum. Everything about the place felt… wrong.
Then the ground beneath the metal frame trembled.
At first, it was subtle—just enough for passersby to pause and glance around in confusion.
A few people stopped walking, their brows furrowing as they tried to understand what they were feeling.
The shaking grew stronger, more undeniable, sending small pebbles skittering across the ground. A low rumble followed, deep and unnatural. When the realization hit, panic spread instantly.
People screamed and ran in every direction, abandoning whatever they had been doing just seconds before. Some tripped over debris, scrambling to their feet in desperation to get away.
Beneath the metal frame, the ground cracked open violently. From the rupture, a massive dungeon entrance began to form, its dark interior swallowing light itself. Rubble scattered outward as the structure around it groaned under the sudden shift.
Calls were made in frantic voices—some contacting the police, others alerting nearby hunters. A few people stayed just long enough to record the phenomenon, their curiosity battling their fear.
But most ran, unwilling to risk being anywhere near a newly formed dungeon. The air itself seemed heavier, charged with danger. Everyone knew what this meant.
Two hours later, the chaos had settled into tense anticipation.
Hunters began to arrive in groups, their presence bringing a sense of order to the situation.
Some examined the entrance cautiously, while others discussed strategies among themselves. "What level do you think this dungeon is?" one hunter asked, his eyes fixed on the dark opening.
"No idea," another replied, crossing his arms as he observed the unstable structure. No one wanted to underestimate it.
Nearby, a temporary tent had been set up close to the dungeon entrance.
The tent had a large rectangular opening cut into its side, acting as a makeshift reception area. Inside, a desk was positioned neatly in front of the opening.
A woman sat behind it, her posture stiff as she wrote something down with quick, practiced movements. Papers were stacked beside her, organized despite the rushed setup.
A boy approached the desk, his steps hesitant but determined.
"U-uhh…" he stuttered, his voice barely audible at first. The woman paused her writing and slowly looked up, clearly annoyed at being interrupted. "What do you want?" she asked, her tone sharp and impatient. Her eyes scanned him briefly, already judging.
"I-I would like to join the group clearing the dungeon," the boy said, forcing the words out.
At that, her posture shifted slightly, her interest piqued. "Name?" she asked, now more focused.
"Zachary Quinn," he replied quickly. She wrote it down on a piece of band paper, her pen moving swiftly across the surface. Then she glanced up again.
"Class?" "Mage," Zachary answered, a hint of excitement slipping into his voice.
"Oh, a Mage?" she said, her tone changing instantly. "You're in luck—we actually need one right now."
Zachary's face lit up at her words, relief and happiness flashing across his expression. For a brief moment, it felt like things were finally going his way.
"So," she continued, her pen hovering over the paper, "what's your level?"
Zachary froze.
"L-level… one," he admitted quietly.
Her expression changed instantly, the spark of excitement vanishing as if it had never been there. In its place was clear disgust, her lips curling slightly as she glanced at him again.
Without saying another word, she scribbled something roughly onto the paper, the pen pressing harder than necessary.
"Go over there,"
she said, her voice sharp and dismissive. Zachary didn't react, because deep down, he had expected this from the start.
He turned and walked in the direction she pointed, his steps steady despite the weight of her reaction. The closer he got, the more he could hear the group she had assigned him to.
There were four hunters, all gathered together, laughing loudly as they exchanged stories. Their energy was completely different from his—confident, carefree, and loud.
It was the kind of atmosphere that made outsiders feel unwelcome without a single word being said.
Zachary stopped just a few steps away from them, waiting quietly. None of them noticed him at first, too absorbed in their own conversation. Their laughter rang out again, one joke louder than the last.
For a moment, he simply stood there, invisible in plain sight. It wasn't unfamiliar to him.
Then one of the hunters finally glanced his way.
"What do ya want, kid!?" the man called out, his tone rough and impatient. The others followed his gaze, their expressions shifting as they noticed Zachary standing there. Before he could answer, a voice shouted from behind.
"He's your new teammate!... I guess!"
The woman from the tent didn't even try to hide her lack of confidence in that statement.
A brief silence fell over the group.
Then one of them let out a short laugh, shaking his head. Another looked Zachary up and down, clearly unimpressed.
"You serious?" one muttered under his breath. Their earlier excitement had faded, replaced by thinly veiled disappointment.