John felt himself dissolving into the familiar void of inter-floor travel, but this time, a profound sense of betrayal gnawed at him. His proposal had been simple, a straightforward bargain, and despite his admittedly arrogant approach, he had emerged victorious, only to be met with this blatant deception. I anticipated another cheat code, he thought bitterly, the familiar rush of transition now tainted with resentment, but it was not to be. In this clearly avaricious and untrustworthy dungeon, I openly lamented my unjust fate, my voice echoing through the emptiness when perhaps a more prudent silence would have served me better. Yet, John, as he had done countless times before, failed to grasp this simple yet crucial lesson in life.
Suddenly, without warning, an overpowering force, vast and unknowable, enveloped him, its presence like a crushing weight descending upon his very soul. John’s consciousness flickered, then faded into complete darkness, as if a switch had been flipped inside his mind.
The dungeon, for the first time in its long, ancient existence, experienced a flicker of genuine fear, a cold dread that ran through its very core. A presence far mightier than itself, a force of unimaginable power and scope, had intervened, plucking John from its grasp during the delicate process of transferring him to the designated floor. The dungeon was undeniably irked by John’s unexpected success, his blatant disregard for its established rules and procedures, but not entirely. Beneath its annoyance, it harbored a peculiar, almost inexplicable fondness for what John had termed “music,” the strange and compelling sounds that had filled its chambers during his battles.
John drifted in the infinite expanse of the void, a disorienting sensation of weightlessness pervading his being as his consciousness gradually returned. He felt as if he were suspended in an endless ocean of nothingness, the silence absolute and unbroken. He lacked any sense of up or down, left or right, only the awareness of his own thoughts echoing in the vast emptiness. A faint luminescence began to glow in the distance, gradually resolving into a swirling mass of colors and shapes.
Then, as though coalescing from the very essence of the void itself, a being of extraordinary beauty and otherworldly presence materialized before him. Its form shimmered and undulated like the night sky on a clear, moonless night, a swirling panorama of stars and galaxies, celestial bodies rotating within its translucent form.
John, utterly stunned by this unexpected apparition, stammered, his voice barely audible. “Are…are you…the dungeon?” he managed to utter, his eyes wide with both awe and a hint of apprehension. Recognizing the potentially disrespectful nature of his inquiry, he quickly added, his tone contrite. “I was simply…releasing some frustration, you understand? I didn’t intend any offense. And frankly, simply being alive after all of that is a victory in and of itself. So…perhaps we could just pretend that I never even set foot in the dungeon, yes? I apologize.”
The starry being chuckled, a sound like the gentle tinkling of distant chimes, its voice echoing with ancient knowledge and immeasurable power. “I am not some insignificant dungeon, little mortal,” it stated, its voice resonating with the immensity of the cosmos. “You have inadvertently tapped into a magic that is exclusively mine, a power that is intimately connected to the very essence of time itself. And now,” it continued, its voice adopting a more solemn tone, “I am deeply interested in your personal interpretation of time, your subjective experience of its passage. Your response,” the being concluded, its starry form radiating a soft, otherworldly light, “could very well bestow upon you an extraordinary boon, a gift far beyond your most extravagant dreams.”
John, his mind reeling from the encounter, found himself contemplating the nature of time.
Time is often depicted as a linear progression, an arrow moving steadily from past to future. But this simplistic representation may not fully capture the true nature of time. Time, as we understand it, is relative, meaning its flow can vary depending on one's location in space. This location is typically defined by three spatial coordinates: altitude, longitude, and latitude. If time is indeed relative to space, then perhaps its accurate measurement also requires a form of triangulation, establishing a position relative to other points. Consider a clock face. It has twelve marked points. If we imagine ourselves at the position of the second hand, we can observe an interesting pattern. Numbers directly across from each other on the clock face always subtract to six. This could be interpreted as representing the six points necessary for locating oneself within space-time: three coordinates for time and three for space. Applying this principle of triangulation to space-time with a base measurement of 60, we arrive at a different conception of timekeeping: 60 hours in a day, 60 days in a month, and 60 months in a year. This is because time, in this model, is inextricably linked to the space one occupies. This localized standard of time applies within a system orbiting a star, a relatively stable frame of reference. But beyond the influence of a star, at the expanding edge of the known universe, time takes on a different characteristic. There, time measures the expansion of space itself, progressing at a constant rate. Time, in this broader context, does not travel in a straight line but rather spirals outward, like an ever-expanding vortex. Three points in space, much like the hands of a clock, rotate in relation to each other, tracing this spiral. Therefore, the theory proposes, possessing precise knowledge of one’s time and spatial coordinates could, theoretically, allow for predictions of the universe’s position during its ongoing expansion, using these relative measurements. Thus, time could be viewed not merely as a linear progression, but as a measure of growth, of the expansion of knowledge and the universe itself.
John, having formulated this intricate theory in his mind, looked up at the starry being, his eyes filled with anticipation and a hint of uncertainty. “Am I correct?” he asked, his voice echoing in the vast emptiness.
The starry being merely chuckled, a sound like the distant rumble of thunder, its expression unreadable. “Only time will tell,” it responded cryptically, the words hanging in the air like a whispered prophecy. Then, as if a curtain had fallen, John’s mind went blank, his thoughts abruptly ceasing.
John’s entire body throbbed with a dull, persistent ache, every fiber of his being protesting the abrupt return to normalcy. But the physical discomfort was insignificant compared to the burning resentment that churned within him, a furious storm threatening to erupt at any moment.
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“What in the world!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse with frustration and disbelief, the sound reverberating through the desolate space surrounding him. “I’ve been deceived, manipulated, swindled—not once, but twice! I followed their instructions to the letter, I abided by their rules, and I received absolutely nothing in exchange. What’s the meaning of that infuriatingly vague response, ‘Time will tell’?” he continued, his voice filled with scorn and bitterness. “I was led to believe he was supposed to be Time, the personification of time itself, yet he imparted absolutely no useful information whatsoever. Wonderful,” he scoffed, the word laced with contempt. “So, what awaits me next? They always say misfortunes come in threes. Who’s going to betray me next? After I endure some more absurd trials, accomplish some meaningless, unproductive tasks, then boom—another betrayal? Another kick in the teeth?” The thought intensified his anger, transforming the churning resentment into a raging tempest. Sometimes, I desperately need to learn the crucial skill of knowing when to simply remain silent, to restrain myself and prevent further worsening the situation.
The sound of clearing thoughts echoed in John’s ears, like the gentle chime of crystal bells, bringing him back to full awareness. “Crap,” he muttered, the first to break the unnerving silence that had enveloped him. His vision, blurry and distorted at first, gradually sharpened, the world slowly coming into focus. And then he saw her.
A girl with long, straight white hair that cascaded down her back, nearly touching the ground like a flowing waterfall of moonlight. Her eyes were a stark, unsettling grey, a shade that John instinctively wanted to call ‘death grey,’ a color that sent a shiver of unease crawling down his spine. She was dressed in a simple black dress that clung to her slender frame, accentuating her pale skin and the delicate curve of her neck. She moved with an ethereal grace, her footsteps silent on the stone floor, and an aura of ancient power seemed to emanate from her, making the air around her crackle with energy.
“Hello,” she said, her voice smooth and cool as polished ice, “I’m Seraphina,” she introduced herself, extending a pale, slender hand towards him.
But before John could respond, a message, written in glowing, ethereal letters, appeared before his eyes, seemingly hanging in the air itself. World Achievement Unlocked – ‘Tested Time After Time’. Below the title, more information appeared: Reward: Unknown. It’s not time yet. Then, a new feature was unlocked: Special Item Storage Space: 10 slots. A note followed: Accessible via stat sheet. Items stored will not be affected by time.
As the stat sheet interface materialized in his mind, John felt an overwhelming surge of raw power flood his body and spirit, a wave of energy so intense it almost took his breath away. Max’s voice, tinged with a hint of frustration, resonated in his mind. “John,” he said, his tone serious, “your stat sheet is displaying all your stats as question marks. I’ve been in contact with the dungeon’s systems, and it’s willing to assist in correcting the issue, but with the addition of your new storage space, it’s unable to make the necessary adjustments. It received specific instructions not to tamper with any of your information after the time-related event.”
“John, this…this may hurt a bit. I’m really sorry about this,” Max’s voice echoed in John’s mind, a note of genuine apology lacing his tone.
Before John could even begin to voice his protest or question what Max meant, a searing, burning pain erupted, not in his mouth as he might have expected, but directly on his tongue. It felt as though molten metal was being poured onto his tongue, every nerve ending screaming in agony. He could feel the very texture of his tongue changing, the soft, fleshy tissue hardening and solidifying, transforming into solid silver. The metallic taste of the silver flooded his mouth, a sharp, almost bitter tang that lingered on his palate.
“John,” Max continued, his voice now filled with a mixture of relief and excitement, “you’ve officially gained the title of ‘Silver Tongue’!”
The pain on John’s tongue subsided as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a strange, cool sensation. Max then proceeded to explain the intricacies of the newly acquired title. “This title bestows upon you a significantly enhanced influence over all creatures you engage in conversation with. Should these creatures happen to be undead or any other dark creatures that are specifically vulnerable to silver, your words, your very pronouncements, will inflict quintuple the normal damage. Moreover,” Max added, his voice taking on a more mischievous tone, “if the creature you are conversing with is of the opposite sex, the damage you deal with your words will be amplified tenfold. It’s important to understand that this isn’t physical harm in the traditional sense. It’s a form of mental or psychic assault, a targeted attack that weakens your opponent’s mental defenses, making them more susceptible to suggestion, persuasion, and even outright mental domination.”
John blinked, momentarily disoriented, as a pale hand reached out towards him. “Sorry,” he mumbled, a slight blush creeping up his neck, “I was just…going over my stats, and it’s proving to be quite exasperating. Oh, I’m John,” he introduced himself, extending his own hand in return.
The moment Seraphina heard his voice, a low, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate through the very air, her knees almost buckled beneath her. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she had to consciously steel herself to remain standing. Had she not possessed a significantly higher level of power and control, she might have been genuinely alarmed by the sheer force of his voice’s effect on her.
John, noticing the sudden and dramatic change in her expression at the sound of his voice, had the almost overwhelming impulse to facepalm. It felt like an undue, unfair advantage, a power he hadn’t asked for and didn’t know how to control. This definitely wasn’t the kind of “cheat code” he had intended to activate. Darn, he thought to himself, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment swirling within him. Even though he found her undeniably attractive, this whole situation felt incredibly inappropriate, like he was somehow manipulating her emotions without even trying.
John wrestled internally with the unintended effects of his newly acquired, compelling voice, realizing the potential ramifications of speaking. It looked like I would have to keep my mouth shut for the foreseeable future.
Then, as if to add insult to injury, a sharp, searing pain shot through his left hand, the sensation like a branding iron searing his flesh. Glancing down, he noticed the number ten, glowing a faint, ethereal white, now permanently seared into the skin of his left hand. Yet, even more curiously, he observed that he was now clad entirely in shimmering silver, his simple robes transforming into an elaborate suit of gleaming armor, while everyone else in the vicinity remained dressed in their usual attire of black.
John, still holding Seraphina’s hand, looked up at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and apprehension. She was staring intently at him, her stark grey eyes wide with a mixture of awe, fear, and something else he couldn’t quite decipher – a flicker of longing, perhaps? Her lips parted slightly, and she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with a mixture of wonder and trepidation.
“What…what are you?”
