His eyes fluttered shut.

  When he opened them again, I found myself back in Rodrick’s dimension.

  A gangly boy sat cross-legged on a worn tatami mat. His blue gi hung loosely from narrow shoulders. He looked peaceful — almost too peaceful — staring straight ahead as if watching something no one else could see.

  “I am also Cooro,” he said calmly. “But not entirely.”

  He drew in a slow breath.

  “In my last life, I was trampled to death by a runaway horse. No grand battle. No chosen-hero nonsense. Just an accident.”

  He said it without bitterness.

  “Most people who reincarnate wake up in new bodies. Usually as children. I didn’t. I came back wrong.”

  A faint distortion shimmered around him, like heat rising off stone.

  “I returned as a ghost.”

  Rodrick shifted slightly but didn’t interrupt.

  “I can’t interact with the world the way I used to,” the boy continued. “But I can observe it. I exist between things. Close enough to see. Not solid enough to touch.”

  He tapped two fingers lightly against the tatami.

  “I’m still Cooro. But not the same one. So I use a different name here.”

  He looked at Rodrick directly.

  “Call me XX.”

  Rodrick blinked. “That’s not really a name.”

  “It doesn’t need to be.”

  The air in the room felt thinner.

  “I see more than most,” XX continued. “Not because I’m powerful. Because I’m unnoticed. I can slip through places others can’t. Listen where no one thinks to guard.”

  Rodrick hesitated. “So you’re… here, but not here?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re not dangerous?”

  A faint smile tugged at XX’s mouth.

  “That depends.”

  Then he stood.

  Or rather — he was standing.

  Rodrick hadn’t seen him move.

  “I’m going to borrow something,” XX said.

  Rodrick stiffened. “Borrow what?”

  “Your Memorize skill.”

  Before Rodrick could protest, the world shifted.

  XX moved through the trees without disturbing a single leaf.

  Moonlight filtered through the branches, turning the forest silver. The air smelled of damp earth and moss.

  He wasn’t searching blindly.

  He was following impressions stored inside Rodrick’s memory — trails once walked by adventurers, tension once felt before danger, the shape of a path remembered by someone who survived it.

  As XX’s consciousness merged with the hazy echoes stored within Rodrick’s memory, flashes of events and places flickered before him. He saw the adventurers’ journey through dense forests, the cautious steps along hidden trails, and the moments of tension before encountering the wyverns. The memory shimmered with vivid detail—the pregnant healer’s gentle touch, the brawler’s confident grin, the tank’s unwavering vigilance, the thief’s sly smirk, and the beast tamer’s quiet determination. Each fragment was a puzzle piece, and XX pieced them together like a map unfolding in his mind. Guided by this reconstructed path, he traced the route to a moss-covered archway concealed beneath a tangle of vines, the entrance to a dungeon whispered about in the shared memories of those who had dared to enter.

  The moss-covered archway appeared exactly where memory said it would.

  Roots twisted around ancient stone.

  Cold air spilled from within.

  The dungeon.

  XX passed through the threshold.

  Inside the dungeon, The air was cooler inside. Heavier. Magic clung to the walls like condensation.

  Echoes lingered — distant growls, metal scraping stone, the remnants of fear.

  Rodrick’s stored memories guided him through corridors where traps had once been triggered and disarmed. He saw not with eyes, but through recollection layered over reality.

  Eventually, the temperature began to rise.

  Smoke.

  Embers.

  A chamber glowed ahead.

  At last, he reached the heart of the dungeon—an enormous cavern where the air shimmered with magical energy and the remnants of the adventurers’ recent struggle lay scattered. The pregnant healer’s discarded staff rested against a crumbling pillar; the brawler’s cracked gauntlets lay half-buried in dust; the tank’s shield bore the scars of countless battles; the thief’s cloak fluttered faintly in an unseen breeze; and the beast tamer’s quiet presence seemed to linger like a protective aura. XX allowed himself a moment to absorb the scene, feeling the weight of their courage and sacrifice. It was here, in this crucible of trials, that fate had intertwined their paths—and where his own journey was destined to deepen.

  Venturing silently in the cavernous heart of the dungeon, the remnants of battle strewn around him like echoes of a forgotten symphony. Drawing deeply on Rodrick’s Memorize skill, he reached into the swirling tapestry of past memories trapped within these walls. The orb’s glow pulsed softly, and as XX focused, vivid images unfurled before his ghostly eyes—memories preserved like spectral recordings.

  A lone adventurer faced off against a fierce wolf unlike any natural beast. Flames curled from the creature’s nostrils, licking the air with a dangerous heat. The wolf’s fur was a deep obsidian black, flecked with ember-like sparks, and its eyes burned with primal intelligence. The adventurer, a lithe figure clad in leather armor, darted and weaved around the wolf’s fiery breath, sword flashing in desperate defense. The wolf exhaled a sudden gout of flame that scorched the ground where the adventurer had stood moments before. The fight was brutal, a dance of fire and steel, until the adventurer finally plunged a gleaming dagger into the wolf’s side. The beast let out a howl that echoed through the dungeon and collapsed, the fire in its eyes dimming to embers.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  As the wolf fell, the adventurer whispered a name, “Ignisfang.” The name hung heavy in the air, a mark of respect and fear.

  The memory dissolved, and XX found himself moving deeper into the dungeon, guided by the knowledge gleaned from the vision. The air grew warmer, tinged with the faint scent of smoke and singed stone. Ahead, shadows shifted, revealing the very wolf from the memory—Ignisfang—resting within a chamber lit by flickering embers that clung to the walls like restless spirits.

  The wolf lay curled in a hollow of blackened stone.

  Its fur shimmered like coal under flame. Each breath released faint sparks into the air.

  XX did not rush forward.

  He studied it.

  In Rodrick’s memory, the beast had been dangerous — but contained. What lay before him felt stronger. The fire was denser. More volatile.

  Something had changed.

  Ignisfang’s golden eye opened.

  It saw him.

  Not fully — but enough to recognize presence.

  Flame rolled from its jaws in a warning burst.

  The heat distorted the chamber.

  XX didn’t counter with fire.

  He reached instead toward the pattern behind it — the rhythm of ignition, the gathering of heat before release.

  Understanding came slowly.

  When he extended his hand, a thin thread of blue flame flickered at his fingertips — unstable and weak. It sputtered out almost immediately.

  Suddenly, a surge of understanding blossomed in XX’s mind. His Prodigy skill, a latent talent that allowed him to absorb and master new abilities with uncanny speed, activated instinctively. In an instant, he grasped the essence of Ignisfang’s fiery breath—the mechanics of the flame, the rhythm of its fury, and the magic that fueled it. It was as if he had lived through the battle himself, felt the heat and danger in equal measure.

  He realized that his connection to this place and to Rodrick’s memories was more than mere observation; it was a bridge allowing him to learn and grow beyond his ghostly limits.XX felt a strange resonance stir within himself—a spark of connection, as if the wolf’s fire brushed against the edges of his own spirit.

  Ignisfang watched.

  XX tried again.

  This time the flame held for two breaths before collapsing.

  He wasn’t stealing the wolf’s power.

  He was learning its structure.

  That was enough.

  He withdrew before provoking it further.

  Behind him, embers drifted lazily in the air.

  XX moved deeper into the dungeon, each step closer to the unknown testing his resolve. The memories stored within Rodrick’s Memorize skill continued to serve as his guide, revealing the behaviors and tactics of the creatures lurking in these shadowed halls. He had already encountered Ignisfang, the fire-breathing wolf, and learned to wield flame himself. His plan was clear: confront each monster, learn their magic in the process, and use those gifts to survive the dungeon’s trials.

  The first challenge arose without warning. The ground trembled as a hulking figure burst from a fissure in the stone floor—Terraspike, the Earthshard Beast. XX recalled the memory vividly: Terraspike was a massive creature with a body of jagged rock and gleaming obsidian shards embedded in its hide. It used brute force to stomp and create tremors that unsettled the ground beneath its foes. Most dangerous was its ability to launch razor-sharp spikes of earth that exploded on impact, turning the battlefield into a treacherous minefield. Observing these tactics, XX understood that patience and agility were crucial to avoid the devastating spikes and to outmaneuver the beast’s powerful stomps.

  Its stomp sent a tremor through the corridor.

  Even intangible, XX felt the distortion ripple through his form.

  He remembered how adventurers had fallen to its spike volleys.

  Instead of attacking directly, he observed the flow of energy beneath its movements. Earth magic pooled at its core before each strike.

  When the next volley launched, XX extended his will toward a loose fragment of stone.

  The shard lifted — barely.

  He forced it forward.

  The two projectiles collided midair and shattered.

  The backlash scattered his form briefly before he reassembled near the wall.

  Not mastery.

  Just interference.

  As the battle progressed, XX mastered the earth magic further, learning to mold the stone into protective barriers and launching his own shards in retaliation. His command over the earth grew until he forced Terraspike to retreat into the shadows, its stomps echoing in reluctant withdrawal.

  A faint awareness of earth remained within him — heavy, stubborn, resistant.

  No sooner had the dust settled than a sudden rush of wind swept through the corridor, heralding the arrival of Zephra, the Windhowler. XX recalled the memory of Zephra’s lithe form, its feathers swirling like storm clouds and its piercing silver eyes scanning for weaknesses. Zephra’s attacks relied on powerful gusts generated by its wings, capable of disorienting foes and slicing through obstacles with sharp currents. The memory emphasized the importance of timing and balance; Zephra’s wind attacks could be predicted by the beat of its wings, and moving with the gusts rather than against them was key to survival.

  Feathers sliced the darkness as Zephra descended — silver-eyed and swift.

  Wind struck differently than earth.

  It didn’t collide.

  It scattered.

  The first gust thinned XX’s form, nearly unraveling him completely.

  He stopped trying to resist.

  Instead, he moved with the current.

  On the next strike, he shifted his shape along the airflow, letting it pass through him rather than against him.

  Gradually, he began to redirect small currents.

  Not blades.

  Not attacks.

  Just adjustments.

  Then, with a surge of newfound confidence, he shaped the wind into sharp blades, hurling them with precision. The dance was delicate—too strong and the wind would scatter, too weak and it wouldn’t pierce the air. But as the fight unfolded, XX’s command over the wind sharpened, matching Zephra’s speed and grace. When the Windhowler finally lifted away, beaten back by the force of its own element turned against it, XX felt the exhilarating rush of mastery and growth.

  The next creature awaited in a pool-filled cavern where the air was thick with moisture and the scent of water. Aqualisk, the Water Sprayer, emerged from the shadows, its serpentine body gleaming like liquid sapphire. XX remembered the memory: Aqualisk was a swift, serpentine beast capable of unleashing jets of pressurized water that could knock foes off their feet or carve through stone. Its fins pulsed like waves, and it used agility and the force of water to control the battlefield. The memory warned that any direct confrontation required careful timing to avoid the scalding torrents and counterattack when the creature was vulnerable.

  Aqualisk emerged in a sudden burst, launching a pressurized jet of water that cracked the stone wall.

  XX shifted aside.

  Water did not respond to force the way earth did.

  It required shaping.

  When the second jet came, he reached toward it — not to block, but to bend.

  The stream curved slightly, redirecting into the cavern wall.

  Progress.

  He condensed a thin ribbon of water and sent it slicing across the surface.

  The serpent recoiled.

  The exchange continued — controlled, cautious.

  As Aqualisk sprayed a powerful jet of water, XX bent the stream, diverting it harmlessly into the cavern walls. With deft control, he condensed the water into sharp, cutting blades and sent them slicing through the mist. The battle was a test of fluidity and control, and XX learned to move with the currents rather than against them. After a fierce exchange, Aqualisk retreated beneath the surface, leaving XX to savor his newfound gift—the mastery of water’s grace and power.

  Three elements brushed against XX’s awareness now.

  Fire flickered faintly at his fingertips.

  Earth lingered like weight in his center.

  Air moved restlessly at his edges.

  Water flowed quietly beneath it all.

  None were mastered.

  All were understood.

  Back in the meeting room, Rodrick exhaled sharply as the orb stabilized.

  “You’re changing my memories,” he said.

  “No,” XX replied quietly, reappearing beside the tatami.

  “I’m using them.”

  Rodrick looked at him carefully.

  “And what happens if you push too far?”

  XX’s expression didn’t change.

  “Then I fade.”

  Silence filled the room.