POV - Edgar

  I looked at the severed head in front of me. Then at the woman who had apparently decided that decapitated adventurers made great welcome presents. Then back at the head.

  "Uh." Was about all my brain managed.

  The woman didn’t react. Just watched me with calm, dark eyes, the faintest trace of red at the corner of her mouth. Blood, obviously. But something about the way it was smeared—just slightly off-center, like she’d been eating fruit and hadn’t wiped properly—made my stomach do an odd little flip.

  She was pale. Bone-white with a hint of silver, like moonlight had settled into her skin and decided to stay. She carried herself with the stillness of marble sculpted for a colder world. Radiated the kind of chill that didn’t need to bite to be felt. Quiet. Distant. Absolute.

  She might have been beautiful if she hadn’t walked into my throne room with a mouthful of b-positive and the world’s goriest basketball.

  I finally managed words. "Okay. Couple of things."

  I pointed at the head. “What the hell is that?”

  Then at her. “Who the hell are you?”

  Then vaguely at everything else. “And why the hell is why?”

  "My name is Lilith. And this,” she motioned to the head. “Is a gift." Her voice was smooth and rich. Like something practiced. Something Meant to be heard.

  Grib, for his part, was watching Lilith with the wide-eyed fascination of someone meeting a gorilla in a three piece suit.

  Krix, meanwhile, was still rubbing his throat like he wasn’t sure it was going to stay intact. His tail hadn’t twitched once since the zombie hit the floor. I made a mental note to check on him later—after I figured out if our newest visitor was going to kill me or just monologue ominously until I begged for death.

  She tilted her head slightly, studying me like I was something interesting under glass. "You are the Bone King, yes?"

  I blinked. "The what?"

  Her expression didn’t change. "The Bone King."

  I let out a slow breath. "I mean, I guess that’s me. If we’re going by ominous dungeon titles we don’t want, sure." I gestured at myself. "Bone King makes me sound like I run dominoes games for the mob.."

  The woman’s mouth twitched, like she was almost amused. Almost. "Your name is not known. Only your title. My master has been watching you."

  Right. Of course.

  I resisted the urge to rub my temples. "And your master would be…?"

  "The Chamberlain," she said simply. "Ruler of the fifth through eighth floors. Lord of the dead. Keeper of the eternal halls. Steward of the damned." She lifted a gloved hand, gesturing lazily. "And so on."

  I stared at her for a long moment. Then sighed.

  "Of course," I muttered. "Because that’s what I needed today. Mysterious dungeon overlords with vague, threatening titles."

  She ignored that. "He sent me to handle the intruders before they could pester you."

  I let out a short, exasperated laugh. "Uh-huh. Sure. Because what I really needed today was a severed head rolling up to say hi. That’s a totally normal, non-psychotic way to introduce yourself." I exhaled slowly, folding my arms. "Right. Great. Love a good surprise gift. Who the hell are you?"

  She arched a perfectly sculpted brow. "My name is Lilith, a vampire. And acting boss of the fifth floor."

  "Right," I muttered, running a hand down my face. "Of course. A vampire. Because why not? Let’s just keep stacking problems. What’s one more?"

  Something about that did seem to amuse her. The corner of her mouth curled—just a hair, just enough to suggest that something in her was flexing the muscle labeled "humor" like it hadn’t been used in centuries and wasn’t entirely sure it should.

  "You are not what I expected," she said, after a moment.

  "Yeah?" I muttered. "Join the club."

  Her gaze drifted lazily across the room, taking in the curling mist still leaking from the decapitated zombie, the bruises painting Krix’s throat like a warning label, and Grib—who was inching closer with the sort of cautious interest you usually saw in squirrels investigating a live grenade.

  She didn’t look impressed. Or worried. Or, frankly, like she gave a damn about any of it.

  Which meant, once again, it was up to me to say the obvious thing everyone was dancing around.

  "And how," I asked slowly, "did the Chamberpot know about the adventurers?"

  "The Chamberlain," she corrected, voice mild as milk and twice as condescending.

  I waved a hand. "That’s what I said."

  She raised a single eyebrow like she was filing that one under “to be dealt with later”, but let it slide. Instead, she stepped forward, her hands resting against the haft of that screaming nightmare of an axe.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  "He's a floor boss. Why wouldn’t he be notified?"

  I opened my mouth to toss off something clever—and stopped.

  The thought hit me like cold water down the spine. Not painful. Just... clarifying.

  I should’ve asked. I should’ve known. Gorthor would’ve told me. He had been a floor boss too, after all. Before the whole surrendering thing. If I hadn’t been too busy playing Undead Office Manager to ask the actual important questions, maybe I’d be in a better spot right now.

  Lilith caught the pause. Of course she did. Her smirk deepened by millimeters, but it felt like miles.

  “All of us are notified,” she said lightly. “Though not all are sentient enough to care.”

  Then she went strolling through the room like she owned it—like a critic examining a gallery she hadn’t quite decided to burn down yet. Her finger traced a lazy line across one of the slabs, and she inspected the dust on her glove like a noblewoman appraising the vintage of a wine she was about to throw at someone.

  Grib, undeterred by the aura of quiet doom she dragged behind her like a wedding veil, followed at her heels. His ears twitched with curiosity, his nose wrinkling as if trying to determine whether or not she counted as food.

  Lilith glanced down at him, then—without breaking stride—reached out and gave him a pat on the head.

  "Good goblin," she said.

  Grib beamed like she'd just knighted him.

  "Right," I muttered. "Okay. So ALL dungeon bosses get notifications. Not just me. And apparently I’m the last one to know.”

  Lilith offered a one-shouldered shrug, all effortless grace and faint disdain. “Perhaps you’re the only one who never thought to ask.”

  I rubbed my temples. “More evidence that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing.”

  “Yes,” she said, with cheerful malice. “It is rather obvious, isn’t it?”

  I lowered my hands and squinted at her. “Rude.”

  She smiled. It wasn’t an improvement.

  Grib, oblivious to mortal peril and social nuance, looked up at her and announced, “Lady is cold.”

  Lilith tilted her head, giving him a glance like she was evaluating a strange plant that had just spoken Latin. “Do you mind?”

  Grib wiggled his fingers in what might’ve been goblin for 'lemme think about it' and then shook his head like a wind-up toy. “No.”

  She reached out again—slow, deliberate—and rested her gloved knuckles lightly against his forehead. There was a flicker in her expression.

  “And you’re warm,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Undead. And yet… so full of life. You’re a curious little specimen, aren’t you?”

  Grib just grinned, ears twitching, entirely pleased to be a mystery.

  "Krix…. You’re supposed to be my head scout." I gestured toward Lilith, who had now moved on to nudging my former orc zombie with the toe of her boot. "So, why exactly did no one spot the six-foot tall, pale, axe-murderess waltzing through my goddamn dungeon?"

  Krix shrugged and let out a deep sigh. "Vampire."

  I waited. He lifted his head slightly, as if checking to see if I was still expecting more of an answer.

  "Vampire, boss.” He repeated as if it were the most obvious conclusion in the world. “If you thought I was sneaky…"

  I stared at him.

  Then stared at Lilith.

  Then back at Krix.

  "That’s your whole explanation?"

  Krix gave a slow, deliberate nod. "…Yeah."

  Grib, still delighted by whatever conclusion he had reached, nodded eagerly beside him. "Vampire."

  "Fantastic."

  Lilith shifted her stance, the faint whine of her axe settling into the stillness of the room. She studied me, considering, then inclined her head just slightly.

  “I have a proposal for you.”

  I squinted. “Do I even want to know?”

  She ignored that. “The Chamberlain extends his invitation. He would like to speak with you.”

  I exhaled slowly. “That’s nice. And what, exactly, does the terrifying lord of the eighth floor want with little old me?”

  Lilith smiled—small, knowing. “Perhaps he sees potential in you. A certain… ambition.” She tilted her head slightly. “You have been making changes, have you not?”

  I hesitated. I had. Even if I hadn’t intended to.

  Lilith took my silence as confirmation. “Unlike the past brutes of the upper floors, my master is a patient man. He understands that violence is not always the best path.” She gestured lightly toward the remains of the orc zombie. “That force is not always necessary.”

  I followed her gaze, my stomach twisting slightly. The corpse had stopped twitching, but something about it still felt wrong.

  Lilith took a slow step forward, her tone shifting, smoother now. Persuasive. “You are not like the others, Bone King. You are not a mindless beast, nor a tyrant clinging to old power. You think. You adapt. You build. That makes you… interesting.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “You know, that’s almost flattering.”

  She smiled, just slightly. “Then let me flatter you further. Come to the eighth floor. Meet the Chamberlain. Speak as equals.”

  I folded my arms, watching her carefully. “And let me guess. You’re offering protection? Safe passage?”

  “Of course.” She spread her hands, open, inviting. “You would be my guest. Under my watch, no harm would come to you.”

  Which was all very diplomatic, but there was still a headless zombie corpse steaming on my floor, and no one other than me seemed to be asking why the hell it tried to kill my lead scout. I didn’t know if Lilith was part of that problem—or just really good at timing.

  I exhaled, rubbing my jaw. “And what exactly does the Chamberlain want to talk about?”

  Lilith tilted her head slightly, like she was amused I even had to ask. “The future, of course.”

  I didn’t like how that sounded. And yet.

  I had to admit, she had a point. I had been making changes. The dungeon was shifting. And for all my irritation, for all my caution, I couldn’t ignore the fact that things were moving in a direction I didn’t fully understand. I thought back to Draemir… Still alive, still out there.

  Meeting the Chamberlain might not be the worst idea.

  But things weren’t adding up. The system had glitched—not just delayed, not just laggy, but full-on, static-laced, reality-shaking glitched. And then Lilith had appeared like a pop-up ad with fangs and murder credentials.

  Coincidence? Maybe. But I wasn’t buying the timing.

  “And if I say no?” I asked.

  Lilith didn’t flinch. “Then we wait. Both I and the Chamberlain have an eternity.”

  Not a threat. Patience and confidence. Like she already knew which way this was going to swing.

  I watched her for a long second, weighing my options. My system was unraveling. Gorthor was gone. The undead were glitching like bad software, and a vampire just delivered a head to my doorstep like it was a dinner invitation.

  I let the silence stretch a little longer. She didn’t fidget. Didn’t press. Just waited.

  Finally, I sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Lilith smiled. “Good.”

  And somehow, that one word felt more like a victory than it should have.