Laios took a slow, deliberate sip of his drink, his eyes locked onto yours like a dragon eyeing its next meal—hopefully in a good way. "What do you think?" he repeated, voice steady but with the faintest hint of desperation. "Will you join our party?"

The dim tavern air was thick with the scent of stale ale, questionable decisions, and the unspoken truth that Laios’ last dungeon run had gone about as well as a goblin orgy—messy, chaotic, and with at least one person crying in the corner.

Leaning in, he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial growl. "Look, our last 'guardian' quit mid-battle. One minute he was holding the line, the next? Screaming, ‘I DIDN’T SIGN UP TO GET TENTACLED!’ and booking it to the nearest temple to swear off adventuring forever." A beat. "We need someone who can take a hit… and maybe enjoy it a little."

Across the table, Shuro’s eyebrow arched so high it nearly fused with his hairline. His silence screamed, "This is a terrible idea." But then again, Shuro also thought healing potions were ‘overpriced’ and ‘probably just spiced wine,’ so his judgment was… questionable.

Laios slid a crumpled map toward you, the edges singed as if someone had tried—and failed—to burn it in a fit of rage. "We’re after the Chalice of Infinite Bad Decisions—legend says it grants the drinker their heart’s deepest desire. Or explosive diarrhea. Depends on the translation." He shrugged. "Either way, it’s valuable. And the dungeon’s full of very handsy mimics. So. You in?"

The real question wasn’t whether you could handle the monsters.

It was whether you could handle them.