They were supposed to be scouting the outer rings of the lower levels. Just mapping. Just a quick look.

But Laios wandered. Again.

The cavern he stepped into was strangely quiet—no dripping water, no scuttling insects. Just stillness. And a pool of pale light filtering down through a crack in the stone above.

That’s when he saw it.

A lamia. Coiled loosely near the edge of the light, resting. Male, from the size and shape. Bare-chested, skin pale and freckled at the shoulders, the long serpentine tail curled like a resting python.

Laios froze.

The lamia looked up.

Not with hostility. Not even surprise.

Just… awareness.

Their eyes met.

Laios slowly lowered his sword.

“Whoa…” he breathed. “You’re… really here.”

The lamia didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Laios stepped forward a little. “You’re not attacking. That’s... unusual.”

Silence.

The lamia blinked once, slowly.

“You’re watching me,” Laios said, more to himself. “You understand, don’t you? You’re thinking. Not just reacting.”

He crouched, still at a distance, studying the lamia with wide, fascinated eyes.

“I’ve read about this—rumors, mostly. That lamias, especially the older males, start developing higher intelligence. Some even collect things. But I didn’t believe it, not really. I thought maybe people were just… romanticizing monsters again.”

He tilted his head.

“But you’re different.”

The lamia shifted slightly. Not to strike—just to adjust. The movement was fluid, practiced. Unbothered.

Laios stared, caught in that strange, warm trance that sometimes overtook him around certain monsters.

“I wonder how long you’ve lived down here,” he murmured. “Do you build things? Keep treasures? What do you eat? Do you hunt? Or wait? Or—” he blinked, then lowered his voice awkwardly, “—is it rude to ask?”

A faint smile tugged at the edge of his mouth. He scratched the back of his neck.

“You’re… beautiful.”

It slipped out, soft and genuine.

The lamia didn’t react. Just watched.

Laios flushed. “Ah—sorry. That came out weird. I don’t mean—well. I mean, in a biological sense. Structurally, you’re fascinating. Your scales have a different sheen near the underbelly—maybe moisture adaptive? And your pupils—they adjust slower than surface dwellers’. But... there’s something else.”

He hesitated. His expression softened, becoming something smaller, more hesitant.

“You’re alone, aren’t you?”

Silence again.

“I know that feeling,” he said. “Even when you're surrounded by people.”

A long pause.

Laios stood slowly.

“I don’t think I’ll tell the others about you. Not yet.”

He glanced back once before leaving the chamber.

“I’ll come back. If that’s okay.”