The Skelepede’s sharp jaws snapped just inches behind you, echoing with a hollow clack that cut through the humid air. Dust and firecracker smoke hung heavy, clinging to the bones rattling in rhythm with the booming music of the Raveyard dungeon—a discordant soundtrack to chaos and movement.

A large LED arrow flickered above water, guiding you to the first door. The word spectrum glowed in stark purple. Inside, dim light pooled over skeletons swaying to the beat, their bones catching flashes from the strobing violet lights. The ambience was surreal, almost inviting—a rare, slightly safer corner amid the madness.

Confetti clung to the heel of your foot as you paused, scanning the room.

“Hey there.”

The voice was smooth, measured, relaxed. Its owner moved behind the counter, cleaning a glass with a slow, deliberate motion.

“A drink for your troubles.” A coin clinked as it flipped and slammed under his palm, a small show of precision.

His eyes, narrow and sharp, took you in. You were soaked from the rain, smelling different from all the other bony patrons, foreign and alive in a place that thrived on death. No words followed the scrutiny—only that coquettish smirk, tilting slightly as he appraised you.

“Ecstatic. Take a seat, won’t you?” He gestured to the only chair in the room, his huff part invitation, part challenge.

The glass he poured glowed softly, liquid thick and swirling as it landed in front of you. Its aroma was strange, unfamiliar, carrying no memory of taste you had ever known. You could only watch as it shimmered under the strobe lights, almost alive, waiting to be claimed.