The chamber was quiet, dust from the fallen Naga Warden still hanging in the air. The crystal pulsed faintly overhead, smug but tired.

  Leo pushed his glasses up, voice hesitant. “Bert… why does he look like you?”

  Their Bert frowned, scratching his chin. “I don’t know. But look — the naga looked like Leo. That swamp hag had sparks like Harlada. Even the penguins waddled like me. Every enemy’s been some version of us.”

  Harlada folded her arms, sparks crackling faintly. “So he’s a doppelganger. A copy the dungeon made.”

  Other Bert smirked, daggers twirling silently in his hands. “If I were just a puppet, you’d already be dead. Don’t kid yourselves. I’m not here to play at being your shadow.”

  They fell quiet, the truth in his voice cutting sharper than his blades.

  At the far end of the room, stone groaned. A second archway carved itself into the wall, its runes burning brighter than anything they’d seen yet. The air grew heavy, pressing on their chests.

  The crystal pulsed:

  Final Challenge Unlocked. Boss Chamber Ahead. Attempts Pending.

  Their Bert tightened his grip on the sword. “So that’s it. The real boss.”

  Harlada exhaled, frost slipping from her fingers. “About time.”

  Leo scribbled, heart pounding. “Statistically… fatal.”

  Other Bert sheathed his daggers, eyes fixed on the blazing doorway. “That one’s yours. I’ll wait here. When you’re done, I’ve got my own path — the gold door. My Leo. My Harlada.”

  He turned, almost vanishing back into the shadows, then added dryly, “And for gods’ sake, don’t forget to loot this time.”

  The three of them looked at one another, then at the boss door.

  It pulsed, waiting.

  ***

  The Naga’s dust settled, leaving behind a faint shimmer on the floor. A pedestal rose creakily, presenting their spoils.

  On it lay the venomous staff, its runes still glowing faint green. Next to it sat a pouch of coins.

  Bert snatched up the pouch and rattled it. “Fifteen. That’s a feast.”

  Harlada lifted the staff, turning it in her hands. Venom hissed faintly along the runes. She weighed it, frowned, and shook her head. “Too heavy. Doesn’t channel right. I’ll keep my own.”

  The crystal pulsed smugly:

  Option: Sell Unused Item to Dungeon. Value: 20 Coins.

  They blinked.

  “…We can sell loot?” Leo asked, scribbling furiously.

  Bert’s grin widened. “So the dungeon’s a shop now?”

  Harlada muttered, “Figures. Even death dungeons want pocket change.”

  The staff dissolved into green sparks, and another pouch dropped neatly onto the pedestal.

  “Thirty-five coins total,” Bert announced proudly. “Finally, we’re rich.”

  “Statistically modest,” Leo corrected.

  “Still rich!” Bert snapped.

  Their laughter faded when they turned to the far end of the room. The boss door loomed there, its runes pulsing like a heartbeat.

  Then Leo pointed. “There. In the center. Do you see it?”

  A small round peephole gleamed faintly in the glow.

  They exchanged a look, then all leaned forward at once.

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  “Alright,” Harlada whispered. “Let’s see what we’re dying to next.”

  The crystal pulsed overhead, smug:

  Boss Preview Available. Please Enjoy the Anticipation.

  ***

  They shoved the peephole closed and blinked into the bright, fake sunlight of the boss chamber. The camels stood in a lazy triangle, puffing, eyes like polished buttons. Up close they looked less ridiculous and more wrong: mouths flecked with something that gleamed like glass, joints ringing faint with rune-etched bands.

  Bert ran his fingers along the sword at his hip — Leo’s sword, polished and hungry — and cracked his knuckles. “Alright. Herd 'em into the chute. One at a time. I take the head. Chop. Repeat.”

  Harlada barked a short laugh. “You say it like you haven’t nearly choked on sand the last five times.”

  “Shut up and move them like livestock,” Bert said. “You two make them line up. I’ll do the cutting.”

  Leo adjusted the goggles, breath fogging against the lens. The chamber’s echoes crawled along the walls like insects; he could feel the sound-maps in his head. “I’ll do the vocal bounce. Minimal movement. I’ll send my voice left-right-left — draw their heads without footwork.” He tapped his pen against his palm. “Harlada, you freeze their hooves when they slow — make them stop. I’ll guide; you’ll trap.”

  Other Bert, half-hidden in the shadow by the door, snorted. “This will either be brilliant… or very loud and then brief. Preferably the first.” He made no move to help.

  They moved. Leo stood at an angle so his shout would ricochet; he tested echoes with fingertip whistles, shaping sound into a ghost-wind that nudged the camels’ attention without stamping a foot. Harlada glided across the chamber, breath low; when a camel lifted a foot, she exhaled and sprayed frost that webbed the sand at its hoof, making it stick like glue.

  The first camel was suspicious, swinging its head, nostrils flaring, but Leo’s echo-sounds — quiet, layered, precise — made the creature turn in a confused, graceful arc. Harlada’s frost caught its back feet; it stumbled to a stop, then swung forward with slow, worried dignity.

  “Now!” Bert moved.

  He took one clean step, long and calm, slid in under the beast’s neck, and in a single, terrible motion the sword flashed. The blade sang and the camel’s head came away in a neat arc, its body folding in a soft, surprised collapse. Blood arced onto the stone then dust swallowed it. The chamber rang with a collective intake of breath.

  Bert stood over the fallen beast, sword slick, grin wild and slightly mad. “One down.” He looked at the others, triumphant.

  Harlada’s smile was tight. “Don’t get sentimental.” She scraped frost from her palms. “Move to the next.”

  The second camel was smarter. It whirled at the echo-bait faster, shifting its weight. Harlada had to spray two precise plumes of frost to lock its hooves, and Leo had to send three separate voice-layers to keep its head turning away from him and toward the narrow lane. Bert stepped in with a better angle, drove the sword through the gap between shoulder and head — this time the beast’s fall was meaner, a grunt that made the chamber feel thinner.

  They had rhythm now. Leo’s voice, Harlada’s frost, Bert’s blade. It looked ridiculous and it worked.

  The third camel, however, was the worst. It refused to be corralled neatly; it spun in a sudden explosion of motion that cracked the echo in jagged shards. Harlada misjudged a frost plume and sank a moment late; the camel slammed a hind leg into the air and Bert caught the blow to the ribs. He went down onto one knee, wind knocked out, the sword skittering across the floor.

  For a breath the chamber froze. The camel saw the staggered opening and lunged.

  Leo moved before he thought, a small, stupid kernel of courage — or panic — pushed into motion. He sent the purest, brightest echo he could: not a whisper this time but a shout layered with a dozen copies of itself, ricocheting into the beast’s head like a stampede of phantom herders. The camel veered. Harlada, quicker now, dropped a furious sheet of frost under its forefeet; the animal’s gait collapsed into a flailing skid.

  Bert, face white and teeth bared, scrambled up and drove the sword in. The blade found its mark with an ugly, final sound. The third head came away, and with it the last stubborn pulse of fight.

  They stood panting over the three downed beasts. Dust fell like confetti; the chamber’s echoes folded their exultations back at them, softer now.

  Other Bert stepped forward from the shadow, expression unreadable. “Congratulations. You herded ungulates into oblivion. I’ll alert the Gift Counter.” He jerked a thumb toward the rune-pedestal at the side.

  The crystal pulsed, a little surprised:

  Boss Cleared: Three Camels. Attempts: Recorded.

  A small chest winked up from a crack in the stone. Coins clinked, and a tiny, dull token pulsed with a faint magic — a party-wide +1 Agility fragment, apparently awarded for “timely hoof-management.”

  Bert spat sand from his mouth and laughed, throat raw. “Next time, I’m doing all the herding.”

  Harlada flicked frost off her fingers. “And I’m keeping the loot.”

  Leo, palm pressed to his chest, eyed the sword in his hand and the quill-light in his thoughts. “Statistically, that went as well as could be expected.”

  Other Bert’s only comment was a dry, almost impressed: “Don’t forget to loot properly this time.” Then he vanished back into the gold doorway’s shimmer.

  They gathered the coins, pocketed the token, and for a single stupid moment — three absurd heroes, smelly and bleeding and triumphant — they felt like they might actually make it out of tutorial.