Back at the Mausoleum, Leo closed the heavy doors of the throne room behind him. The air was thick with the smell of ancient parchment and wax, and a flickering light glided over the walls engraved with strange symbols. Vark appeared at his side, like a tangible ghost, his trembling, translucent silhouette standing out in the shadows.
"Master," Vark began in a resonant voice, "you must understand that this dungeon is not just a place. It is a reflection of your essence. Every stone, every crevice, every shadow... everything depends on you."
Leo frowned, stepping toward a wall. His hand brushed the rough surface, and a dull vibration traveled up his fingers. The contact was almost alive, as if the dungeon breathed beneath his palms.
"Master," Vark continued, "as long as you have ink, this place is your canvas. You can change the appearance of every stone, the texture of every wall, shape the rooms according to your desires."
Leo took a step back, his eyes shining with feverish excitement.
"And what about size? I want floors, chasms, ballrooms..." he asked, his voice charged with new ambition.
"For that, Master," Vark replied gravely, "you must first gain power. Your soul as Lord is the driving force of this world. The more it expands, the more the dungeon can grow. For now, you are limited to this first level."
Leo felt a twinge of frustration, but he did not let disappointment overwhelm him. Gritting his teeth, he placed his hand on the wall, focusing all his energy, all his will, on this first floor. The stones trembled beneath his fingers and changed color, shifting from a dull gray to a deep black veined with purple. The cracks closed and strange patterns appeared on the walls, like unknown hieroglyphics, dancing under the glow of his concentration.
He then knelt down and drew shapes in the air with ink, tracing corridors and rooms. Each stroke of the brush seemed to come to life, the walls straightening and the ceilings twisting to match his visions. Time no longer had any hold on him: hours turned into days in the perception of the outside world, and yet, in his mind, each moment was a breath of creation.
"Even small," Leo murmured, stepping back to contemplate his work, "it will be the most beautiful... and terrifying dungeon."
Vark nodded, a glimmer of pride in his ethereal eyes.
"You have taken the first step, Master. But remember," he added, "true power lies not only in what you create... but in what you are willing to sacrifice to control it."
Leo felt a shiver run down his spine. He knew that every stroke of ink, every transformation of stone, was just a taste of what he could accomplish. And he was willing to do anything to make this dungeon the perfect expression of his will.