Just then, the lights dimmed. The temperature of the room dropped a degree, not cold but expectant like the air had paused, holding its breath. The stained glass eye flickered back into existence, spiralling above the desk like a glitch in reality. It didn’t say anything this time. Then vanished just as quickly.

  System Notification:

  [Bonus Option Detected – Unstable Archetype Identified]

  Creating… Summoning… Please Wait…

  A low hum built in Chloe’s ears, like a dial-up modem in a cathedral. Then—pop!—a fourth orb blinked into being. Not blue or violet or green, but white. Perfect, blinding white, humming quietly on the desk like it didn’t quite belong there.

  Chloe tilted her head. “Well, that’s new.”

  She reached out with her mind, the clicking interface already starting to feel second nature, and selected it.

  The light fractured like an eggshell. From the center, something small crawled out—round, hunched, and draped in stitched-together patchwork cloth. Beady eyes blinked up at her from under a massive hood, and a tiny hand scratched its oversized nose.

  “…Hi,” the goblin said in a gravelly whisper. “You smell like change.”

  System Notification:

  [Fourth Attendant Unlocked: ???]

  Name: Not Yet Assigned

  Type: Goblin Attendant

  Archetype: Wild Card

  Vibe: Chaotic Neutral meets Loyal Gremlin Energy

  Alignment: Adaptive Mutation / Subconscious Reactivity

  Utility: Unknown. Evolves based on Dungeon Core’s psyche and dungeon evolution path. High potential, high risk.

  Chloe raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got no name?”

  The goblin scratched its head, eyes gleaming. “You can give me one. If you want.”

  She smirked. “Yeah… I think I really want to.”

  The heavy, oversized chair creaked slightly as I leaned back, settling into its worn, slightly lumpy embrace. It still smelled faintly of stale coffee and desperation; an echo of a thousand student detentions and parent-teacher meetings gone wrong. But sitting here now, with the teal light of my domain stretching out around me, it felt undeniably mine. This wasn't Mr. Renner’s chair, deciding my fate. It was my throne, in the heart of my space.

  Four glowing remnants of choice hovered on the surface of the wide of the cursed desk. They pulsed with a soft energy, like captive stars waiting for release. Each represented a potential guide for the Dungeon the System. A reflection of my soul. I tapped my fingers along the worn armrest, the faint stickiness of old spills a grounding contrast to the surreal display before me. My eyes narrowed in thought. This wasn't just picking a picture; it was picking a piece of my future, a partner in the retribution simmering in my gut.

  First, my gaze settled on the vibrant, dark purple orb.

  Brixta.

  The goth fairy floated lazily above her glowing circle, an inch or two off the surface of the desk. She sipped from a chipped teacup that seemed to hold swirling shadows instead of tea, her posture one of supreme, almost aggressive indifference. Her eyes, stark white against the heavy black liner, stared back at me with that utterly deadpan glare, daring me to look away. I felt a strange kinship there, a flicker of recognition. Brixta didn’t flinch from anything. Didn’t beg. Didn’t apologize for existing or for looking the way she did. That was who I desperately wanted to be, or perhaps, who I felt this new body was capable of becoming. That was the armour I’d never had in life, the unyielding confidence they couldn't touch, but maybe, just maybe, I could grow into that here, with her as a guide. Still… her energy felt distant, self-contained. Could she truly help me unleash?

  My gaze shifted, drawn by frantic motion.

  Kip.

  The dragon-fairy, a blur of iridescent green and gold, was currently hovering upside down above his bright, energetic orb. His little dragon tail twitched with nervous energy as he rapidly scanned three different holographic spreadsheets floating around him, muttering stats about dungeon energy efficiency and trap calibration at a speed that was almost impossible to follow. He was… a lot. A whirlwind of data and caffeine, probably. But he was also undeniably brilliant, his tiny multi-lensed eyes darting back and forth with sharp intelligence. His frantic, slightly unhinged energy was kind of endearing, in a manic rabbit-chewing-through-wires kind of way.

  "I love his energy," I said aloud, the sound of my own voice in the quiet room making me chuckle. "I’d just need a remote to mute him sometimes." Could I harness that chaos? Or would it just overwhelm me?

  Quillwyn.

  Her orb glowed softly, a gentle, warm light like the morning sun through a clean windowpane. The fairy herself was serene, and calm, radiating an aura of quiet peace. She gave me a warm, knowing look, a silent offer of comfort. Sweet. Gentle. Safe. Part of me ached for that softness and yearned to wrap myself in that kind of calm after years of feeling raw and exposed. But I wasn't ready to heal yet. Not with the scars still stitching together, the anger still hot in my veins. Choosing Quillwyn felt like giving up the fight before it had even begun.

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  Then there was the fourth one. The one that didn’t fit.

  The Goblin.

  His orb was a duller, dried blood colour, less polished than the others. There was no name listed below him. No clear skill was described. Just… potential. Weird and raw and utterly unpredictable. He wasn't hovering gracefully or frantically calculating; he was sitting cross-legged on his orb like it was a park bench. I stared at him. He looked rough, and ungainly, nothing like the sleek perfection of the Goddess or the curated energies of the others.

  The goblin's disproportionately large hands fiddling with something near his ear. He picked something out of his ear. I really didn't want to know what and flicked it in the general direction of Kip’s orb, a tiny, defiant projectile in this ethereal space. Then, as if sensing my prolonged gaze, his eyes met mine. They were large and dark, surprisingly intelligent, and after a moment, he raised one hand in a tentative, shy wave.

  I should have laughed. Maybe I did, a small, surprised puff of air. It was ridiculous. An ear-picking goblin waving shyly? Next to a goth queen, a data dragon, and a garden wisp? But something about the goblin sat in my ribs like a secret only I understood, a strange resonance that the others didn't have.

  The system gave me this, I thought, the idea settling deep within me. The Eye saved me. It rebuilt me. It wouldn’t have offered this… this weird, nameless thing… for no reason. The others represented things I could grasp, qualities I understood and either desired or felt unready for. Brixta made me feel like I could be powerful, an unbreakable wall. Kip made me feel like I could be armed with knowledge, and capable of anything. Quillwyn made me feel like I could finally find peace, wrap myself in calm.

  But the goblin?

  It made me feel seen. It made me feel… chosen. Not for my strength, or my intelligence, or my serenity. But for the potential hidden beneath the surface, for the raw, unpredictable thing that I was. And in a life where I had always felt overlooked, unwanted, and never, ever chosen for anything good, that felt like the most powerful option of all. My eyes remained fixed on the goblin's orb, the choice solidifying in my mind.

  System Notification:

  [Achievement Unlocked: First Bound Companion]

  You have selected a unique Core Attendant.

  Bonus Effect: Dungeon Staff Protocols Online – Access Granted.

  Other options were dismissed.

  Your path is yours alone.

  The moment my choice solidified, a soft snap-pop-pop echoed across the Core Room, startling me. I flinched as the remaining fairy orbs burst out of existence, not with violence, but like bubble wrap being stomped on by ghosts. A delicate wisp of green smoke curled in the air where Quillwyn had hovered, smelling faintly of rain and calm before dissipating entirely. Kip’s energetic golden spark shot upward like a tiny rocket, trailing a shower of 1s and 0s before vanishing somewhere near the invisible ceiling. And Brixta? Her smoky-purple circle just hissed like a snuffed cigarette, the smell of burnt paper lingering for a second before it was gone too.

  Sitting there on the edge of the oversized desk like it was the most natural thing in the world, kicking out with his stubby legs, smiling a toothful smile up at me. His long tongue came out of his mouth and licked a snot booger. I sighed, the sound loud in the sudden quiet. “Well, guess it’s just you and me now.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He finished fishing out the booger with his tongue and then threw it casually over my shoulder. It vanished somewhere behind me. “I’m adorable. Compact. Highly flammable.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

  He grinned a wide, slightly unnerving expression that split his face. “Only if I start humming. That’s when explosions are likely.”

  I couldn't help a small smile in return. I paced a bit, crossing my arms over my chest, thinking. "So... if you're gonna be stuck with me; my advisor or whatever this is. Maybe we should give you a better name. 'The Goblin' feels a little… generic."

  He perked up, his eyes swivelling to focus on me. “Hey, I like Nib. It’s got crunch.”

  Nib. So that was it. Simple. Weird. Perfect. I leaned against the desk, the solid wood feeling real under my back. “Okay, Nib. We had a snack called that when I was a kid. But maybe something a little more… goblin-chic? Something that says ‘terrifying creature of the depths’?”

  My face scrunched up in thought, then split in that wide grin again. “Professor Muck?”

  “I hate and love all of that,” he said, considering. “‘Professor Muck’ has gravitas for some stuffy old fish. What about Sir Crunchalot?”

  I grinned back. “That feels like you’re one accident away from suing a cereal company.”

  The goblin waggled a brow, a surprisingly expressive gesture. “What if it’s just ‘Crunch’? One word. Like danger. Or breakfast.”

  I mock-considered, tapping my chin. “I don’t hate it…”

  “But you don’t love it either,” he grumbled, hopping down onto the arm of the chair beside the desk. “Fine. Let’s workshop it. You’re the boss. The soul-shaper. Name me what you like, but make it something I can shout dramatically from a rooftop before tossing a stick of dynamite.”

  I looked at him then, Nib or Crunch. This little freakish, funny, firecracker of a goblin. Sitting on the arm of the principal's old chair. And I felt the faintest curl of something deep down in my chest. Not warmth, exactly, not like Quillwyn’s light. But potential. Raw, chaotic, unpredictable potential. My potential.

  I scooped him up without warning, wrapping my arms around his small, squishy frame. He went stiff immediately like a cat being held against its will, but he didn’t fight me. Not really. I pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek, grinning. “I know!”

  He blinked at me, confused.

  “I’m going to call you Bookbite.”

  There was a long pause. “…Bookbite?” he repeated like he was trying to make sure I wasn’t joking. I nodded, already setting him back down onto the desk like a precious little artifact. His big eyes looked up at me, wide and serious for once.

  “I love it,” he whispered. My heart squeezed. Then, like I’d flipped a switch, he jumped off the desk with a dramatic little huff. “Now,” he said, straightening his nonexistent tie, “let’s get down to business.”