The letter arrived on a silver platter carried by a nervous hawk in a tiny velvet vest. I don’t know which part of that sentence bothers me most—the hawk, the vest, or the fact that it bowed. Deeply.

  Ren retrieved the scroll with gentle hands and a smile like this was just another invitation to tea. Mimi, however, snatched it before he could read it, shredded the ribbon with her teeth, and stomped once for emphasis.

  “Oh,” Ren murmured, tilting his head. “It’s addressed to her.”

  “I have questions,” I said. “Most of them begin with ‘why’ and end with ‘has reality finally cracked like an overripe melon?’”

  The scroll was sealed with a wax insignia I didn’t recognize—somewhere between a royal crest and an agricultural hazard symbol. Mimi unrolled it and began reading. Aloud. In perfect courtly Elvish.

  Ren blinked. “She’s fluent?”

  “She’s *fluent*,” I said, my voice dry enough to qualify as drought conditions.

  The message, once translated from goat-accented Elvish, was this:

  “To the Esteemed General Mimi of the Mid-Village Rebellion: By decree of the Verdant Crown, you are hereby summoned to assist in negotiations with the Eastern Dungeon Confederacy, who have refused entry to several Compassion Knights and three licensed soup vendors. Your expertise in tactical livestock diplomacy is both noted and required. Attendance is mandatory. P.S. Please bring your sword.”

  “I—what—why me?” I spluttered.

  Ren patted my pommel. “They probably mean you in the honorary sense.”

  “Oh no,” I groaned. “I’m a plus-one. I’ve become a goat’s sidekick.”

  Preparations to go were swift, Mimi had donned her campaign scarf, while, Ren packed snacks and I was polished to an unnatural shine and tied with a ribbon that I swear smelled like chamomile betrayal.

  Our destination: the eastern glade, where the dungeon’s outer threshold pulsed with low, humming spite. Dungeons are, by nature, moody. But this one—this one hated us. The vines recoiled when we stepped near and The moss spelled rude words.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  Ren’s eyes lit up with innocent excitement. “It’s our first real dungeon!”

  “It loathes us,” I muttered. “Perfect.”

  At the entrance, a delegation of adventurers and officials stood in a semicircle of awkward failure. One particularly frazzled guild officer gestured toward the shimmering stone archway and sighed.

  “Won’t open,” she explained. “We’ve tried brute force, puzzles, interpretive dance—nothing works. Anyone with high aggression triggers lockdown mode.”

  Ren tilted his head. “What if someone with low aggression tries?”

  She laughed, tired and bitter. “You’d need someone with literally no hostility in their soul.”

  And then Everyone turned.

  To Ren.

  And to the goat.

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  Ten minutes later…… we were inside.

  The dungeon’s interior was gorgeous in a dangerous, cryptic spa kind of way. Soft bioluminescence lit the path. Flowers bloomed on the walls. The air smelled faintly of tea and judgment. But the deeper we went, the more I could feel the magic watching us. Judging. Especially me.

  “This place runs on emotional resonance,” Ren said as we passed another arch of glowing vines. “It mirrors your energy.”

  “Wonderful,” I said. “I hope it mirrors my urge to file a complaint with the Realm of Cursed Architecture.”

  And then the first enemy appeared just beyond the second chamber.

  It was a slime.

  Not just any slime. A grumpy slime. Its eyebrows wiggled in annoyance. When I hummed near it, it inflated like a water balloon full of bad decisions.

  “Calm down,” Ren said softly, crouching beside it. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

  The slime wobbled. Then shivered. Then… deflated into a puddle of sparkling joy.

  [Dungeon Resonance Triggered: Emotional Aggression Nullified]

  Ren was immune.

  I, however, was vibrating with unprocessed rage.

  Enemies kept spawning. A bat that shrieked out everyone’s insecurities. A moss-covered mimic that tried to bite Mimi and then apologized profusely. Each one approached with hostility—until they reached Ren, and then melted into bashful docility.

  Mimi led the charge through the last chamber like a goat blessed by fate. She dodged traps. She disarmed illusions with sheer attitude. And when the final guardian rose—an enormous armored construct forged from fury and bricks and locked eyes with her.

  And sat down.

  Cross-legged.

  It offered her a flower.

  I could only scream internally at this.

  [Quest Updated: The Dungeon That Hates You – Final Challenge Complete]

  Huh?! Is this a joke?

  The chest opened with a chime. Inside: a glowing crystal labeled “Core of Serenity.”

  Ren clutched it to his chest. “We did it.”

  “No,” I muttered. “She did it and I’m just a prop in a goat-themed fairy tale.”