“No, you idiot. My name’s Pell, not Peh or Pef or whatever—” His voice trailed off as he noticed the girl’s unwavering gaze. He imitated taking a deep breath—even though he had no lungs. Human inclinations would always be human inclinations.

“You…you can’t understand a single word I’m saying, can you?” he asked.

She blinked at him, unaware that the little flames in his skull had narrowed further—a look clear to her but unnoticed by him.

“Peh!” she said, with the biggest, most innocent smile a child could muster. “PehPeh! PehPeh!”

After a few more minutes of trying—and failing—to make the girl understand him, he just gave up. Things weren’t getting anywhere. All she was doing was repeating everything he said.

“Alright, you,” Pell said, directing his bony finger from the girl to the chair, “just sit down over there, stay still, and don’t move. Got it?”

The little girl walked over to the chair he pointed at. She looked at it briefly, then turned back to face him. Seeing that he was still pointing at her, she reached out and grabbed his finger.

“What? Hey! Let go!” Pell yelled. He tugged his hand back and heard a small snapping sound. When he looked at his finger, he realized that the little gremlin had just stolen his finger bone.

“Hey! Give me my finger back!” Pell grabbed the girl’s hand, snatched his finger back, and reattached it with a satisfying clack.

Annoyed and frustrated, Pell fixed a piercing gaze on the giggling little menace. She smiled at him, clearly enjoying his irritation.

“Ugh, fine,” Pell groaned. He needed to distract her, or she’d end up running off with all of his body parts.

The little girl climbed onto the chair as Pell walked past her toward the closet at the back of the shop. Disappearing for a moment, he returned with a family of dust settling atop his skull. In his hand was a large, hefty book.

“Alright, here—read this,” he said, voice dripping with disdain. “Well…you probably can’t, but whatever. It’s got nice, pretty pictures. Kids like picture books, right?” he asked sarcastically.

He placed the book down in front of her. It was a fiction novel called Bandit Town: The Hero Arrives. Although it was a full-length novel, it also contained many illustrations. The story was about a hero who arrived in a town full of bandits and…well, did whatever heroes did. The series had five entries, and this was the second book. Unfortunately, Pell could never find the first book being sold anywhere, so he refused to get the other entries.

He walked over to the counter and sat on his stool, glancing at the young, confused girl. She opened the book and began looking at the words and pictures. A flicker of agitation appeared in his eye sockets; the book was upside down. He turned away with a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a sigh.

Ever since he died on a dungeon expedition gone horribly wrong, his soul had been confined to the very dungeon that had killed him. Each day had become a dull routine, filled with endless wall-staring. His hope that someone would come to save him dwindled with every passing day.

But now, that hope may have finally rekindled, providing a spark to the matchstick that was his freedom.

“Bo—bo—bo,” came the sound of the little girl. Her small eyes danced over the pages of the book Pell had just handed her.

Okay, so maybe someone had sparked his match, but then promptly doused it by chucking it into the ocean—after giving him a kick to the sacrum and laughing at his undead corpse. Because that was exactly how he felt right now. Fate had sent him a savior—in the form of a small child with what seemed like severe amnesia.

“God…damnit!” Pell snapped, his face slamming skull-first onto his counter. Of all the people who could’ve wandered into the dungeon—an adventurer, a Paragon of War, hell, even a beggar—but no; fate sent him a child! The gods were playing a cruel trick, saddling him with a brat whose brain was more scrambled than a hen’s egg during a founding feast!

Silence filled the room as the little girl stopped mumbling. Pell turned around to peer at her. She had placed the book down and was staring at him with wide, watchful eyes. His outburst had finally drawn her attention away from the book.

“Do you even know your own name?” Pell asked. “Or how to access your status screen?”

“Sta?” she repeated, tilting her head.

Pell grumbled internally. But since he didn’t have internal organs, his grumbles were, unfortunately, audible.

“How the hell did you even get in here? Were you used as bait by an adventurer party? Why would anyone use a damn noble as bait and not for ransom?” he mused, mostly to himself. She was a noble—no doubt about it. Her clothing was a clear giveaway. The lavish black robe that doubled as a dress, exquisitely made and uniquely designed. Most people wore simple tunics or dapper shirts, not something like what she wore.

He slid off his stool and stood up. Grabbing the rusty metal sword from the counter, he turned toward the little girl. She was back to reading her upside-down book.

“You stay here, brat. I’m going to sweep the halls and see if I can find your party,” he said.

The girl didn’t even look up. Her eyes stayed glued to the book, completely engrossed.

Pell ground his teeth in irritation, imitating the clicking sound of a tongue. Why must I be on babysitting duty? he thought.

He was an old man. Well, not that old, but old enough to feel the creeping effects of age, that slow and everlasting curse. He was 44, solidly middle-aged, but the wear of hard work and stress had aged him beyond his years. Technically, he would be 48 now if he were still alive. But those days were long behind him—new skeleton body and all that. No need for muscles, or worrying about “managing his health.”

The shop was tucked into a recess of the long, flat hallway. It was easy to miss unless you were at just the right angle, deep enough into the corridor. It was small, barely three shoulder-widths across—just the right size for hiding from the other monstrosities. Well, a very specific rat-like monstrosity.

He kept his sword at his side and left the shop, not sparing the little girl a single glance.

The dungeon was a maze, a sprawling labyrinth of winding halls that intersected and branched off endlessly. Take one path and it could lead you to twenty more. That also meant a simple loop of three left turns could bring you right back to where you started.

Ahead of him, a skeleton shuffled past a junction into another hallway, its broken sword dragging on the ground. Pell ignored it, walking right by the mindless creature. Damn vultures, he thought.

First hall: nothing. Second hall: nothing. Third hall: Oh, look, it’s just another walking pile of nothing.

Five agonizing minutes passed as he walked, completing a full lap around the blocked section where his shop was hidden. There was no one—nothing. Just the usual bone-headed skeletons and limping zombies, dragging their limbs as slowly as an adventurer with an arrow through their knee.

When Pell returned to the shop, the little girl was still absorbed in her book. He opened the latch, stepped inside, and returned to his stool. He tapped his fingers on the counter, deep in thought.

There’s no way any party would leave a noble girl behind, no matter the situation. Killing her off makes no sense when you can ransom her. Kidnapping 101, even a child from the slums knows that. They’ll probably come for her soon. Hopefully...they can finally free me from this damn dungeon.

⬥⬥⬥

Pell frowned. It had already been an entire day. He’d been sitting at the counter ever since the little intruder showed up. She was a noble, so where were her guards? Mercenaries? Hell, not even a butler? Why hadn’t anyone come for her yet?

His expression darkened as more hours passed, with no sign of anyone. The only visitors were the random skeletons and zombie dregs of the dungeon.

Glancing over his shoulder, he caught sight of the girl sitting at his table, still absorbed in his book. She noticed him looking and met his gaze with a confused expression.

"Where the hell is your party? You’ve got some shitty guards if they can’t even clear a floor full of low-level undead," he muttered.

She paused for a moment, then mimicked his words, "Shi—"

"Don’t. You. Fucking say that word," Pell snapped. "You aren’t old enough."

"Fu—"

"NOT. THAT. ONE. EITHER."

The girl giggled, ducking her head back into her book to hide her face from Pell's glare.

Pell narrowed his eyes at her, then turned away. He could hear her mumbling something under her breath, but he couldn’t be bothered anymore.