I sit at the long, decadent table and stare at my breakfast. Various meats, eggs fashioned into an omelet, and roasted slices of onion accented with crispy cloves of fresh garlic. All of it tastes like ash in my mouth. I can’t get the images out of my head. I run through the breathing exercises, the counting exercises, and all the memory suppression exercises I know. None of them help. When I close my eyes, all I see is Raqqa. I see the ranger we left behind. Then I see the heads of the militiamen I killed, their skulls shattering under the thundering force of the XM7. Then I see the man at the LZ, probably just a scared civilian desperate for refuge, and I know there’s nothing I can do.

One of the first things the VA shrink taught me was that I have no time machine. No matter how much I try, I cannot change the past. Those men are dead. They’ll be dead tomorrow. They were dead yesterday. Any action I take today will have no bearing whatsoever on their status as dead.

I cannot change the past… I silently repeat, scooping a fork full of omelet to my mouth. The food is delicious, befitting a celebrity wizard, but I still can’t bring myself to savor the rich, decadent flavors. Why should I enjoy a luxurious breakfast in peace and comfort when so many others are dead… because of me?

One of the shrinks called it survivor’s guilt, but that doesn’t feel right in my mind. I just… I wish the war never happened. I’m not upset about my role in it, not entirely, but the whole thing could have been avoided. The first ‘world war’ was supposed to be the last, the war to end all wars, but then there was a second. And then eighty-five years later, a third. There will probably be a fourth. Each and every one has been unnecessary. Just a needless amalgamation of desires born from the minds of a few dozen power-hungry politicians.

“... Sarah?”

A voice snaps me back to reality, and I quickly swallow the mushy mouthful of lukewarm eggs between my teeth. “Yeah?”

Sir Vasily stands off to the side of the table, his two beautiful assassins only a step behind him. “We’re going to town. I wondered if you’d like to join us?” he asks with a bit of concern lacing his voice.

Go to town? Wasn’t there… something I needed to do today? I can’t remember. When I try to think, all my mind conjures up are images of grenades pummeling a hillside and a Black Hawk helicopter unleashing hell on conscripted militiamen who had never seen electricity until the war.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Sounds good. We’re leaving now?” I slide the unfinished breakfast toward one of the servants and gulp down the rest of my water.

“In a few moments,” Sir Vasily answers with a sympathetic smile.

“Great. I’ll get my things.” I slide out my chair and head for my room, eager to occupy my mind with anything other than war. When I have my rifle and my small sack of crowns, I shut the bedroom door behind me and head for the door.

I’m a bit surprised to see Cornelius, the captain of the guard, joining us, and he greets me with a warm smile. Shrine and Relic are there as well, of course, and then Sir Vasily, bedecked in a deep blue robe of shimmering velvet and white piping that would have cost a fortune even with modern technology. Looking at my own clothes, I realize just how out of place I am. I’m wearing army fatigues and a camo t-shirt. I don’t look preposterous, but certainly out of place. And I certainly don’t look like a wizard.

We pile into the same carriage we took from the Tournament back to the estate, and a pair of horses have us moving toward Inktown a moment later. Our first destination surprises me a little: a stationary store. As it turns out—and I quickly learn—many higher level wizard spells are so complex that practitioners resort to writing them down. And some scrolls, according to Cornelius who seems to know a lot about wizards, must be written on scrolls or they cannot be cast. The whole system seems a bit odd, but what do I know?

Sir Vasily makes a handful of purchases, and then we’re off to our second location: the Emberward.

The Emberward is best described as a ruined temple. It looks like a mix of Egyptian mortuary complex, Mayan ziggurat, and Celtic stone circle—only far, far larger. The entire campus is located somewhat near the northern edge of Inktown, and it seems to be some kind of well known training complex. Other adventurers are gathered around the entrance, and plenty of carriages and horses are waiting in what passes for a medieval parking lot.

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Our entourage hops down from the carriage, and we follow Sir Vassily toward the arched entrance. Some of the other waiting in line gawk at the celebrity mage, and the attention is not wasted. Sir Vasily plays up his role as a famous wizard, shaking hands, gently touching foreheads, and kissing more than a few cheeks. Women, in particular, fawn over him, despite his overall appearance being more akin to an overweight kebab merchant than a Hollywood movie star. Fame has its perks, I suppose.

As Cornelius explains on our long walk from the parking lot to the entrance, the Emberward is essentially a very expensive training ground. Tournament hopefuls use it to hone their skills and rapidly gain levels, and other adventurers test their mettle here before setting out on their own quests. Sir Vasily, as opposed to virtually everyone else who attempts the complex dungeon, uses it as a speed run to bolster his status as the most powerful wizard in all of Inktown. What others see as one of the greatest challenges of their life, a place that costs a significant sum of crowns just to enter, Sir Vasily runs more for amusement and spectacle than the actual challenge.

I gawk at the thought. As far as I can tell, it would be like a sports team playing in their league’s championship just for fun rather than a trophy. Honestly, it strikes me as absurd. As Cornelius is quick to point out, most other Emberward hopefuls are lucky to emerge from the dungeon alive, and Sir Vasily treats it as a trivial exploit where his only goal is to improve his latest time. His times, as it turns out, are painted in bright blue on a huge board next to the entrance. Of the top ten spots listed, Sir Vasily’s name occupies all but one.

Nudging Cornelius, I point to the eighth entry on the list. “What’s the deal with that guy?”

Cornelius raises an eyebrow. “Sir Barton?” He laughs. “You don’t remember?”

I search my memories, but nothing comes up. “Should I?”

“You killed him in the Tournament. Killed him right quick. Never seen anything like it!”

Ah, the wizard who attacked me with a fireball. “Oh yeah. Him. So he was pretty good at this thing, I take it.”

Cornelius lets out another laugh. “One of the best, though nowhere near Sir Vasily, of course.” He’s right. The times aren’t really close. Sir Vasily’s best, the top of the top, is just under three hours. Sir Barton’s time in the eighth slot is nine hours, forty-three minutes. The tenth is down to ten hours, twelve minutes.

“So what kind of stuff do we do?” I ask. Our group passes through the entrance, and Sir Vasily hands a large bag of clinking coins to an attendant bedecked in sleek orange and black attire.

The guard captain fixes me with a quirky look. “I keep forgetting you aren’t from here. Sorry. The Emberward… how to say it… Well, it is a dungeon, of course. Certainly they have dungeons where you’re from, yes?”

I shake my head. “Not this kind, I’m afraid. Not even close.” I imagine the Emberward to be anything from a Roman gladiator fight to something more like a long haunted house. I’m probably way off.

Fortunately, Cornelius is eager to explain. “Well, the Emberward is different on every run. You see, it shifts and changes, sometimes in ways that make sense, and sometimes not. The caretakers, those who have dedicated their lives to preserving the place, can nudge it in one direction or another, but even they can’t control what happens inside. Not every detail, at least.”

“Ok, but what is a dungeon? I still don’t know what we’re walking into.”

Just then, we reach a huge set of stone double doors engraved with glowing, fiery runes. I can feel some great heat source radiating from the other side. Whatever it is, the heat is strong enough to penetrate thick stone which means it must be absolutely roaring on the other side. To our left, a raised platform houses a handful of other Emberward attendants, all similarly dressed in the dungeon’s striking colors.

“Going for a new record,” Sir Vasily shouts to the attendants. Unlike many of the others outside, the attendants don’t treat the wizard as a celebrity. They’re probably used to seeing him all the time, so the novelty has worn off.

One of the attendants unfurls a long scroll that drapes over the side of the stone parapet. He starts reading, his voice magically enhanced to fill the space without any confusing echo. “Welcome to the four hundred ninety-second running of the Emberward! Sir Vasily Gnomeslayer challenges the Emberward for glory and riches untold! Today’s configuration is…” I don’t know if he pauses for dramatic effect or if he needs to wait for something to happen. “Leviathan! The challenger will have two days to complete the Emberward. Standard conditions are in place, and the favored enemy of the Leviathan configuration is the dreaded Pyroclast Artificer, Master Inventor. Under standard conditions, you have five minutes to prepare. Good luck, challenger, and may your flame never extinguish!”

“Alright, man. Explain. What does any of that mean?” I keep my voice low so only Cornelius can hear as it seems Sir Vasily and his two assassin guards are busy planning strategy on their own.

A gleam shines in Cornelius’s eyes. “Alright, the dungeon changes every day. There are six main configurations, each with their own objectives and characters, and then there are twenty one different favored enemies for each configuration. We got Leviathan. That means a boat ride, a sunken temple, usually an island shrouded in mist or maybe pirates, and lots of puzzles. I’ve never seen the Pyroclast Artificer, so I don’t know about that one, but I wouldn’t worry. That’s just the final boss. It probably means the dungeon will be full of clockwork constructions. Inventions. Big things with gears and claws and lots of fire. Make sense?”

I nod, though truth be told, I’m not sure I follow him one hundred percent. Honestly, it sounds cool. Really cool. “And two days? That’s an awful long time.”

He smiles. “That’s just the limit. Sir Vasily never takes that long. The Leviathan Configuration is a bit of a slower run, so I don’t think we’ll be posting any top times, though. Sir Vasily won’t like that. He was hoping for Lament or Lore. Those are a lot quicker, but the enemies are always way tougher to kill.”

“And… is any of this stuff real? Like, we’re not killing actors in costumes, right?”

He shakes his head. “All magic. No one really knows how it works. But don’t worry. No matter how real it feels, it isn’t. Just us.”

“If we die inside—”

“Yeah, that part is real. Don’t get killed. If you get stuck or trapped or something, you just have to wait until the time limit expires. If you survive to the end of the time without defeating the dungeon, you get teleported back to the entrance. You’ll live, but you won’t get a refund. We call it freezing out.”

“Right. Got it. Don’t die. How hard could it be?”