Hope wakes up.
"See? Not that hard."
Kimlxik sneers before the dungeon core goes dark.
"What does that mean?" Alara asks hesitantly, she doesn't want to believe her eyes or her heart. Zenya said that the dungeon had died hundreds of times before. That Kimlxik revived her.
"Um... I didn't do that..." Kimlxik says slowly, his fingers tapping at his crystal slowly then picking up speed.
"But you've done it before. And fixed it," Alara looks at the residual scarring on the dissolving core. "Sort of."
"Um... It's not responding," Kimlxik chuckles, flinching and gritting their teeth as they try to retrieve the information needed.
Kimlxik hadn't revived the core previously. What they had done was copy all the information from the core over to a simulacrum, using the core as the power source for their memory crystal matrix to do it which rapidly depleted the core. This caused a "reset". The memories would be gone, the energy too low for the core to retain "consciousness", then when the core recovered enough to come online Kimlxik would run tests, give commands, and, if the core didn't perform adequately, reset it again. What Kimlxik never checked was the integrity of the core's "mind". It's a machine, isn't it? It has no mind. Or soul.
"Did you figure out a way to heal her soul, because you should do that quickly before she fades completely," Alara says quickly, her pitch rising as the representation she sees as the core of the core dissolves into a sludge that slowly evaporates.
"For the last time it's a machine!" Kimlxik finally screeches, completely fed up by people worshipping these death memorials.
For the crime of destroying a core in your keeping Kimlxik has been found guilty of the following charges: Soul Disruption for torturing a sentient being until their Soul did break. Torture for repeatedly abusing, past their limits, a sentient being in your charge. Murder for killing a sentient being in your charge. And Soul Destruction for the attempted complete destruction of a soul of a sentient being in your charge.
"What?" Kimlxik blinks up as Zenya watches them with a vicious gleam in their eyes. "What proof do you have?"
Greetings, Kimlxik. After reviewing your Companion Logs and the results of your own reports, that you have provided of your abuses to your dungeon core, you have been found guilty. There are also reports from the remnant of Henla, temporarily known by many names, lately: "Kimlxik Iteration#0214" and "Hope", and records made by active watchers verifying the report of the aforementioned Henla.
"What remnant?" Kimlxik throws up their hands.
"Do you honestly not remember your oath?" Zenya asks in confusion as the watcher communicating does not reply.
"To grow a dungeon?" Kimlxik snarks before rolling their eyes.
"To guide the soul of the dungeon and encourage growth," Zenya's orb buzzes.
"Ooh, how romantic," Kimlxik stares deadpan at Zenya waiting for them to get to their point.
"The soul bound to the core of the dungeon, in particular," Zenya drones as a void slowly forms around Kimlxik.
Kimlxik blinks, their mind firing rapidly as they remember their first year of their 15 year training.
"Oh, no..."
Kimlxik's pained scream is short as they're drawn backwards into the void.
"Are they going to bring her back?"
Zenya flinches, having temporarily forgotten Alara somehow. Then grows nauseous at how to deal with a Hearth Maker that may have lost their mind. Alara knows better than they how Henla's soul fared. Alara had watched a soul die. Zenya knows what powerful healers are capable of and does not want a soul healer to turn into a soul breaker or soul eater with them as the first victim. The fastest, most desperate report they had, and hopefully ever will, make. Zenya nearly collapses in relief when the world shifts and they're no longer in the corpse of a broken dungeon.
Dungeons aren't supposed to die. When their core is "destroyed" it usually results in their souls and consciousness being moved to a new vessel, a weapon or other item. The sentient, talking items are not always bound demons or devils, sometimes they were reborn cores. But Henla had not been reborn from her core. Her core had dimmed. She had died another horrible death.
Zenya is not a soul manipulator so they don't know the finer details. Was there enough leftover for Henla to be reborn? Was her soul released, made whole, and ready to find a new vessel? Or had she fully and truly passed on?
Zenya is snapped from their spiral by several notifications resonating the aether. Requests for their logs. Requests for their reports. Requests for their memories. Requests for clarification, verification, confirmation, and consolation. Ah. Wait. They're being given a consolatory assignment as a show of gratitude, an apology, and a reward for their efforts in the "Lost Hope" incident. Zenya blinks, turning brighter and darker as they realize that they've just been given work as compensation for the work they've done. And told that they have to watch a dungeon without any information on their assignment.
What level is the assignment? When should they report? Where should they report? "To be determined" is not information. Will they be dropped in or will they be told with enough time to prepare and get their affairs in order? Did paperwork get lost or are they waiting for the incident to get resolved? So much work needs to be done.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
Easiest first step to finish is just to verify how many of these requests are from people with the authority to make such requests. It is a sad bit of bureaucracy and rumormongering, but high profile events or tragedies generate memos, notifications, reminders, retraining, training, and every active gossip has to be the first to know more. Now they have to get reports ready for if and when these requests were confirmed legitimate.
Easiest first report are the ones that request their logs. Those are already part of a system. Then the confirmations are going to be tricky. Not as tricky as the memories, but easily done with a crystal memory matrix. The fact that Kimlxik had managed to modify and manipulate matrices in such a manner that they created interactive fake entities. Unless they were soul bound entities.
Zenya sighs and sends another report/request for an investigation of Kimlxik's research, experiments and work on simulacrum.
That's that started, now where are they.
"Now what," Zenya hisses, bright white and deep black when they realize that they're outside.
The environment looks similar to the simulated environment they'd just left but on a much grander scale. The environment feels... pure. Zenya darkens and brightens as they realize they're standing in a much larger Hearth Maker sphere. They reach out with their mind to sample the aether and find that there is a Hearth Maker aura. The aether is dense but undirected. If the aether was caused by a fountain or item it'd flow in a specific direction or cycle to and from the area. There is no flow, no thickening. It just sits.
There's a subtle pressure and Zenya reaches out with more focus. There's something watching them. A generalized feeling from an Observer. This isn't as focused as a scry. The area is under observation, not them. The focus narrows, drifts away then tightens. Someone just checked to see if there was anyone else nearby.
The aura... heightens. There is someone or something attempting to calm them, lull them into relaxing. Their contrast grows more and more the longer the aura sits thickly. When it dissipates and they feel themselves scanned they know that something has registered their discomfort and stopped. Then a gentle more in depth scan that feels like a child touching their face, their head, their hands, tugging at their robes with a sense of wonder.
The curiosity becomes a physical weight as the scan stops.
Hello.
Zenya reaches out and senses awe and joy. And then something touches their mind. They're in a dungeon. A blank dungeon. A blank, large, high rank, upper tier dungeon with no ability to communicate. What is this core?
Now knowing what they're dealing with Zenya moves to anchor themself to the core under the assumption that this is their assignment despite the fact that they'd gotten no notifications or messages or updates. They were not teleported home, to a city, to the dimension of the keepers or even to an area they could understand. No. They'd been dropped into a new and very powerful dungeon. But where is the dungeon located?
They offer their services to the dungeon as a link for a Soul Bond. On the other end of this tether, this golden rope with spines, wings, and claws, they charge their tether with their promise to the dungeon. Every companion that forms a bond is different. Zenya's promise is an oath of commitment, to nurture, to protect, to guide, to defend, to put all that they are towards all that they could be together. They feel a mind that resonates with the aether around them explore the other end of the tether and realize that the being might not have enough awareness to know what the tether is. Then the dungeon accepts the offer.
Zenya feels the connection form. It's not that they're bound to the dungeon. It feels more like they are tethered directly into the dungeon versus merely linked to another's mind. Zenya tries to explain that they will not take advantage of this one-sided connection and will help the core gain the abilities they, together, will need to thrive.
As proof of their commitment to the new partnership Zenya opens their companion log, opens their permission log, and gives the dungeon permission to access, not modify, the knowledge that they possessed. The second the thought crosses their mind their vision dims. The draw on their psyche is steady and slowly becomes easier to bear as time passes. A deep breath and Zenya's vision clears.
"What...?"
Zenya is standing, robes open, left hand curled into a claw, the back of their robe modified so that the three vertically aligned pairs of opalescent spines on their back are no longer restrained, raised and fanning out behind them. They release the energy they had somehow amassed at the tips of their spines, the lights of the gathered spells guttering out and dispersing into the thick aether. The twelve tendrils that sprout from around the spines in pairs no longer draped loosely around their body but raised and questing through the air.
Zenya flinches as they realize that they've exposed the spot where their right arm used to be. Their left hand goes to cover the spot where their shoulder would be as sickening shame washes over them. They feel something gently stroking the top of their head and realize the dungeon feels more... aware.
Hello.
Zenya feels a grin tug at their face at the glowing joy radiating from their core. They allow the uplifting energy to seep into their heart, easing their discomfort, their coloring evening out and breath steadying as their shame is slowly leached away. A passing thought and Zenya does chuckle. The core has no arms so one is still good.
You are tired. Rest.
Zenya smiles sadly and the dungeon learns: they are tired, they have many things to do, they do not know where they are, they don't have time.
You have time.
The sensation of giggling.
They will give you time.
Zenya fights a smile then wonders what would make the core so sure.
They have to let us grow.
The statement is so matter of fact and self-assured. A child's reasoning in the face of reality. And then Zenya knows.
Zenya knows they are loved, they can talk to the water and the water pulls away the stains. Zenya knows joy as they are to be married. Zenya feels confusion and nausea, pain and betrayal. Then Zenya awakens and feels a hesitant new hope blossom. They will help, they will love, they will be loved and they will punish. There is confusion, a lessening that they cannot fight, an exhaustion they cannot overcome, then a fearful silence.
They will give us time.
Zenya feels hope and isn't sure if the hope is their own or not.
It is ours.
With a grin Zenya moves through what they now understand is a pocket dimension set up by the elders to better isolate the dungeon to give it time to grow. It had earned this respite.
"Hello, Henla," Zenya's speech translator buzzes and they feel something... unclench.
Shall we get started?
Let us begin.
Zenya forgets their missing limb, they forget to hide their oddities, they forget their split robes, they forget that they should be ashamed.
There is work to be done.
And much to learn.
Should we continue with your mystic forest attempt?
That never occurred to me. I just wanted someone to talk to.
There's no need for embarrassment.
Agreed.
Zenya laughs as they realize that Henla was making a joke about their earlier discomfort. To hope and home.
To hearth, shield and sword. To new beginnings and to us.
To us, Zenya agrees. Then immediately calms as they remember the few memos they'd actually gotten and the mountain of work they had to get started on.
We will share this burden.
And we will overcome.