Instead of the New York subway, I find myself in a cavernous subterranean area that smells of stale air, sulfur, and rotting corpses. That’s why, for a moment, I actually think I’m still in the city. But then, when I see the mountains of gold coins, gems, and artifacts, I am finally reminded that, no, this is not NYC.

“Wow…” I whisper.

The glittering treasure reflects the light of some magical globes, just floating mid-air as if magic was the most natural of things here. The cave is insanely big and, again, smells like someone who has just eaten every rotten taco in California farted in it.

"Achoo!" I suddenly sneeze.

“Bless you,” sounds a deep feminine voice from the shadows.

“Oh, thanks. I think I might be coming down with something,” I reply while brushing my nose.

Huh.

“Hello?”

This time, there’s no answer.

“Excuse me... milady? Hello?”

Again, no answer.

Something tells me that it was not my subway crush talking to me.

Many people would start losing their marbles in this situation, and I wouldn’t blame them. You are in a cave clearly inhabited by a scaly dudette, and a mysterious voice just congratulated your sneeze and then disappeared? I mean, have you ever heard Joe Rogan explain how when a female grizzly attacks you, you have to lay on your belly and let the thing maul your backpack or something? Yeah. That’s why someone like the bald MMA commentator would probably lose it—negative thinking and knowing too much.

Me? Nah. You are only bothered by what you choose to be bothered by. And what you know. Plus, I’m a staunch supporter of superstitious practices and luck. Why? Rationally, if luck doesn’t exist, it’s not really a problem, is it? But what if luck does exist? Well, better be prepared!

For once, I had almost thought I could have had something nice, that my cruel mistress, Lady Luck, was about to remove its pointy heels from my battered chest. But it was just a fool’s dream. A gorgeous, wholesome, bookish subway girl and me? Yeah, sure. What’s next? Miss Universe asking if I can be her booty call?

I stop and say a silent prayer for that, ignoring my perilous situation.

God Almighty, if you are there, please send me to Miss Universe’s shower next— unless the new Miss Universe is a dude. I didn’t follow the latest pageants... And you never know what they will do next. But if you send me to her shower, I'll start throwing people into volcanoes in your honor... if that's your thing. Or just tell me your thing is after you send me into the shower, and I’ll do it. Pinky promise.

Anyway, I digress.

My theory is that dying is off the table for me. Why would the universe kill me via a Dragon-lady if it can just keep taunting me in so many weird ways? In fact, I’m pretty confident that I’m unkillable.

When I see the first skeletons strewn on the gold coins, the stakes are raised, and my unkillability theory is challenged. The bones are not fresh but still entirely preserved—it’s probably been here for a while, isn’t it?

“Well, that doesn’t look too good,” I say, whirling around to catch the Dragon-lady in the act of replying to me.

Alas, no such luck. Or misfortune. I don’t know how lucky it is to face a Dragon directly.

Still, I walk with my mind fairly at ease around the subterranean formation. I can’t even call it a cave because I see no walls. This place is enormous, and the treasure is stretched all over it.

“Is this how Jeff Bezos lives? No super-yachts in sight, though. So, the answer must be negative,” I mutter as a joke to calm my nerves.

“Hello? Miss Dragon Lady? I didn’t mean to intrude! I just got teleported here! If you need a faithful servant, I'm an extremely proficient baker! If it's a sexual servant you are after, I'm extremely proficient in that as well!”

No response.

Hm.

I look at all the artifacts streamed around the place. One of them, though, looks more... attractive than the others. As I get closer, without touching anything, I make out what the object is.

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It’s a sword that is levitating mid-air in a clearing— a minuscule clearing among the mountains of gold coins. Walking until I’m just a few feet away, I suddenly feel my heart pounding.

The blade is a bright, metallic red. It feels cheap to say that it looks like blood, but when I look closer, there’s perspiration on the blade, something that I haven’t seen on any other object. And it smells like blood. It really does.

In fact, it also looks like… it's battle-ready. I wonder if it’s the blade some hero wielded in the past. Or perhaps it is red because of the hero's blood and belonged to a great villain.

But I have to say that the shape of the sword is strange; it’s too long. The absence of wear means it might be unbreakable, perhaps even ever-sharp.

The cross-guard isn’t traditional either; it's no proper one. In fact, it starts at a little over an inch below the blade, and it is like a tiny reptilian claw reaching for the red metal with its nails. Said nails transition from the black handle's metal to the red one—with four small indents on the blade proper. The handle is black with golden accents, and two different gems are embedded in it, one on each side. The sword is big and imposing, yet it seems as light as a feather.

Just standing in front of this sword is making me nervous. If this wasn’t wielded by a hero, then I won’t accept a date from the Dragon lady!

My eyes are glued to it, and something inside me stirs. My vision swims for a second, and I see someone climbing a vertical wall with thousands of people following them; they have no safety devices, no ropes. They are just free climbing while mostly dressed in rags, cutting their hands on the sharp stone. Theil blood is smeared across the wall, making it slimy and slowly dying it red.

Some of the unfortunate that simply crash onto the steeper sections make the climb harder by spreading even more blood. Every death makes the climb harder. But the rest of those people go forward, trying not to get dragged down by those who fall to their death below, where just the clouds are resting.

I don’t think I could ever attempt something like that.

The man at their head is bleeding because he’s going up and down the wall, lifting women and children and bringing them to the very top—to safety.

He is the essence of heroism, but he is bleeding it onto the unsheathed sword tied to his waist. That's how the previously gray blade – with the same design as the one I just found – slowly turns red, the same color that is now staining the massive wall of this... mountain? There's a sea deep below, barely visible from an opening between the clouds.

As I stare below, my vision goes black, and for but a moment, I see myself using that sword. I see my grip on it as I wade through myriads of enemies, with a column of heroes at my back, covering my advance. And I feel glorious and so strong I could slay all my worries and fears, so honorable everyone looks up to me and loves me. I see myself in the future, and I find a hero without equals staring back at me.

When my eyes turn back to normal, I see the sword vibrating. I feel a kinship with it; both of us know we are perfect for each other. I can already feel how perfectly the handle of the sword would fit in my hand, and my hand actually starts mimicking the movements. Before I know it, I’m inches from grasping it.

A life of heroics, of great fights, and—

“Oh, hell no!” I jump back, recoiling as if I had just shot a sniper rifle. “Don’t count on it, buddy,” I say as I walk away from the red sword. “A hero? What do I look made of? Luck? Plot armor? That sword was probably cursed or something. I don’t care for it, thank-you-very-much.”

That’s not my path, friend. I’ll leave it to someone else who’s more positively acquainted with Lady Luck.

I keep walking among the hoard. It must be another five minutes of looking at sculptures, more gems, and more, and more, and more.

I yawn.

“Man, I should have gotten some sleep before the funerals,” I say. “Damn inter-dimensional transportation. I wonder if I’m jet-lagged.”

I keep looking around, knowing that there’s probably one mean Dragon-lady looking at me, ready to fry me to cinders.

“Lady, do you happen to have any food? Hello? Like, food for people. I don’t know what your diet is. Must be one hell of a diet, though, if you look so good!”

I whirl around, trying to see if the dragon has appeared after my flattery. But I find myself staring at nothing.

Whistling I’m Going to Live Forever, I keep walking around this maze of gold and gems, wishing I had a slice of pizza with me. At some point, I hear a low hum, or more like a growl, copying the notes of the song. I shrug and keep whistling unabated.

When I tire of the whistling, the same voice speaks.

“Aren’t you interested in all these riches or the legendary Red Thunder, the very first heroic artifact of your people, little Vanedeni? You have no classes, yet you landed in the most heavily-warded lair in the world. Aren’t you here for something?”

“Food?” I ask.

And what is a Vanedeni? But also, a sword called the ‘Red Thunder’? Cringe.

“You wish for food while surrounded by so much gold that it could bend under its own weight?”

“Meh. First, I can’t eat the gold. Second, I’m well-off myself. Not this rich, but I’m not hurting for money. You know what I’d like, I think? Maybe a way back to Earth, my planet. I don’t think this is Earth, is it? If you can send me back—do that, sure. But first, food would be nice.”

“I have not heard of Earth, little Vanedeni without a class. I have three relics that act like cornucopias. Would you like to partake in them? Tell me.”

I scratch the stubble on my chin as I keep walking around the treasure hoard, hoping to find an exit at some point. Even though… now that I think about it, Dragons can fly, can’t they? So there might be an elevated place of sorts where this woman-Dragon stays. Huh.

“Cornucopias? Nah, sounds a bit pretentious. I can cook something if you have some ingredients, a stove, a flame, and a pan.”

“I offer you the Immortal [Kings] feast, little Vanedeni. Even if your blood resonates with the Scarlet Thunder, you dare refuse my invitation?”

“I really don’t know any of those words, lady,” I shrug. “What’s a Vanedeni? And why are you speaking in square brackets? How do you even do that?”

This time, the voice goes silent.

Heh, whatever.