Fainting was an unexpected but not entirely surprising outcome; the poor child must've been running on fumes by the time they stumbled into my courtyard. I was shocked by how light they were as I lifted them up, their weight barely even noticeable as I carried them back to the core.

"Interface, can you provide me with somewhere appropriate to place a guest for the time being?"

Another chime, more pleasant than the first, and I saw the stone floor liquefy and rise a few feet away, forming into a rectangular shape with a very basic straw mattress on top. Again, I felt the drain, but significantly less intense than when I had healed my guest – it had consumed an infinitesimal sliver of essence, fractions of a fraction. Somehow, it was far, far less expensive to rearrange the structure than to cast a healing spell on a single outside target. I didn't pretend to understand how that made any kind of sense, but I was grateful for the lack of strain on my resources.

"That will do for now, though I want something more robust if they end up staying for an extended period of time."

No sooner had the words left my mouth then another screen pop into being before my eyes.

FURNISHING UPGRADE REQUESTED. RESEARCH TIER 1 FURNITURE? YES/NO

"What". Not the most elegant response, but I was saved from my confusion by the voice of the interface, ready to explain.

"THIS IS AN UPGRADE REQUEST MENU. AS YOUR [RESEARCH] SKILL IS CURRENTLY AT THE MINIMUM LEVEL, THIS [DUNGEON CORE] ONLY HAS ACCESS TO THE DEFAULT TIER 0 FURNISHINGS. RESEARCHING THE NEXT TIER OF BASIC FURNISHINGS WILL ALLOW YOU ACCESS TO MORE EFFECTIVE AND LUXURIOUS FURNITURE OPTIONS, AS WELL AS GAINING EXPERIENCE FOR YOUR [RESEARCH] SKILL."

That sounded utterly obnoxious, not to mention tedious. How exactly was I expected to perform research? I didn't have anything resembling a lab or a library in which to work! Or was perhaps this one of those automated processes that my earlier examination of the [PROFICIENCIES] screen had hinted at? 'Only one way to find out', I mused, and tapped yes.

The screen changed almost immediately, updated with the latest request.

RESEARCHING UPGRADE – TIER 1 FURNITURE. ESTIMATED TIME UNTIL COMPLETION: TWO HOURS. NO DUNGEON MINION ASSIGNED, NO RESEARCHER BONUS APPLIED. ESSENCE EXPENDITURE FOR RESEARCH REDUCED BY [MAGISTER] PERK.

Another drain, definitely bigger than what it had cost to create the bed, but noticeably less than the earlier healing. That suggested an interesting hierarchy of priorities – directly affecting living things from outside the dungeon seemed so far to be the most expensive, then enhancing the overall abilities of the dungeon, and then least of all editing the actual structure itself.

It was a deliberately inward-facing system, prioritizing efficient – and creative – use of space and personal growth above interaction with outside factors, or at the very least, above helpful interaction with outside factors. I can't say that I cared for it; I could see all too easily how a system that so very much favored self-improvement and self-design could lead the guiding intelligence of the dungeon to become isolated and obsessive. But it was what I was stuck with, at least for now. On the plus side, it seemed as though a lot of the actual dungeon running did in fact happen in the background, which at least meant I wouldn't have to micromanage every aspect of my new domain.

With that taken care of, my attention returned to my guest; in addition to their wounds, I could see from the tightly pinched skin that they were dehydrated, and hadn't been able to build up a healthy layer of body fat. Most likely malnourished, and for some while at that. They were going to need sustenance when they awoke, something soft and healthy and comforting.

"Interface, please provide me an appropriate space to prepare a meal for our guest."

Another series of chimes, then another one of these increasingly familiar screens.

[DINING HALL] REQUIRED FOR THE PREPARATION OF FOODSTUFFS. CONSTRUCT [DINING HALL]? YES/NO

I tapped yes with a raised eyebrow, intrigued at what the dungeon might create in response. Instantly the screen changed, showing a map of the grounds. It matched fairly close to the image I had been shown when I first awakened in that dark space; a large rectangular building, surrounded by a series of smaller buildings all connected together by two round, arching walls that came together at a gate, with a wide courtyard in between all of it.

PLEASE SELECT LOCATION FOR [DINING HALL]

As far as I could tell, all of the buildings were basically identical, seven blank square structures arranged in a ring, and no particular space more suited than the others for my purposes, so I simply tapped the room connected to my core chamber, as it was the largest and closest. Again I felt another large drain, as much – if not slightly more – than when I healed the stranger. And it was easy to see why.

Through the open archway looking into the room I could see everything suddenly shift and twist, melting and flowing like water as the back-most quarter of the room pinched itself off with a low wall, dividing it from the rest of the whole. In that space I saw a wide array of crude tools and workstations rise from the ground; a primitive clay oven, long stone countertops with cheap cauldrons, pots, and utensils of simple hammered copper, and a series of fire pits for cooking. The other three quarters of the room resolved into a series of raised stone tables, with long stone benches on the sides of the tables.

Examination of the cooking area showed that there were some basic supplies available – salt and sugar, some peppercorns, rice and beans, some root vegetables and dried herbs, flour, and a hand pump for fresh water. A small pantry indeed, but I can work with that; I've made feasts from less.

And if spending some time making a meal distracted me from thinking too hard about my strange new circumstances, well, no one needed to know about that but me.

* * * * *

When Finn finally came to, it was with a quiet gasp as they suddenly shot up from the mattress. An alarming number of things all competed for his attention, but reasonably enough his first thought was the life-threatening gut wound.

Or rather, the former life-threatening gut wound, because his fingers found nothing but smooth and unblemished skin, and surprisingly clean fur. He couldn't even see a hint of the bloodstain, and all of the pain and radiating heat from the infected wound had completely disappeared.

That was about the time when he realized two very important facts – one, that strange encounter with the odd man had not, in fact, been a fever dream, and two, he had absolutely no idea where he was or why he was on this weird stone bed.

"Where the hell am I?", Finn whispered, his voice apprehensive and soft.

It was something of a rhetorical question course; there was only one place he really could be, and that was somewhere inside the dungeon. The floor and walls were all the same blank gray stone as the outside of the building he'd raced towards. It was surprisingly well lit for being completely enclosed, like there was some sort of hazy glow suspended in the air, the whole room as easy to see as though it were in full sunlight, and yet no light source anywhere he could see. More than that, there were strange sounds filtering into the room, sounds that he quickly realized were coming from an archway leading out, and Finn didn't hesitate – sure, grateful and all to be in one piece, but he sure as hell wasn't sticking around inside the dungeon alone for any longer than he had to!

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

But of course, he couldn't possibly be that lucky, and have things go easy for him. Nearly as soon as he went through and exited that archway he came into a very strange room, part feasting hall and part kitchen – and there was the stranger, stirring an iron pot over a roaring fire, suddenly smiling up at him.

"Fantastic timing, the bread just came out of the oven and the soup's nearly finished."

Finn just stared, incredulous.

"… What?"

* * * * *

I couldn't help but feel rather concerned for my guest – they seemed very confused in general and about me in specific. I wasn't sure if it was because I was a stranger, or if they realized I was a dungeon overseer and awkward about it, or just if they weren't used to people being nice to them.

I hoped it wasn't that last one. Children should never grow up used to the idea of being neglected.

"The bread just came out of the oven, and I'm nearly done with the soup", I repeated for clarity.

I gestured of course towards the various foodstuffs – a lumpy but serviceable dome of buckwheat bread, and a cauldron of soup. The soup wasn't much to speak of, onions and potatoes and lentil beans, but with a little creativity and the culinary alchemy of salt and spice, you get a hearty if not particularly exciting soup, perfect for dipping bread and easy on the stomach after an extended time without a meal.

"I'm afraid I can only offer water to drink at the moment, but it's cold and clean if you're thirsty."

Of course I already had a mug and a bowl ready to go – both made of wood and the same for the soup spoon – and they sat on the countertop, simply waiting to be picked up. I think perhaps we must have stared at each other for a good half a minute before they awkwardly walk over to grab the mug, and slowly filled it at the pump. I took that as an opportunity to start dishing out the soup – it was a hair's breadth away from done by this point, and the residual heat would finish it just fine.

I could feel the eyes on my back, watching; a casual gesture set the bowl and the loaf of bread levitating, and I gestured for them to follow as I made my way to the nearest table and sat, setting the food down across from me; a blatant invitation, which I rather hoped they accepted. They still looked nervous and unsure as they took a seat, staring silently between me and the meal.

"Go ahead. Eat as much as you think you can handle, but don't push yourself. Too much too quickly will upset your stomach if it's been a few days."

For a long moment they just stared, silent, but they weren't by any means the first awkward and reluctant teenager I've ever had to take care of, and I simply returned the look with equal silence and placidity. As expected, their resolve wasn't quite enough to stand up against their hunger, and the silent quickly changed to the cautious sipping of soup and the tearing and chewing of bread. I felt exceptionally pleased, crowing internally at the small but important triumph.

"So, what's your name, child?"

They paused, and I could clearly see from their expression their mind working overtime, a silent debate going on behind narrowed eyes. I simply sat there waiting, content to see where this went. I idly pulled off a little handful of the bread loaf – while I hadn't felt even a twinge of hunger or thirst since I arrived here, there was literally more food than my guest could possibly eat, and fresh buckwheat bread had always been one of my favorite snacks, ever since grandmother first showed me how to make it. I might not need food in my new state, but the taste was comforting and nostalgic, and did wonders for my mental health if not my physical one.

They still seemed reluctant to speak, so perhaps it was time I stepped in to make the conversation a little less awkward.

"Perhaps that question was a little premature. After all, I haven't introduced myself yet either; Zahur ibn Zaim Abd al-Latif Al-Glasrun, at your service, and welcome to my home."

The introduction certainly changed the tenor of the conversation, as my guest's expression shifted from reluctance to incredulity, one eyebrow raised up high.

"… The hell kind of name is that?"

"First of all, rude. And second of all, it's a jackal name."

"What the hell is a jackal?"

"My people. Are there… Are there really no beastkin that look like me?"

My heart fell at that – obviously, even if there were jackals in this new world, they wouldn't really be my people, but at least it would be something familiar. My guest seemed to pick up on my sadness over that, because that incredulous expression softened into something a little kinder.

"Sorry, but I've seen just about every kind of beastkin there is, and I've never seen anything that looks like you. I mean, maybe if you put a foxkin and a rabbitkin together and stretched it, maybe. You're like, almost twice as tall as I am."

Now that at least, I was used to; most jackals absolutely loomed over the other peoples, almost always the tallest person in the room even if they weren't necessarily the biggest. At least that was probably still the same here.

"Are you a Wayfarer?"

A what now?

"Maybe? I know that word but I have no idea what context you're using it in."

The child nodded, looking as if that made perfect sense.

"Like, an adventurer from another world. All sorts of them show up from time to time, usually joining the Explorers Guild to go conquer dungeons. I'm surprised you don't know about it, I mean you've clearly conquered this dungeon, and if you managed to do that without Guild backing you must be kinda badass."

"… I'm not sure exactly what all that means, and while I am something like what you described, I wouldn't say that I have conquered the dungeon so much as been assigned to it."

And now the silence was truly awkward. They just stared, with almost blistering intensity – I imagine time could almost see the smoke rising out of their ears as their brain ground its gears to dust to make sense of my explanation.

"What do you mean, assigned? That doesn't make any sense, who would even assign you to a dungeon in the first place, the Guild manages access to them!"

I shrugged.

"But they aren't the ones who make them though, are they."

"… Make them?"

"The dungeons have to come from somewhere, child. Whatever God or Power it is that manufactures the dungeons fashioned my core and assigned this place to me."

Their eyes went wide, and a little fearful as I watched them make the connections in their head, feeling their way through the implications. I had the distinct impression that my guest hadn't really spent a lot of time pondering exactly where dungeons came from.

"Are you saying all dungeon cores are Wayfarers?!"

Another shrug – I couldn't say it was impossible, and indeed I figured it was more likely than not that most were, but I simply didn't know for sure myself.

"Possibly. But I don't know, it's my first day on the job."

I assumed a little joke would help lighten the mood, but it didn't seem to do anything to dispel the aura of fear and tension clinging to the young ratkin.

"… Is that why you didn't kill me? Because you don't know any better yet?"

I couldn't help it – I snarled, furious as I shot up from my seat, and the child flinched back, fear etched into their features. I forced myself to return to calm, breathing deeply as my fists clenched and relaxed, searching for the words.

"Absolutely not! And I will thank you to never, ever again suggest that I would murder children. That is an insult that I will not stand for, not in my own home!"

I knew my expression was fierce, my glare pointed as I returned to my seat, and my ears twitched as they caught a whisper soft "sorry". I exhaled softly, eyes briefly squeezed shut as I tried to let my aggravation escape – the child was not an acceptable target for my anger. I would not have spoken quite so harshly, nor would I have made such an aggressive approach if my nerves had not already been tried by my confusing new circumstances, but that was not an excuse to behave so poorly.

"… No, you do not need to apologize. I don't appreciate the implication that I would do such a thing, but there's no way for you to know that if that's how most dungeons behave. And in any case, I'm the adult here; it's my responsibility to show maturity and tact when dealing with offense, and it's not yours to placate me when I become upset. I must regretfully ask your forgiveness and forbearance for my outburst."

"… Okay."

Neither of us spoke for quite some time after that. With our conversation thoroughly derailed, we sat in silence for a bit, the young ratkin going back to picking at their meal; they didn't seem to care too much for the buckwheat loaf, so I occupied my time with little bites of bread as I reminisced about days long past.. Five centuries was a long time to live, and an even longer time to recollect, and I don't know for sure how much time I lost daydreaming before I heard their voice again.

"Why did you save me?"

I turned towards them, my expression confused.

"Why wouldn't I save you? You were a child, and you were alone, and you needed me. What a poor and sad creature I would be, if I abandoned a dying child who needed help."

I watched their head down again in silence, and then a moment later I heard the soft sound of sniffling, and I could see that small frame shake. I didn't need to think – I was already out of my seat and wandering around to the other side of the table, a comforting hand on their back as I sat at their side.

"It's okay, you're safe. I know you must've been so scared, and I can only imagine how much that must've hurt, but you're safe and you're okay. It'll be all right, I promise."

They never progressed to full on sobbing, but I could see tears running down their face, feel the tremble in their frame. I didn't say anything more, I simply sat there, silent and supportive as they work through what were no doubt some intense emotions – they survived being nearly murdered by a stab wound, and then had their worldview suddenly rocked by what was to their eyes an intensely weird and eccentric stranger. Of course they would need a moment to decompress.

"... m'name's Finn."

"That's a nice name, Finn. Feeling better?"

They nodded, and looked up at me with utter exhaustion in their eyes.

"I think I would like to go back to sleep now. I'm very tired, please."

"Of course, come along then, we'll get you settled."

I led Finn back the way we came, and helped them get settled back on the stone bed. I watched them collapse back into sleep, and returned my attention to my dungeon interface, summoning the screen once more. No doubt more people would come in Finn's footsteps, and I had a feeling that my dungeon should be in proper working order before I had any more unexpected company.