Calcannis Illudere hummed tunelessly as he led Audit Team Six down the hallway toward the break room where all the other teams waited. Soon, they would take a portal to a posh resort on Sandalia for the Department of Universal Dungeon Efficiency’s annual retreat, the first one to be held since Team Six was formed.

But not everyone on his team was looking forward to it.

“What are you so happy about, Cal?” Gwen said. She crossed her arms and scowled as she stomped down the hallway beside him. “The other teams all hate us for being dungeon raiders. This weekend’s going to be a disaster.” She huffed, blowing a lock of black hair away from her sapphire blue eyes.

Even Gwenivere Copperblade’s pessimism couldn’t erase Cal’s cheer. Besides, her stomping was rendered comical by the fact that her footsteps were silent, thanks to sleek black magic boots that matched the rest of her leather armor.

“We are former dungeon raiders,” he reminded her. “You’re a rogue turned structural engineer. I’m a mage turned accountant. We are now dedicated to protecting the Tree of Souls like the rest of the Department. The other teams just need a chance to get to know us.”

Helga, their interior designer, chimed in from behind them. “Aye, they should be grateful we’re on their side. They may have died to become dungeon cores, but we’ve made sacrifices of our own. We’ve left our lives behind. Some of us have even been rejected by our families. We deserve their respect, not their snide remarks!” The halfling barbarian’s high-pitched voice thrummed with anger as she built up a head of steam.

Cal turned around, walking backward to try calming her before she turned into a tiny wrecking ball. They couldn’t afford any more structural damage deductions on their paychecks. Helga’s face was flushed, and she gripped her blonde braids with white-knuckled hands. Everything about Helga screamed fierce warrior—hardened leather and chainmail armor, knee-high armored boots and gloves—except for her height. The halfling only came up to Cal’s stomach, even astride Hurricane, her battle goat. His cloven hooves clopped softly on the beige industrial carpet squares that covered the hallway.

Cal held out a placating hand. “You’re right, but we have to earn that respect. We’re the newest team, and we’re the only DUDE employees who aren’t dungeon cores. We all used to plunder dungeons for their Apothos. Can you blame them for being a little standoffish?”

Helga’s eyes went even wider, and a smirk appeared on Gwen’s face. The structural engineer was always entertained by the barbarian’s righteous tantrums, but they didn’t have time for it just now. They were already late for the retreat.

Before Cal could say anything else to calm the halfling down, he walked backward into a wall that shouldn’t have been there. Hurricane clattered out of the way as Cal rebounded, tumbling onto the carpet, accompanied by a chorus of giggles from Gwen and Helga.

Cal rubbed his sore elbow and rolled over to stare up at a massive obstruction of green flesh and plate armor that nearly reached the ceiling. Sir Kronke the Charming, their troll paladin, towered over him like a hopeful, if dim, mountain. He was their tank, their trap springer, and someone who enjoyed getting hurt a little more than he probably should. And, probably due to his worship of a deity called Keyblarr the Baker, he always smelled faintly of freshly baked cookies.

“Perfect timing, Kronke,” Gwen said, still smirking.

The troll frowned down at Cal. “Why Cal on floor?” Kronke reached down with two fingers and effortlessly pulled Cal to his feet.

“It wasn’t intentional,” Cal replied as he brushed himself off and straightened his satchel. They’d reached an intersection in the long hallway. “Why are you heading toward the offices? We’re supposed to meet everyone in the break room.”

Kronke blinked once or twice, and Cal waited patiently. Sometimes, the paladin took a bit to process questions. Finally, he answered, “Got message. Team go boss office.”

“Now?” Helga grumbled.

“Let’s just ignore him,” Gwen suggested. “We’re off work and headed for a retreat. He has no business interfering with that.”

Kronke’s forehead furrowed as he pulled a scrap of paper from his belt pouch and examined it. “Red ink. Urgent. From boss.” He eyed Cal and corrected himself. “From boss boss.”

Cal sighed. “We’d better go, although I see no reason he couldn’t simply talk to us at the retreat. He’ll be there, too.”

“Ugh.” Gwen rolled her eyes. “I was trying to ignore that fact.”

“Let’s just see what he wants.” Cal led the way toward their manager’s office, taking a shortcut through a maze of brown cubicles. The chairs and desks were set up to accommodate a wide variety of body types, since the other audit teams had taken monstrous form when they became dungeon cores. Some were still bipedal, but even those came in a terrifying array of sizes and configurations. All the better for protecting the Tree of Souls.

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Worlds hung like fruit from branches of the tree, connected by one or more Celestial Nodes that fed the worlds with Apothos, the source of vitality and magic. Without a dungeon to protect the node, it would quickly be drained of Apothos by eager dungeoneers.

The final node connecting a world to the Tree of Souls was especially critical. Known as a Heart Dungeons, it was highly sought after by the most powerful dungeoneers looking to ascend to a higher tier. And draining one dealt a final death blow to that world.

Some dungeoneers didn’t know any better. They thought dungeon cores were evil monsters that required eradication, plain and simple. Ironically, one of the ways that dungeons protected themselves and their nodes was to appear as terrible and wicked as possible to frighten away raiders.

But the hard truth was, many dungeoneers knew a dungeon’s true purpose and didn’t care. Power was their ultimate goal, and there was always some justification in their mind for what they did. There were plenty of worlds in the multiverse—what was one more dead one? It was just survival of the fittest.

Not every dungeon core was in charge of protecting a node. Some were instructors at the famed dungeon academies like Shadowcroft, and others fulfilled the usual roles necessary for a functioning society, even bureaucrats and accountants. Or, like Cal, a bureaucratic accountant. Well, accounting clerk, to be more precise. He hadn’t achieved full accountant yet.

Cal shifted the messenger bag slung over his shoulder. In addition to the paperwork he always carried, it was packed with clothes and toiletries. “Backpacks are so much more convenient. I don’t know why you insisted I carry this thing, Helga.”

The halfling eyed him up and down. “Backpacks don’t let yer robes hang properly. Those robes proclaim your role as our leader and accountant as well as yer ability with illusion magic. The messenger bag is proper for the aesthetic.” The tiny barbarian took design very seriously. She was responsible for evaluating the visual themes of the dungeons they visited. Theme was a critical element for drawing in the dungeoneers and manipulating their fears and preconceptions.

“Practicality should trump looks,” Gwen argued. “Besides, he’s just a clerk.”

“Backpack carry more cookies,” Kronke added sagely. “More cookies better.”

“Nonsense!” the halfling retorted, gesturing wildly in the air. “Every accessory should—”

Hurricane interrupted her rant, swerving into a group of cubicles and seizing a stack of papers to chew on. She tugged on his bridle, but he ignored her. “Stop eating their TAP reports, ye daft goat. It’s only fair game if it’s already in the trash can!”

The Department of Universal Dungeon Efficiency aided dungeons by evaluating the use of Apothos in constructing their deadly dungeons, to ensure each dungeon was as efficient and effective as possible. Auditors produced Total Apothos Potential reports, highlighting issues and recommending corrective actions.

And Hurricane had a taste for them.

With a little help from Kronke, the barbarian finally guided the stubborn goat away from the papers and turned to Cal. “What do ye think this meetin’s all about?”

Cal shrugged. “Maybe he finally read our TAP report on Ramsey the Dragon. We did an excellent job on that one, and we marked it urgent. Maybe he wants to thank us for saving such an important dungeon.” Hope swelled in Cal’s chest. Finally, they’d get some recognition and maybe a little respect from their fellow auditors. It would be nice to feel like they were really contributing to DUDE’s mission.

With a bounce in his step, he turned the corner and led them down a hallway lined with office doors with bronze plaques on them.

“Ramsey was a total mess,” Gwen said. “A gardening dungeon? Seriously?”

“Aye, he was vulnerable and in charge of a critical node,” Helga said. “It’s been days since we submitted it. If they did nae read our report and act quickly enough…” The halfling trailed off, shaking her head. Worry painted itself across her face.

Cal patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s just see what the Weavelord wants. I’m sure everything’s fine.”

Maybe it would be better than fine. He’d been feeling good since the audit of Ramsey the Dragon. Standing in the inner sanctum, he’d felt a faint wisp of extra Apothos filling him.

Absorbing even a tiny amount of Apothos had been a shock, and a tantalizing hint that he might be able to improve himself even though he’d left the dungeoneering way of life behind when he’d committed himself to protecting the Tree of Souls. Draining Apothos was the way of the dungeon raider, and he’d never expected to absorb Apothos again. Never expected to advance in power. And that was okay. He hadn’t gone into accounting for personal power. His job was to save the universe one piece of data at a time.

Cal hadn’t shared his experience with the team yet. He’d never heard of an auditor gaining power after an audit, and he wanted to research it further before broaching the topic. But maybe Ramsey had felt it and mentioned something to their boss. Their manager was one of the skeptics who didn’t think the ex-dungeoneers should have ever been given a chance to join DUDE. If Cal had discovered a way to become more powerful through auditing, the Weavelord would finally have to admit they were a valuable part of the Department.

Cal stopped outside of their boss’s office and turned to his team. He raised an eyebrow at Helga. “Don’t let Hurricane eat anything in there. Last time was not fun.”

The goat bleated at him, somehow sounding defensive. Helga gripped the battle goat’s reins in a tight fist, her forearms flexing. “I’ve got him completely under control.”

Kronke gave Cal an enthusiastic nod. “Turn doorknob. Go inside. Might be cookies.”

Gwen scowled, her arms crossed. “I’ve got bad news for you, Kronke. There won’t be any cookies.”

The troll sighed. “Kronke love cookies. They blessing from Keyblarr, Baker of the Universe.” The smell of cookies coming from the paladin suddenly grew stronger.

Cal rolled his eyes at Gwen’s pessimism. “Alright, let’s have a quick chat with the Weavelord then grab our snacks from the break room fridge. We don’t want to be late for the retreat.”

The Weavelord bellowed, “Mr. Illudere! Get in here!”

Cal nearly jumped out of his boots. Their boss didn’t sound happy. What was going on? Swallowing the nerves starting to threaten his good mood, he squared his shoulders, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.