A thought occurs, “~Although, there is one spot of potential good in among the chaos.~” I narrow my focus up into my canopy, and direct more of my energy into this somewhat private place, “~Dungeons do not advance as quickly as Father does, nor even as I do. And there are many of us working together, with our minds awake to the possibilities. It may be too late to put the genie back in the bottle, but-~”

Alex draws her sabers, and her party jumps up to react to her sudden battle readiness, “You have a {Djinn}?!?”

“(Sorry. That’s my fault. I have memories from before this and sometimes they spill out in idioms from me or through my children. Though I must say, based on your reaction, I simply must hear more about them. Though to finish up my son’s thought: We may slip by unnoticed in our outrageous advancement pace, simply by means of expectations. When news hits of a new Divine dungeon, at low Epic rank with a Disease Theme, many will perhaps make a note of it, but then not look for updates for a long while.)”

Alex and her team calm at Father’s assurances, though from the looks they share, only Alex recognized that creature’s name. They think about his deduction before eventually nodding their agreement.

Perhaps in a desire to avoid the obvious, unasked question lingering around the twin Heart Fruits that have been steadily pulsing and their contents, Alex speaks up, “The {Djinn} are a class of monsters that share many characteristics with ghosts, wraiths, poltergeists. Yet unlike those undead, the Djinn live and breathe… in a manner of speaking.”

She squirms in embarrassment, “My family is fabulously wealthy and powerful. That afforded me significant privileges denied to most, but also put a substantial burden on me to succeed. In my combat training as a child, I excelled at swift strikes and reckless aggression.”

She heaves in a big breath and continues, “And so, it was decided that I would be apprenticed to the Dervishes and learn their ways. I would find temperance and grace, or I would perish in their desert lands. It was with them that I first encountered the {Djinn}.”

She distances herself from her party and slowly, smoothly draws her blades again, beginning a dance, “The Djinn are like a storm, a frenzy of wind and teeth and claws. I discovered that it was not the Dervishes that founded their arts. Rather it was their attempt to imitate the speed and ferocity of these nigh-elementals. From them I learned to control my fury, lest I run myself through on an obvious counter.”

As her dance picks up speed, she adds in her magic and with it, flashes and blades of light join her, “The Djinn I fought against, trained upon, where merely the lowest caste however. Mere wind, or sand alongside their occasional swipes with fang and claw. I was told of other, older Djinn, stronger Djinn that instead of enveloping a person or a tightly grouped squad, could blanket a caravan, a city. I didn’t believe their stories of a creature that massive.”

She suddenly comes to a stop, sweat dripping from her brow despite the short demonstration, “Until an Old One passed over our small party as I was being brought back home. When I first saw them, I thought they were merely a sandstorm, they stretched from dune to dune, as far as I could see. The others with me blessed each other with their last rights before leading me in the same, even the Elder Legend among us wasn’t exempt.”

She sheathes her weapons and walks into Garn’s embrace, “They told me I would need to conserve my strength, and fight for as long as I could. To never pause, never falter, to recover from every mistake and not repeat it. I was given tonics and potions to allow me to keep fighting beyond my newly Awoken limits.

“The last thing the Elder told me before the storm was upon us: ‘This is a good omen. Should you survive this Rite, you will truly be one of us. Welcomed by all our people by the Mark of Passage,’ and he showed me a scar on the back of his neck. Then he laughed with maddening joy and sprinted into the oncoming wall of sand.”

Holding tight to Garn’s larger form, her voice is quieter, though easy to hear in this empty clearing in the sky, “I never saw any of them again. Supposedly, they all survived and the younger among them, my peers, were recognized as adults in their tribe afterward. For me, it was endless terror. Time passes strangely when you’re nearly deafened and blinded by sand. Constantly having to move and swing your blades because whenever you pause, another unseen claw slashes you.”

She shifts her armor and tunic around to showcase mirrored swaths of scar tissue across the back sides of her neck, “Eventually, those that survive their first Passage, simply cannot endure anymore. You collapse, utterly spent. It is only then that the creature appears in truth. They say, that if your body has even the slightest ounce of strength remaining, when Passage has his teeth sunken into your neck, instead of letting go, he’ll bite through. I don’t know how true that is, but I know I had nothing left. Nothing but tears and sorrow in the face of death.”

She takes an easy breath in and out, “Now, I can face it calmly. Because I always push myself to my absolute limits when protecting those in my charge. When next I face death, it will not be without having done everything in my power in the pursuit of victory, whatever that may be.”

After hearing her story there is a whisper in the wind, a rumble in the earth, I hear approval from my big sister’s newest child and pass it on, “~They could feel that resolve in you and they approve. Unclean isn’t meant to be an encounter to be beaten. They are a test of resourcefulness and wit, not one meant to be fought directly. Only by everyone giving it there all could you have earned their respect.~”

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Sid has been scowling in deep thought when he has a revelation, “Passage! I knew that sounded familiar. The {Djinn} didn’t bring anything to mind, but I remember reading about Passage. They are a Wild Dungeon that roams through that desert. I remember reading they had advanced beyond Leviathan, though if the guild recorded what that was, it was above my pay grade at the time.”

“(If the {Djinn} are such a rare or regional locked creature, it seems likely that Passage was the first of their kind. Progenitors have a near monopoly on new species unless we release the patent to the {Monsterpedia}. Hmm. If at all possible, do you think you would be willing to try to set up a trade on my behalf? I’m sure I have something wor-)”

Father’s voice cuts off and his local presence vanishes. Soon after a shriek of rage reaches the humans as Ruth’Moor begins tearing her way out of my canopy. Father asks me to slow her, to stall her as he tries to speak with her and so I oblige. Using my vast volume and plentiful branches, I’m able to hold back the only semi-Legendary body of the bereaved Mu’Reign.

My attention is drawn to the location of one of their delving parties only by how concentrated Father’s presence is in that place. Most of him had been there since before the humans had reached the peak. My split focus brought back to present company by Alex’s shouted, “LIFE! What’s going on? Both of you left with that scream, but I know you still hear me.”

“~Apologies. Ruth’Moor is only just now learning that one of her offspring is dying. Father has directed me to stop her from destroying herself with a suicidal dive into the canopy below.~”

She pales at my message and looks away, a brief flash of shame juxtaposed against her ready check of her equipment. Though after a moment she looks sharply back up at the core, “What do you mean ‘now learning’?”

As I continue to struggle to carefully restrain the thrashing body above, I feel the thunderous charging of her true Godhood as it crashes through the forest. I do my best to bend and tend the trees out of the way of something they cannot hope to actually stop. I make sure that Father knows about it before addressing the question asked of me, “~Father watches all the delves within him, at least part of him does.~”

The body caught in my vines stops fighting back as more of Ruth’Moor’s magic is channeled into the war beast below. Father continues to try and speak with her, but to no avail it seems, “~Before you arrived, he recognized the signs of acute Mana Toxicity in one of the Sleeping Mu’Reign being guided through his |Forest of Dreams|. The individual would seem to be a direct descendant of hers.~”

I see the impulse to help surge through the holy dervish, “Mana Toxicity can be treated. I know the Mu’Reign brought several healers along with them, I can lend my assistance if it will help.”

Garn places a heavy hand on her shoulder, drawing her attention to him. He shakes his head slowly, “Too late. We’ve been here too long already.”

I see the moment when the realization dawns on her. She goes through a kaleidoscope of emotions before turning back to me, to us, “Why? Why didn’t you help them?”

I take a breath to explain when Wildfire speaks up, “Because they made their choice. Right, Life? DNA is the type to allow someone to try, even if he knows they will fail, just in case they surprise him, surprise themselves. The Ultimate Challenge.”

My prior words withdrawn and instead become a murmur of assent, “~As we’ve said before: Dungeons don’t advance as fast as he has. Our progress has not been without risks. Without sacrifice. He has pushed through impossible odds before, and as such, will not deny others the right to attempt the same. You are free to think me callous with my calm speech on these matters, but Father is moved by moments such as these among your kind.~”

With a creaking groan, I twist and shift my trunk and crown, “~I have a different perspective. Being privy to far more instances of life and death and without Father’s prior attachment to people, it all sort of blends together for me. I did not know them and so… I cannot bring myself to mourn their passage anymore than the mice and birds and bushes crushed and torn apart underfoot.~”

Alex has gathered herself together and united the party with Bond’s network once more, “What’s your plan with the guild scouts?”

I breeze my confusion pass them, “~I’ve already told you. Their pods were granted as a reward to you.~” I allow a tint of mirth to chuckle in the wind, “~While we are aware it would likely be better if they were to not report back. The next decision has been laid at your feet. Should you believe that they cannot be permitted to return, and the previous interaction where they died at Thing’s {Nightmare Hollow} claws is the story to push… We would be willing to dispose of them, if you find yourselves unable to do so.~”

When she blanches again and their network shines brightly with their communication, despite the seemingly united front they present, the chuckle returns with a darker tint to it, courtesy of Thing, “Our limited empathy can be an asset, should the need arise. We are content with our experiments on body augmentation in vitro. Their prior donation at the temples of avarice and ignorance have brought a wealth of knowledge. That is enough for us.”

Despite the activity between them, they keep to an impressive level of stoicism before Bond is the one to finally break the silence, “No, we can’t. Not us, and not them. Period. If they send a squad to suppress this place, DNA will either have to be strong enough to have them summon someone that can Judge him, or… that’s that.”

Even after his outburst, the unspoken conversation continues without him for a few moments longer before Wildfire walks over to him, “We agree with you. Truly we do, but these things have to be said, to be considered. However, there is something you’re forgetting. Sure, it can’t be us, and not either of them too. But there is another. One with a solution that we’ve already tested. One that owes us. Cutest.”

Over the next few minutes the humans resolve to have Cutest seal memories away under a similar {Contract} to their own, though different memories from her appearance. They seek to have a Gaes wrought upon the ratkin, to fulfill a {Quest} to attempt to establish a trade with Passage. Overall, a worthwhile labor for those that were given new life that they had not earned.

I feel a faint echo twinge through the ball of living, writhing, crystalline insects that Ruth’Moor’s bartered Godhood has been reduced to. Consolidated with her explosive rebirth below a while ago, when the form held in my branches rapidly withered away to dust.

Despite my earlier boast of neutrality and apathy, I am pleased that the young girl survived, or at least the most significant piece of her did. For some reason, as Cutest and I watch over young Moth’Her’s new and now sleeping form; As it lays hidden away, deep in the Barrow, I find myself smiling.