We appear in a grove surrounded by trees with a high canopy, though beams of light stream through, creating an ethereal feel as it reflects off frost. The air smells of snow, wet earth, and moss. The entire place has the reverential, heavy stillness of an ancient tomb. Even the hum of hidden insects and the quiet song of distant birds feel muted and distant.

I find myself holding my breath as I stare at the massive, gleaming black skull in front of me. It’s not quite as large as I expected, certainly nowhere near the size of the creature that apparently makes up Dragon’s Pass, but the skull alone is the size of a sixteen-wheeler. Its jaw is clamped closed and its body is stretched out through the wide grove, its skull resting on the remains of front claws.

Trees have grown up around it, and parts of its skeleton are covered with alpine moss. Early spring grass grows between the bones where flesh once was, casting the outline of wings via patches of white flowers that poke up through the light dusting of snow that made it through the tree branches. It feels old and new at the same time, a juxtaposition that brings goosebumps to my arms and a shiver down my spine.

I release Tyrus’s hand and step forward, almost mesmerized. The skeleton seems to hum and, for the first time in a while, I notice a gleam: faint but almost gold light glimmers around the bones.

Reaching out, I gently brush my fingertips to the nose of it. Something like electricity strikes through me—not painfully, but enough to notice—and an almost metallic taste bites the back of my throat.

“Careful,” Meg whispers from behind me.

“It’s okay.” I press my hand flat over the smooth bone. I look up into the empty eye socket outlined by frost and shimmering blue ice lichen. “It’s just a little magic.”

I’m not sure how I know that, but the sensation against my skin feels familiar, as if I’ve experienced it before. Maybe it’s something I subconsciously gleaned from spending time in the safe room. Or maybe I’m becoming more attuned to my own [Essence], a side effect of taking on magical skills.

“Where do we think we are?” Jonas’s voice is a hush as he stares with the others.

Flynt has broken away and is walking down the length of the skeleton, around the wings and toward the tail, the end of which disappears into the trees. His expression is knit and focused, his eyes slightly narrowed as he studies it: the arching spine held aloft all these centuries by thick ribs that press deep into the soft dirt of the forest floor. I realize then that the fact it’s slowly being reclaimed by nature makes it feel smaller than it really is.

“We’ve traveled a ways,” Flynt says, glancing away from the creature toward Jonas. “I can feel it in the back of my throat. That was some powerful transportation magic, more powerful than the spider cave.”

I pull up my [Map] and it’s actually helpful. There’s still a lot of [Fog of War] effect going on, but I can see where we are relative to where we were. The ruins are partly explored, lightly illuminated a little more than a mile northwest of us. The road is about two miles to the southeast down the mountain, and when I zoom out more, I can see the Crossroads Inn in the far distance to the south.

“We want to go this way,” Meg says before I can volunteer any information. She points in the correct direction, to the southeast. “I think we’re clear of the ruins.”

“What makes you think that?” Flynt asks.

“The trees are different and it’s not as rocky. We’re not at as high an altitude, so if we edge this way down the mountain, we should eventually hit the road back south.”

“I don’t feel the necromantic energy the same way, either,” Jonas says with a nod. “I’m still aware of it from that direction…” He gestures to the north and up the mountain slope. “But it’s nowhere near as heavy as it’s been. It’s a nice relief.”

“I love these Cult of Zendriel teleportation gates,” Tyrus murmurs, though even he is distracted by the skeleton. “It’s sure helping us escape some challenging scenarios. First the spiders, now a necromancer… feels almost like we’re being looked after.”

“Or we’re just getting lucky,” Flynt says.

Tyrus glances at him. “That feels more like my line. Doesn’t sound much like you—you alright?”

Flynt frowns and shrugs slightly, rubbing a hand back through his hair. He glances at me and draws a deep breath, sighing it out.

“I’m tired. I don’t have the capacity to marvel at the magic right now.”

“Fair enough,” Meg agrees. “It’s been a long few days to say the least.”

“What do you think, Meg?” I ask. “Do we have time to take a breath, or should we get down to it?”

“As much as I want to stay, I’m not sure how much longer that safe room is going to remain hidden. And if this necromancer has been searching for the Stone, chances are she’s going to be familiar with Cult of Zendriel magic.”

“Stands to reason,” Tyrus agrees. “They’ve been pretty tied together haven’t they?”

She nods. “Seems to be. If she finds the room, it won’t take her long to find this grove.”

“I doubt she’ll be able to bring her minions into the safe room,” Jonas says.

“Probably not, but we don’t have a good sense of her power or reserves, she might have other ways of calling them to her. At the very least, I know we’re tired. Besides. It’ll be evening soon, and we don’t want to face off with them in the moonlight given how spent we all are. So let’s get this done.”

As she says this, Meg approaches the skeleton. She glances at me before she presses a hand to the side of its skull. She closes her eyes, briefly. I swear a light hum resonates from the old bones; I can’t help but imagine them reacting to her reverence. Her eyes open and she looks across the skull, meeting my gaze.

“You were right,” she whispers to me. “I’m glad we found this place.”

I just nod. Anything more than that, for some reason, doesn’t feel right.

“Okay, that letter suggested the Stone may be nearby,” she says. “Let’s spread out and see if there’s anything to find. I don’t want to spend too much time—every moment is one more she has to find us—but we have to give it a shot. Flynt, do you have enough Essence to cast a magic location spell?”

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“I can try,” he says. “It may be a little difficult with the dragon bones. They give off their own Essence signature.”

“Understood. Let’s give it a shot though. We don’t want to have come all this way only to leave it among some rocks.”

He nods and steps back toward where we teleported in. In the dirt he draws a small circle, followed by several runic-looking designs outside it, spaced at careful intervals. Once done, he carefully steps within its boundaries.

Crouching low, he murmurs something. It’s not quite a chant, but it’s close, though his words are too soft to really register. Then, he touches the circle. From my perspective, nothing seems to happen, but when he blinks, his eyes have a slight otherworldly gleam to them.

Standing, Flynt slowly makes a circuit of the glade, his gaze sweeping over the dragon and the area surrounding it, peering into the trees, and under the bones. It lasts probably about ten minutes, the rest of us alternating between doing our own search and watching Flynt’s methodical process. Finally he blinks, wiping at his eyes, pinching them closed as if he’s fighting a headache. He looks back to us and shakes his head.

“Nothing but the skeleton. Even a good ways into the dirt.”

Meg sighs. “Shit. It seemed like a good lead.” She glances over at me in sympathy. “That feels like it, then.”

I nod grimly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Not every hunch pays off.” She looks around at the rest of us. “We ready?”

“Have been,” Jonas says, softly. “Sorry, Keira.”

I nod grimly and Meg leads us away, stepping carefully over bones and to the edge of the grove, peering into the trees. The way looks clear and peaceful, at least from this angle, and we all fall in behind her. I take the back as usual.

The calm slowly melts away as we wind through the dense trees, bringing with it the feeling of a living, moving woods. It’s a stark contrast, not just to the dragon’s glade, but to the ruins and catacombs, too. It feels like we’re free of immediate death for the first time in a while.

That’s when I notice the alerts at the bottom of my vision. The first one that grabs my attention is the medal icon.

> [WELCOME TO LEVEL FIVE]

When did that happen? I knew the undead fighting experience was paying off but, thinking back, I can’t remember what triggered it. I don’t think it was the giant. I feel like I would have noticed it earlier. Maybe it was something associated with the dragon?

There are a whole bunch of achievement notifications stacked up as well, which is similarly surprising. I’m used to them being a lot more obvious when they’re triggered.

> [SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT: LET DEAD THINGS LIE. You’ve discovered something that was never meant to be found. Now keep it close.]

> [ACHIEVEMENT: WHAMMY. You’ve survived a charm effect without taking any damage.]

> [SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT: SILENT PASSENGER. You discovered something you don’t remember. You won’t even remember reading these.]

> [SPECIAL ACHIEVEMENT: DUMB LUCK. Or is it? A seemingly impossible quest condition has been met. Are you just this good—or did it want to be found?]

There’s a feeling of static as the [Achievements] window closes and I shake my head to clear it. I’m definitely more tired than I thought, which is less than ideal. It’s a long way back to Oosal, and Meg seems determined to break a record given how quickly she’s navigating through these trees.

As we venture farther from the glade, I pull up my [Quest Log] just out of curiosity of what it has to say for itself. I frown at the notation under the [STONE OF YLAURA] banner.

> [QUEST: STONE OF YLAURA. Don’t let it get away.]

What does that even mean? Had we been closing in?

I look back over my shoulder toward where we left the dragon in its eternal rest. Sorry, [Quest Log], there’s no way I can convince them to go back. If the Stone is there, it didn’t want to be found. We did everything we could. Right?

Looking back, I don’t see my party for a moment, and my heart jumps into my throat as I realize just how far I’ve fallen behind. Rushing to catch back up, I’m surprised to find Flynt has paused briefly, waiting for me, and together we make up the rest of the ground. He walks with me the remains of the day, but he’s silent as the miles tick by—though, we all are, our tension high as we stay alert, waiting for any sign we’re being followed, especially as the evening creeps in.

We push through in the darkness and make it past the Crossroads, pausing only briefly at the inn there to make sure they heard about the mountain goblin massacre up the road; word apparently had gotten back, along with descriptions of us, and this was enough to warrant a meal on the house, apparently. The food was terrible, but it was warm, and none of us had eaten since morning.

We don't talk over the meal, and wordlessly agree to push on to one of the campsites between the inn and the canyon.

It’s windy and cold, but it’s as far as we can get from where we last saw the necromancer and her undead before we start to risk dropping from exhaustion. Besides, none of us want to venture through the narrow canyon in the dark. Even Meg is ready to stop, the adrenaline having long ago worn away. It’s so bad, my bag is beginning to feel heavy, despite the fact that I know it’s ostensibly empty.

We set up camp quickly, the process feeling almost mechanical at this point, and I again volunteer to take the first watch. Honestly, I just feel terrible about everything I’ve put them through, and I vow to keep watch as long as I can.

The fire starts to burn low and I feed more wood into it before settling back on a log arranged near the pit by whoever originally built this site. I nestle deeper into my cloak against the chill and let my thoughts wander, chewing through the circumstances without a clear puzzle I’m trying to solve. It’s not something I really like to do these days. My aimless thoughts always tend to focus in on things I don’t want to think about: my weird situation, questions about home, worries that I’m doing this all wrong.

It’s been weeks, and I still feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m building skills, technically, I can see my progress right there in the [Interface], but for every step forward I take, part of me can’t help but feel like I’m that much more lost. Am I really that much further along than I was my first day here?

But that could just be the defeat talking.

A hand rests on my shoulder and squeezes as Flynt’s familiar weight settles next to me on the log.

“It’s my turn,” he says, voice low—the first words he’s spoken specifically to me since we found the safe room. He leans lightly into me, my shoulder pressing into his arm. My throat tightens as I realize just how much his silence has really been bothering me. Or maybe I’m just tired. Maybe both.

“Let me go a little longer.”

“You’re exhausted.”

“We all are.” My voice is tight.

I clear my throat and try to swallow past it. It feels like everything is finally catching up to me, as if reality is settling in. I guess it took long enough. All I want to do right now is have a good cry, but I really don’t want to do it in front of anyone. Especially not in front of Flynt. He’ll think it’s just about the Stone, about my recent choices, and honestly, that’s the least of it.

“Keira.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmur. “I was so sure.”

He’s silent again for a long beat, but he doesn’t pull away, just lets us sit there with it. I don’t know if he’s thinking about how to respond, or if he’s giving me the chance to get some control over myself. Either way, I appreciate it.

“I know you were,” he says, finally. He keeps his tone low, eyes downcast into the fire in front of us—or maybe toward the road beyond it. “I’m sorry, too.”

“For what?”

“Acting like a child. It… scared me. I didn’t react well. I’m sorry.”

I glance up at him. His profile is tense, a cringe creasing his eyes and nose. “Forgiven.” I still don’t really think I did anything wrong, but there’s no reason to argue about it. “I don’t like not talking.”

“No. I don’t either. I just… didn’t know what to say.”

“I understand.” I don’t, but it feels like the right response.

We sit in silence again, but the tension has evaporated, taking on that companionable feel I’ve come to associate with him. I want to stay awake, but my eyes are heavy and I find myself nodding off. He grumbles at me and all but pushes me to my feet. I pat his shoulder, muttering a goodnight before I make for the tent behind us.

Climbing into my bedroll, I shove my bag into its place under my pillow. It feels weirdly lumpy, but it has to be my imagination.

I fall almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Within, there’s a cold void of ice. The wind whips around me as I stand in the center of it. Words begin to emerge, and I understand them to be coming from the void itself. It speaks to me with a deep, hushed, otherworldly voice, and the sound of it glows pale blue-green against the icy white.

“Bring it to me, Keira. I’m waiting for you.”