The stone door reveals a cave-like chamber that looks partially natural and partially hollowed out—maybe by hand, maybe by magic, it’s hard to say (probably magic).

There are tunnels that go deeper into the mountain, two to the right that seem to descend and one to the left side of the chamber that angles upward. Cold air sweeps down from that one.

Even with the door pushed partly to the side, it’s dark enough that my vision is in grayscale, and Meg twirls the torch off her belt, presenting it toward Flynt who lights it with a touch of his index finger.

Warm light blazes, and we startle at the mound of small mountain goblin bodies against the far wall—I recognize them from my Monsters of Southern Qeth book, and they look a lot more like what I expect a goblin to look like: at least, they would if they weren't desiccated. I wonder why they desiccated rather than dissolved the way other monsters seem to, but I dismiss the thought and I nock an arrow, pulling it to the ready as Meg unsheathes her sword again.

Jonas slowly approaches, and crouches near the pile, shaking his head. “They’ve been here a long time. They’re dry—just this side of dust.”

Meg peers around the space “That doesn’t mean that can’t change.” Her voice echoes slightly. Wind blows down the left hand tunnel again, causing a low moaning sound that freezes us all in place. I’m glad not to be the only one on edge. “May be why they’re still here… Necromancy can surprise you.”

Jonas shakes his head. “Why are we doing this again?”

“Big promises,” I whisper back, the hair prickling at the back of my neck. “From secret people.”

“Oh, that’s right.”

We fall silent, each remaining where we stand for a long beat as we wait for something to happen.

Nothing does. The wind dies down, then picks up again, then dies, almost like the mountain is breathing: in and out, soft moans occasionally accompanying it.

“Okay,” Flynt says, nodding once. “I think it’s fine, for now.” I notice how warily he eyes the little goblin bodies. “What did that?”

Jonas shakes his head. “Hard to tell.”

He reaches out and touches one. Whatever residual tension held the bones in place dissipates and the skeleton crumples into its component parts, dry skin and tendons dissolving to dust like remains in the Temple of Doom. It sends creepy goosebumps over my skin and I shudder slightly. I ease the tension on my bow but keep the arrow nocked as I slowly walk a ring around the chamber, my attention focused on my surroundings. I don’t trust it.

I’m proved right as something catches my eye in front of the second right opening, and it’s my turn to crouch, examining the slight gleam in the dirt floor and another at the top of the rough archway.

“Tyrus.” I keep my voice low as I inspect it. “You’re better at this than I am, but this looks like some kind of trap, don’t you think?”

He slowly, deliberately crosses the space toward me, and he crouches in front of where I gesture, frowning.

“I’ve never seen something like it,” he says. He takes one of his daggers out of its sheath at his back and reaches forward with it—but then pauses, shaking his head. “Nope. Not a good idea. You think you could shoot it?”

I cock my head, sighting both gleams easily now that I know where they are, and then shrug. “Should be easy enough. You think we need the distance?”

“I’d feel better about it. It looks like whatever it is runs a cross section across this opening.” He motions top to bottom, the left to right almost exactly in the middle of the doorway’s height. “It’s definitely set to go off if anything breaks either plane and I don’t know what that’ll look like. Could magically create a cave in.”

“It could quarter you,” Meg supplies, frowning from where she stand several paces back. Both Flynt and Jonas watch from the goblin pile. They haven’t moved either.

Tyrus points affirmatively at her. “Exactly.”

“Do you think the other team put it here?” I ask, backing off slowly, watching my step, Spidey-senses tingling. Dread has taken root in my chest. It’s the closest thing I’ve felt to a panic attack since I’ve gotten here—but unlike what used to happened back home, at least there’s a reason for it. It’s one thing I don’t miss about my real life: the senseless anxiety. Here, at least there’s a discernible source.

“Maybe.” Flynt’s voice is similarly low behind us. “Or maybe it’s from whatever has kept them from answering Nyssa.”

“Nyssa,” Meg murmurs. “We should send a message once we deal with this.”

I nod, now a good thirty feet away from that trap, almost halfway across the room. I debate going farther, but I’m worried I’ll lose my clear sight of it in the low light.

I draw my bow and aim high, directly at the gleam on top of the rustic archway. I figure that has the least chance of crossing the plane; the lower one could cast up dust, and who knows what will set it off. But if someone took the time to trap it, it’s a good bet that’s where we want to go down, and I’d rather not risk some kind of cave in.

“Careful, Elf Eyes,” Tyrus says.

“Shut up, Dwarf Beard,” I mutter, soliciting a slight chuckle, and I loose my arrow.

It hits its mark with nothing but a quiet ting and everyone almost immediately exhales. I shake my head. That was too easy. I draw another one, following a similar process: nock, draw, sight, and loose, hitting the gleam on the left hand side of the doorway. There’s another ting then a bright flare of light that burns into my corneas before the doorway clears.

“Think that worked?” Tyrus asks.

“One way to find out.” Meg scopes around the ground before finding a jagged rock. She throws it like a softball pitcher through the doorway to no effect. “Seems good, I think.”

“I can’t see the other glimmers anymore,” I say, shaking my head. “I think that’s as sure as we can be before we go through it.”

“If it’s trapped, it must be the way we want, right?” Jonas asks.

Tyrus nods. “That would make sense.”

I slowly retract my steps. “Glad we’re all on the same page. Jonas, you have any healing left?”

“Not a lot.”

“Okay.” I inspect the doorway. Everything seems okay. “Maybe, to be safe, we investigate the rest of the room and wait a little bit before going in.”

Flynt nods. “That seems more than reasonable.” He glances at Meg, who agrees. “Jonas, Meg, you stay put. We have the best vision in low light like this, we’ll do the scouting.”

It takes maybe ten minutes to feel confident that we’ve cleared the place. We light another torch, stick it in the ground, and Meg and Tyrus ease the door mostly closed. This seems to stop the wind tunnel and settles the cavern in a not quite comfortable silence.

I pull out the book Nyssa gave us and my quill pen, handing both toward Meg and Flynt. “Which one of you wants to do the honors?”

“You should,” Meg says to me.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “I’m already the caddy. Tyrus is the treasurer. Jonas keeps us alive. One of you gets to be secretary.”

They look at one another. “She’s your pseudo-Aunt,” Meg points out and Flynt sighs, reaching forward to take the book and pen.

“What should I say?”

“I don’t know, why do you think I wanted one of you to take it?” I ask.

He frowns at me, but opens the book. The first page has a ‘Z’ calligraphied on it, and our names carefully written on the bottom in a neat hand, one that matches the letter we each received. At least, matches the one I did—I haven’t seen the others’. Flynt turns to the next page, writes the date, and proceeds to carefully scrawl a note:

> [We made our way to the mountain and discovered a way inside. We have a lead on where they went from here and are preparing to follow deeper into the mountain.]

“You don’t want to say anything about the trap or the ogre?” I ask.

“Should I? I’m not sure how it’s relevant, nor what she can do about it.”

“At the very least it could prepare the next team to come after us,” Jonas says. He has his arms folded over his chest and looks uncomfortable as he sits against the wall. “The ogre is at least unusual enough to be notable.”

Meg nods. “I agree with the sentiment, though maybe not with the pessimism.”

Jonas actually frowns at that. “Sorry. I’m feeling a little out of my element.”

“We all are,” Tyrus agrees, moving to sit down next to him, leaning his knee against Jonas’s leg. “But we’re doing well so far.”

“Are we? I am deep into my healing reserves and we’re barely in the door.”

“That ogre caught us by surprise and hit harder than we’re used to,” Meg says. “It won’t happen again.”

“We can’t be sure of that,” Jonas argues.

“Okay, true. But we’ll rest up. You can drink one of the elixirs if you need to. We were all caught by surprise, Jonas, but we did what we needed to do. We all did. We should be proud of ourselves. Our training seems to be working.”

Flynt nods agreement, though he’s focused on the book.

> [There is evidence of undead in the area. A plagued ogre rushed us from the woods when we were attempting to enter the cave system. Though dispatched, we worry there may be more. We found a trap on one of the passage ways. We disarmed it and plan to follow that passage—the second from the right—once we’re rested and have recovered lost Essence.]

“Anything else?” he asks.

“Love and kisses?” Tyrus grins.

There’s a subtle humming noise from the book and we watch as words begin to materialize on the page, drifting up into the paper as if out of the ether.

> [Appreciate the thorough report. Undead this far from the Black Lake is, indeed, concerning. Remain vigilant and do keep me apprised of your progress. Turn back if you find evidence of additional creatures.]

“That’s helpful,” Jonas sighs.

“What do you expect her to say?” I ask.

“I don’t know. At least a well wish. Don’t die.”

“I think it’s implicit,” Flynt says.

“You know her better than we do,” Tyrus says.

“Why is it that whenever you say something like that it sounds like an accusation?” Flynt raises an eyebrow toward our dwarven compatriot.

“I don’t mean it that way. I’m just trying to figure out what we’ve found ourselves in the middle of, and she knows a lot more than she’s told us.”

“Including me,” Flynt says. “If I knew anything, I would communicate that. You have to trust me.”

“We do,” I say. “It’s Nyssa I think we have questions about. Though I'm not sure what she would be holding back or why.” I glance around and then at Flynt, cocking my head slightly as a question suddenly pops into my head. “Speaking of... there’s something that’s been bothering me.” I cross my legs and lay my bow across my knees as I sit forward.

“I just like to help, Keira,” he says. “I didn’t—”

“No, not that, I’ve come to accept your strange altruism streak. My question is, who’s the other woman?”

He looks at me, brow furrowed, and the others echo the expression.

“What other woman?” Jonas asks, looking between me and Flynt. “Is this drama?”

“What? No. Sorry. I mean, in the paintings. The silver haired woman with Nyssa in those paintings at the Wide Sky. Upstairs.”

“Oh,” Flynt says, relief all but coasting off of him, and he then gives me this exasperated look like why do you exist to torture me. “That’s Selene.”

“Selene?” Meg asks. “Who is Selene?”

“I saw her come in a couple times, when I was staying there. Whoever she is, she’s… there aren’t words, honestly. She looks at you and… I don’t know. It’s… disconcerting.”

“She has to be Z, then, right?” Tyrus asks. “This mystery woman? This Selene?”

Flynt scoffs. “Selene isn’t Z.”

“How can you be so sure?” Tyrus asks. “I thought you didn’t know anything.”

Flynt looks a little pained at that and sighs. “She’s… my father’s ex-wife.”

Silence falls.

“I’m sorry?” I ask. “Why is… who is she to Nyssa, then?”

“I’ve never understood their relationship. Come on, Keira, you know. Elven relationships are… complicated and long. They’re friends? Companions? Lovers? All of the above? I don’t know. They’re close. Have been for centuries. I’ve never asked, frankly.”

“And she’s your father’s ex-wife,” Tyrus says. “But your father and Nyssa are also close.”

“Yes, but in very different ways, I promise. I wish I had more clarity than that, believe me, but after awhile you just sort of assume that elves of a certain age all just kind of…” He shrugs out his hands, giving me a meaningful look, which makes my cheeks flush.

“We’re not all like that,” I find myself saying, even though what do I know? “Maybe in Qeth.”

“You have a complicated extended family,” Jonas says to Flynt, chuckling softly.

“And she could still be Z,” Tyrus says.

“Nah.” Jonas shakes his head. “Z is a dragon.”

Now, it’s Jonas’s turn to be the center of everyone’s attention as he leans up against the wall of the cave, the firelight flickering off his features: the square of his jaw, the planes of his nose, his deep brown eyes that glimmer under his slightly furrowed brow.

“Come on. Right? I’m not the only one thinking that?”

“I thought dragons were extinct,” I say, slowly.

“They are.” Meg’s tone is flat. “Why do you think a dragon, Jonas?”

“Because. Z, right? Zendriel. Zel’Rosh. Zarellia. Zeravim. Right? All the ancient dragons. Z-names. Z. I can’t be the only one thinking this, can I?”

“It does make an alarming kind of sense,” Tyrus mutters. “When he puts it like that, anyway.”

“Except dragons are extinct.” Meg’s voice has an edge to it.

“What if they’re not?” Jonas asks. “What if one is hiding somewhere, in plain sight? They can shape-shift. Zendriel lived as an elf for centuries. You told us that.”

Meg scoffs. “That’s just a story.”

“I don’t think it is.” Jonas’s voice strengthens a little, and edge of confidence creeping in. “You’re not the only one who pays attention to your dragon lore, Meg. What makes more sense? That the… Four Families managed to eliminate all the dragons in Qeth, or that some of those dragons went to ground? What if they’re trying to find a way back? What if we’re helping that by getting involved in all this?”

“Honestly?” Meg’s eyes widen. “I wouldn’t mind if we were. But if an ancient fucking dragon wanted to come out of hiding, all it would need to do is come out of hiding. That would all but guarantee the fall of the Families. Half of Qeth would bow down to it. Why do you think there’s always a rumor of someone looking for some artifact to try and resurrect Zel’Rosh or bring Zarellia up from the Pass? Because anyone who did would have Qeth falling at their feet.”

“Assuming the dragon didn’t eat them,” Tyrus adds.

Meg nods vaguely in acquiescence. “The point is, there’d be no reason for a dragon to hide.”

“Plus, wouldn’t magic be stabilized?” I ask. “If magic is out of whack because the dragons are gone…”

“Assuming that’s the reason magic is out of whack,” Jonas says.

“Assuming magic is out of whack,” Tyrus adds.

“Can we stop saying out of whack?” Meg asks. “What does that even mean?”

I shrug. “Weird. Not as it should be. Context, Meg.”

She sighs and brushes hair back from her face. “Z is not a dragon. I don’t know who or what Z is, but they can’t be a dragon.”

“Why?” Jonas asks. “Why is that so beyond the possibility to you?”

“It just is. Dragons are dead. They wouldn’t have been able to hide for this long while everything went to shit.”

“You say that as if Qeth is in anarchy or going to ruin,” Flynt says. “It’s not that bad off, it’s better than most places.”

“Is it? Have you traveled much of the world?”

“Have you?” He raises his eyebrows. “Qeth is our home. It isn’t perfect, but we don’t need a dragon to come and save everything. They’re not gods. They’re creatures the same as any of us, and they had their time. For better or worse, it’s done now. I do agree with you about that.”

“Oh, well, thank you,” she says, a little sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

“Okay, so maybe we don’t talk about dragons much, okay?” I ask, slowly. “Politics, religion, and dragons. Off limits.”

“Why politics and religion?” Jonas asks.

“It’s tradition where I come from. Tend to be divisive topics. Lead to arguments, especially during holidays.”

“Okay,” Jonas sighs, “for the good of the team. I still have my theory though.”

“And no one can take that away from you,” I agree. “Let’s just leave it alone for now. At least until we have more alcohol and can have a proper embarrassing argument about it.”

“Keira. You’re so strange,” Jonas says. “I love you for it.”

“Thanks, Jonas. You too.”

He smiles slightly at that and then sighs. “I’m almost ready, team, I’m sorry. I don’t rejuvenate as quickly as I wish I did.”

“We should save our team funds and get you a regen brooch,” Flynt says. “It’ll be more economical in the long run than investing in elixirs.”

“Aren’t those hundreds of gold pieces?” Jonas asks.

“At least,” Meg says. “If you can even find one.”

Flynt shrugs. “I know some possible sources and maybe could help.” His cheeks color slightly at that. “He’s our healer, it feels like it would be money well spent.”

“Or maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll find it in loot.” Tyrus grins, looking at me. “Right, Keira? I’m putting it out into the universe. Mosby’s law!”

I sigh. “That’s kind of the opposite of how it works.”

“What do you mean?”

“By Keira’s strange reckoning, you’ve just guaranteed we never find one,” Flynt says.

Tyrus’s expression falls. “Fuck. I hate Mosby.”

I don’t even have the heart to correct him.