Days trickle into weeks as I continue to help grow Fyreneth’s Keep. Per Mirzayael’s direction, I build a set of enclosed corrals in the caves just outside the Keep. As her scouts assist with exploring the Catacombs, they capture and bring back small creatures to add to the enclosures and raise as livestock. The next job I focus on is making Ollie’s living quarters more comfortable. I smooth out his cavern, adding two staircases down (one person sized and one dragon sized), and widen the exit at the top so he can crawl through into the surrounding area at the base of the Catacombs. He can’t make it to Fyreneth’s Keep, as the passages there are too narrow, but the abandoned city provides plenty of space for him to explore and stretch his wings.

And of course, he has the skies. The tunnel from his cave to the surface is a large, winding path, but its accessibility makes Mirzayael nervous.

“It provides a direct access point for the Jorrians,” she tells me. “We should keep it closed except when Ollie needs access.”

“Since he needs to eat, that’s every day,” I point out. Luckily, Ollie has found animals to hunt out on the ice. Which is an incredible relief, to be honest, or I don’t know what I would have done. He doesn’t seem to particularly mind eating raw meat—I guess his dragon physiology helps with that. When he’s not hunting animals or playing in the sky or snowbanks, he returns to the caves to talk to me, since he can’t communicate with anyone else. Another puzzle to solve. The puzzles seem to be stacking up faster than the solutions.

“I would need to accompany him up and down to close or open the way each time,” I say. “But are we sure it’s even an issue? When was the last time Jorrians have bothered you? They may have been enemies in the past, but what if their modern counterparts have moved on?”

Mirzayael’s mouth presses into a displeased line. “There is evidence enough to believe they are still pursuing us. Every few years, we find one of their scouts dead in some remote tunnel near the surface. Scouts who came looking for us, and perished after becoming lost.”

“Or they fell through a crevasse in the glacier,” I suggest.

“We have also lost scouting parties of our own,” Mirzayael says. “The last one to leave Fyreneth’s Keep and search for more hospitable lands left forty years ago, and never returned.”

“Do you think maybe they did find those lands and never came back?” I ask.

“Impossible,” she spits, with a vehemence that surprises me. “They would never abandon us. They are dead, or they would have returned.”

“That doesn’t mean the Jorrians killed them,” I say. “What about natural disasters? Blizzards, or treacherous terrain.”

Mirzayael’s eyes narrow. I’ve seen her annoyed before, and certainly suspicious, but I’ve never seen her this angry. “They were far too strong for that. Natural causes never would have been their downfall.”

This seems naive to me, but I am socially aware enough to know I’m already pushing buttons I shouldn’t push. I suspect biases might be coloring Mirzayael’s beliefs here, but I decide not to press the subject any further.

“How about this,” I say. “I can ask Ollie to keep an eye out for any signs of people whenever he’s out. If he sees anything, he’s to come straight back, and I can close the caverns off. I can also close the entrance while we sleep.” Though I suspect having a giant ice dragon guarding the only entrance might be deterrent enough.

Mirzayael doesn’t seem entirely content with the idea, but she relents with a sigh. “That will have to be sufficient for now. I will additionally start scouting parties of our own to ensure the immediate area around the exit is secure.” She frowns in thought. “Perhaps we could even join Ollie on some of these hunting expeditions…”

I smile. I knew she’d come around.

My next large project is also a project the Dungeon Core has a stake in. I’ve been working with Beryl and Zakaiya, one of Mirzayael’s young guards, to combine my Map Interface with their physical maps to help flesh out our combined knowledge of the cave system. I have a good idea where the hot springs originate now, and there’s also a high likelihood there will be a vein of mana ore at its source. The Dungeon Core is very eager to discover this, but equally reluctant to go chugging any more spring water. That would be the easiest way to access more mana in order to mentally explore the caves and flesh out the Map Interface, but I don’t know if the same trick I played the first time will work on the Core again. Now that all the mana is used up, the Core is hyper fixated on the gross tasting sulfuric water that’s stored in its inventory. Sometimes I think it has the memory of a gold fish.

Whatever remaining free time I have after warming stones for the dracid, speaking with Ollie, and trying to deduce alternate paths to the origin of the springs, I spend with Mirzayael continuing to explore the Catacombs. Nek and a couple of the younger guards accompany us most days, clearing out the passages of wild beasts as we go. Mirzayael had initially regarded the task as a waste of time, until Nek pointed out how much the surplus of food was benefiting morale in the Keep. Despite her frequent grumblings, exploring the abandoned city with her is my favorite way to spend my time.

“This place is truly magnificent,” I say, running a hand over a column of intricately carved stonework. Fantastical creatures and people are engraved in the surface, each of them no bigger than my finger. “I’m not sure I believe Fyreneth could erect such a place overnight. A week, perhaps. But one night?”

“It doesn’t seem so unbelievable to me,” Mirzayael says, wandering further into the room. The palace is full of many such ornate halls. “You burrowed a dragon-sized hole up through the earth in half an hour with nothing but your empty hands.”

“I’d say the Dungeon Core did more work than my hands.” I chuckle. “But that’s different. The tunnel to the surface was simple and crude. This palace—these details—are on an entirely different level. It’s so… artistic.”

“I do not see how that is so different in principle,” Mirzayael says. “A matter of skill and practice, perhaps.”

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Is that true? Could I learn to create such wondrous marvels with enough practice? Maybe if I’d studied architecture in my previous life. I’ve never had much of an eye for creative things like that. I’ve always gravitated to the derivable, solvable, and practical.

“Here,” I say, running my hand over the stone. From the Dungeon Core’s passive range, I can sense the materials in the wall, and given all the practice, I can start to tell when the consistency changes. “There’s another thin vein here. It’s so fine.” Almost like electrical wires in a house—but these are made of stone instead of metal. Why this ore? What was the purpose? Everything here is so intentional, I know it must mean something. But after digging into the wall a bit and feeding some to the Dungeon Core, the rock seems entirely unremarkable. It has no special thermal or conductive properties, and its density and mass are similar to the surrounding stone. So why was it placed here?

The mystery excites me. I have to find out.

Mirzayael shakes her head. “What’s so important about these veins of ore you’re tracking, anyway?”

“Honestly?” I say. “No idea. But you never know which resources might be important.”

“Surviving is important,” Mirzayael says.

“Well, maybe this could help with that,” I reply.

Mirzayael raises a skeptical brow. “Is that what your motive for these outings have been? Finding resources to improve the Keep’s quality of life?”

“It might also be a little bit of curious exploration,” I admit with a smile. “However, building up the Keep isn’t exactly what I have in mind. I’ve done what I can with what there is to work with, but we are rapidly approaching the limits of what the settlement can offer. How many years have your people been living there?”

Mirzayael’s mouth becomes a thin line. “Nearly eight hundred.”

“Exactly,” I say. “If it had the potential to develop into something bigger, something more prosperous, it would have by now. But it’s not placed properly for that. It’s too cold. Too far from the thermal springs. Not enough space to properly cultivate crops and livestock. All your energy is put back into surviving rather than growth.” I sweep a hand around the room. “Meanwhile, not far from the Keep, there’s an empty city with the infrastructure for all these things already built into the design, quietly waiting for its people to return.”

“You want to move our people back into the Catacombs?” Mirzayael asks, surprised. Then she frowns, shaking her head. “Impossible.”

“Why?” I challenge. “It’s your rightful home. The home of your ancestors.”

“It’s filled with stingers and other wild animals,” Mirzayael presses.

“Nek and your guards have made good headway in clearing them out.”

“There is no warmth here,” Mirzayael says. “No water. No food.”

“I just need to flip the circuit breaker,” I say. Mirzayael stares at me, uncomprehending. “Once I find the source of the mana ore, I should be able to bring this city back to life. Heat. Water. Light. Harvests. Imagine what it could be! And we’re so close to getting there—I can feel it.”

Finally, Mirzayael’s mouth twitches with a small smile. “It’s a noble vision.”

I let out a breath, chuckling. “You must think I’m a fool.”

“No,” Mirzayael says, “I think you’re a dreamer.”

“Well that’s not so bad.” I remove my hand from the wall, leaving the mysterious stone circuits behind. “The world could use more dreamers.”

Mirzayael snorts. “I don’t know. You’re plenty to handle all on your own.”

I continue to fill in my Map Interface as we explore. Funneling my mana into expanding the Dungeon Core’s range at strategic points has helped uncover over half of the buried city. Unfortunately the map doesn’t provide much insight into what’s inside each room—apart from the type and shape of rocks found there—so Mirzayael and I take notes by hand anytime there’s something of importance. We’ve explored most of the palace proper and plenty of the lower city, uncovering bathhouses, war rooms, training grounds, servants quarters, pastures, and even various dilapidated hints at tools and establishments in a merchant district. In each of these places I try and fail to imagine how it might have looked, bustling with people in its prime.

The largest section left unexplored is the south quarter of the city, and it’s not for lack of trying.

I step into a room, holding up my Spark, and let out a groan as the far wall sparkles in the firelight. “It’s here too.”

Mirzayael follows me in. “I told you as much. That glacier has probably ground this portion of the city to dust by now.”

She might be right, but it’s still frustrating. No matter how far I explore along the south side of the Catacombs, I inevitably run into another wall of impenetrable ice. Not only is it stubbornly preventing me from fully mapping out the city, it’s also closing me off from what I expect to be important parts of the castle, such as the throne room.

I head over to the wall and run my hand over the ice, its chill wicking up my fingers.

Unfortunately, unlike the thermal springs, this ice is just normal water: not a drop of magic to give. Which means making the Dungeon Core eat it all will cost me rather than net me mana. And given the incredible scope of this glacier, chiseling all the ice out of the palace would be an incredible task whether magical or conventional means were used.

Frustrating puzzle. But I’m sure I can solve it if I keep mulling things over.

Just as we’ve done the last few nights, we begin to head back to the Keep for supper. First, however, we detour toward Ollie’s cavern. The main purpose is to close off the tunnel to the surface, but I’ve also been using the opportunity to tell Ollie a bedtime story.

I’ve since refined the path to the dragon’s lair, both making the route shorter and smoother. It’s about a twenty-minute walk from the Keep, and despite my insistence that Mirzayael can go ahead without me, she maintains that I must be accompanied ‘for security purposes.’ As we walk, we chat about my next planned expedition to search for the source of the thermal springs.

“You’re going to need to get that Core under control,” Mirzayael says. “Maybe another dip in the water will get it to fall in line.”

“More likely to throw a tantrum, I think.” I look thoughtfully down at the stone on my wrist. “Sometimes it feels like a child. Yet other times…”

I feel I should treat it with more wariness, and yet, I’m not even sure how I’d go about that.

“Other times?” Mirzayael prompts.

The cave rumbles, and we both stop.

“What was that?” I ask.

“It came from the dragon’s lair, I think.”

We both hesitate for a moment. I take a hesitant step forward. The cave rumbles again, and this time it’s accompanied by a distant roar. Mirzayael and I look at each other, then we leap into action, sprinting down the corridor.

Even missing one of her legs, Mirzayael is much faster than me. In a matter of seconds she vanishes down the hallway, spear raised, her legs a blur of motion. I push harder, but mine aren’t made for running. My wings want to catch the air, but without wind magic to bring them lift, the drag only slows me down. I try to fold them tighter against my back and press on, as fast as my awkward talloned gait can take me.

Mirzayael’s voice cries out ahead of me. “Watch out! Frost wolf. Defend yourself!”

That’s all the warning I get as a great shadow comes racing down the hall in my direction. I skid to a stop, summoning fire in either hand and flaring them fast and bright.

The animal falters, ducking its head against my sudden blinding light, but it doesn’t stop. Now bathed in my firelight, I get a good look at the predator before me.

It’s certainly a wolf, that much is true. But it’s as white as sleet, its eyes an unnerving bright blue, and its fur is clumped together in spikes like dozens of giant icicles. I have a feeling those sharp points are for more than just show.

Oh, and it’s as tall as I am.

The frost wolf comes loping straight for me, lips peeled back to reveal its fangs, a growl rumbling from its chest. I don’t hesitate a moment longer.

Throwing both palms forward, a fireball explodes from my hands.