“The clouds?” I ask. “What do you mean?”

“THEY’RE FLYING,” Ollie says. “WITH WINGS!”

I might have guessed that last part.

“THERE’S A WHOLE FLOCK OF THEM. THEY LOOK LIKE YOU,” he adds.

“Harpies?” I ask, both mentally and aloud.

Mirzayael gives me a sharp look. “Harpies? Is he sure?”

“He says they’ve got wings and look like me,” I report. “So… no, I’m not sure he’s sure. Are there other flying species in this world?”

“Only beasts, not people,” Mirzayael says. “Although…”

“...I’m not entirely sure he’d be able to distinguish the difference,” I finish.

Mirzayael snorts. “I was going to say the same.”

“What else can you tell us about them?” I ask Ollie.

“UMMMM THEY HAVE FEATHERS,” he says. “ARE YOU SURE I CAN’T GO TALK TO THEM? I CAN ASK THEM WHO THEY ARE.”

“No!” I object, a hundred disastrous scenarios running through my head. “No. Don’t approach them. Can you Check them instead?”

I’ve interrogated him about his Echo before. As far as I can tell, they’re the same artificial entity; or at least, copies of the same entity. It seems he largely uses his interface to chat with her, rather than analyze his environment. I can’t imagine it’s very good conversation.

“OH! OH YEAH.” He pauses a moment. “SHE SAYS ‘HETLANIR, LEVEL TWENTY-SEVEN WIND MAGE HARPY. PIRANETH, LEVEL NINETEEN WARRIOR HARPY. DIZANIR, LEVEL TWENTY-TWO CLOUD ARTIFICER HARPY. MEYNA—”

“Okay, that’s good!” I say, cutting him off before he could list off the entire flock. “Great job, Ollie. Now come back underground, will you? I’ll meet you in your cave.” I turn to Mirzayael. “They really are harpies.”

She taps at her lip in thought, frowning. “The Jorrian population is largely a human settlement. But this doesn’t change our actions. We still need to arrange a party and head to the surface, in case we are their destination.”

“Where else could they be going?” I ask. “I don’t suppose there’s anyone else you know of who might want to visit?”

“We don’t get visitors,” Mirzayael says shortly.

“But you don’t think they’re likely to be Jorrian,” I point out.

Mirzayael grunts noncommittally. “I’ll gather the guards.”

As she splits off to inform the rest of her troops, I reach Ollie’s cave and wait for him to return. Mirzayael’s distrust is stubborn, but earned. An existence in hiding will do that to you. I suppose my lack of cynicism comes from my comparatively privileged upbringing. But not every new person needs to be met with suspicion. Not everyone that comes your way needs to have an ulterior motive. Not every stranger is a potential enemy.

In this instance, I desperately hope I’m right.

----------------------------------------

It takes some convincing to get Ollie to stay in his cavern while the rest of us make the trek to the surface.

“BUT I SAW THEM FIRST!” Ollie objects. “I WANT TO COME!”

“We’ll send for you if it’s safe,” I assure him.

He mentally sends me an impression of defiance.

I mentally return this with a stern glare.

Ollie huffs out a frosty breath, then curls up on his horde of miscellaneous bones and shiny rocks to pout.

I pat his nose. “You can come save us if we get in trouble.”

“REALLY?” he asks, perking back up.

“Promise,” I say.

Dragon sufficiently tamed, I meet with Beryl, Mirzayael, and her scouts at the tunnel opening. I’m skeptical of Beryl’s ability to climb the long, twisted path, but I know better than to voice my doubts of the elderly dwarf. Together, we make for the surface.

I use the Dungeon Core’s interface to mentally scope our surroundings as we climb. The only living things it’s able to “see” are relegated to the lichen, mushrooms, and various molds that are found growing in the cave system—all things it’s inadvertently consumed at some point or another. It wouldn’t be able to discern anyone heading our way. But I focus on the pebbles along the path: the ice in the rocks. Nothing disturbed. As far as I can tell, no surprises await us in the caves.

As it turns out, that’s because they’re waiting for us on the surface.

A group of five harpies stand on the ice at a healthy distance, regarding us as we emerge from the tunnel. Beryl and Mirzayael step forward first, so I hang back with the rest of the scouts.

One of the harpies steps forward as well. His feathers are white and blue. In fact, apart from a different harpy with blue and green feathers, most of the group have feathers that are exclusively shades of brown and white. A stark contrast to my fiery plumage of red, orange, and yellow. I Check the one in front.

[Hetlanir, level 27 Wind Mage harpy.]

One of the individuals Ollie had identified earlier.

“Hello,” Hetlanir calls. “I apologize if our abrupt arrival has caused any alarm. We didn’t want to draw closer when the dragon was about.”

“The dragon is friendly,” Beryl says.

Though Mirzayael faces away from me, I can perfectly picture her scowl at this: Don’t give away intel to a potential enemy, I can hear her say.

“The question is,” Mirzayael asks, “are you?”

Hetlanir quirks a smile. “The suspicion is understandable, so close to Jorria. We hail from the peaks south of here.” He gestures to nothing but open planes of ice. If he’s telling the truth, it must be far south of here. “We’ve been catching sightings of the dragon for a few weeks now. Fearing it might head our way, we’ve been keeping a careful eye, trying to determine where it might be nesting.” He tips his head. “And that’s when we caught sight of people out on the ice, hunting ice cats.”

“Well, you’ve found us,” Mirzayael says with a frown. “What do you want?”

Beryl smacks her staff against one of Mirzayael’s legs, causing the woman to flinch. “Manners, Mir.”

Mirzayael grits her teeth. “They could be Jorrian.”

“Jorrian?” Hetlanir’s feathers ruffle. “Absolutely not. We are of Fyreneth’s flock.”

Aome of the young guards in our group rustle and murmur at his words.

“Forgive the reactions of my fellows,” Beryl says. “They are not used to visitors. Especially those claiming to be of Fyreneth’s lineage. You see, we, too, are her followers.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“And not just her followers, but custodians of her domain,” Nek adds. This earns him a glare from Mirzayael.

But his words stir a reaction in the harpies. “You mean you know the location of her palace?” a harpy pipes up. Echo identifies her as Dizanir. She appears about half my age and is covered in blue and green feathers, a pair of bug-eyed flight-goggles pushed up onto her forehead. She steps forward eagerly. “You’ve seen it?”

“We live in it,” Nek says, his hair puffing up with pride.

Again the harpies titter among themselves.

“It is unwise to disclose such information,” Mirzayael murmurs to Nek.

“Why?” He splays his hands. “They’re family.”

“They’re strangers,” Mirzayael insists.

“Regardless, they know now,” Beryl interrupts. She raises her voice to speak to Hetlanir. “And there’s no sense in getting frostbite while we continue to dance with words. Come. We may continue this discussion below ground, out of the weather. You have my word as a follower of Fyreneth, none of your people will come to harm while in our domain.”

“Thank you. I believe you.” Hetlanir dips his head, glancing toward me. “A phoenix walks among your ranks. That is an auspicious sign.”

I fidget uncomfortably at being singled out. I object to being a sign of or for anything, however I deem it best not to say as much in present company. Mirzayael is still as tense as a coiled spring, but she obeys Beryl’s command without objection, leading the way back down into the caves. Beryl waits for Hetlanir, then walks abreast of him, the scouts and harpies clustered together and awkwardly shuffling in behind. Nek, of course, is the first to mingle between the groups. He eagerly approaches the harpies.

“What do you know of Fyreneth?” he asks. “Are you from one of the colonies?”

“Colonies?” Dizinar tips her head in a rather bird-like manner. “I’m unsure about that, but we’re the descendants of the few who fled her kingdom during its fall. It’s said more joined us in later years; survivors who fled across the ice.”

“It sounds much like our myths of lost colonies,” Nek says, scratching his chin. “Sometimes our people strike out in search of a less hostile place to live, driven by rumors of Fyreneth’s descendants who might have survived, like your own.”

Dizinar’s eyes go wide. “Maybe we are! Perhaps we are your colonies and you are our survivors. Wouldn’t that be something?”

“Have you had any new members join your colony in the last few decades?” Mirzayael joins in, to my complete astonishment. “Arachnoids, perhaps?”

“No, sorry,” Dizinar says. “The stories refer to people joining us centuries ago. Our caves have received no visitors in my lifetime.”

“I see,” Mirzayael says, lapsing back into silence.

Her parents, I think, giving her a pitying look. She is carefully watching the new harpies rather than me, however. I turn back to Dizinar. “You also live in caves below ground?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Dizinar says. “We live in the Ash Peaks mountain range. There’s a system of caves in the peaks there; we make do.” She giggles. “But can you imagine? Harpies living underground? How miserable would that be!” She stops just as quickly. “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with living underground.”

I smile. “I’m sure our residents would rather not be stuck underground given alternatives. Is your whole colony harpies, then?”

“No, we’re just the only ones mobile enough to make the trip,” she says, glancing around the tunnel as we descend. “But this place is fantastic! The cuts are so smooth. We’ve a couple of ice mages back home, but no earth mages, which makes carving such passageways difficult. You must have a whole team here.”

I resist the urge to cover up the Dungeon Core, its ruby stone glittering on my wrist. “Yes. Something like that.”

“What about that dragon, though?” Dizinir asks. It seems she’s the only one interested in making small talk, aside from Hetlanir, who is speaking in soft tones with Beryl at the front of our brigade. “Your leader said it was friendly. How does one tame a dragon? In fact, we’ve not heard tales of one around these parts in over a century. Maybe you found it as an egg? Raised it from a hatchling? What did you use to train it—no, wait, I bet it’s food-motivated.”

“He’s a rather new addition to the family, actually,” I say. As am I, though as much as I’m delighted to find another curious mind, I feel getting into the details of my and Ollie’s arrival can wait for another day. “But he’s not a beast; he’s perfectly intelligent, and although he can’t speak with his dragon-sized vocal cords, he’s perfectly capable of understanding you.”

Dizinir’s eyes widen. “Really? An intelligent dragon? Amazing! I’ll definitely have to talk to him. I’m sure such a grand, ancient beast would have incredible wisdom to impart.”

Mirzayael snorts.

“Ollie would love to chat with you, I’m sure,” I say.

“Fantastic!” Dizinir says. “How do you communicate?”

“Ah, I formed a pact with him,” I say, again trying to figure out the most streamlined way to get through what otherwise might be a myriad of questions. It seems interplanetary travelers are not considered common knowledge, as I had initially hoped.

“Fascinating!” Dizinir cries. “How did you know it was sentient?”

Maybe it’s futile to avoid a myriad of questions with this individual after all.

“I have a spell that allows me to communicate telepathically,” I say.

“You do?” Dizinir asks. “Mind magic is incredibly rare. I thought you were a phoenix harpy.”

“I am,” I say, now slightly confused myself. “I have a Fire affinity, but no Wind. What has that got to do with mind magic?”

Although Dizinir is the only one talking, the other harpies have drifted over as well, and now they appear very much invested in my answer. Not that that’s a bad thing, but… Perhaps I should be more careful in what I reveal.

“You really don’t know?” Dizinir asks, confused.

“What?” I ask.

The harpies look at me in amazement, but it’s Nek who responds. “Fyreneth had mind magic, too.”

I inwardly groan. Of course she did.

“That’s an… interesting coincidence,” I say. “I’m new to the city, so I’m still learning the history.”

“New?” Dizinir says. “Where did you come from?”

I’m saved from answering yet another leading question as we arrive at the base of the tunnel.

“FYRE!” Ollie bounds forward as we come into view. Hetlanir, to his merit, holds his ground, but all the other harpies scatter. “LOOK, IT’S ALL THE BIRD PEOPLE I TOLD YOU ABOUT! ARE THEY FRIENDS? ARE THEY STAYING HERE FOREVER?”

“They are friends,” I tell Ollie. “I don’t know if they’re staying. For now, we’re just talking.” I turn to the others. “It’s okay! I promise, he’s friendly. Ollie, this is Dizinir. Dizinir, Ollie.”

The harpy steps forward, peering up at Ollie in apparent fascination. “I prefer Dizzi, actually. How did you know my… ah, right, the mind magic. Well, that’s certainly a demonstration. Hello, Ollie!”

Ollie leans down for a nose pat as I mentally slap my forehead. “Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Dizzi chuckles. “If nothing else, I suppose your powers will easily confirm our honest intentions.” If only Echo worked that way.

“Too bad demonstrating trust won’t be as easy to prove going the other way,” Hetlanir comments.

“Not all of us have telepathy,” Mirzayael says. “I’d say it still needs to be earned both ways.”

“If introducing you to the dragon doesn’t show we mean you no harm, I’m not sure what will.” I force a laugh, but the tension between the two parties—and especially between Mirzayael and the harpies—only seems to grow more taut. I let the laughter awkwardly peter out.

“How about a tour, then?” Nek suggests. “We could continue our conversation while Fyre shows what she’s been doing to restore the palace.”

“I wouldn’t want to bore you all,” I object.

Mirzayael also looks ready to cut in, but Beryl silences her with a look. “A tour will do fine. If our guests are interested?”

“We would be honored.” Hetlanir dips his head.

“Then it’s settled.” Beryl hobbles forward, not waiting for the rest of us to catch up.

“What did you say your name was?” Dizzi asks as we take the shortest tunnel to the palace. “The felis mentioned it briefly.”

“Ah, they call me Fyre,” I say, cringing at how that must sound on top of everything else. “It’s a nickname.”

“Short for…”

“Nothing,” I say quickly.

At least Dizzi can catch a hint. “So! Tell me about the palace.”

“We’ve only just begun to move in,” I say. “Large portions of it are still under construction. Mirzayael’s team has been cleaning the last stinger nests out of all the nooks and crannies.”

I look to Mirzayael, hoping she’ll jump in, but she pointedly ignores the conversation.

“At any rate, it’s proven a better home for the dracid especially,” I continue. “We’ve been able to pump water from the hot springs through the palace, providing heating as well as fresh water—once it goes through some filtering spells.”

“She’s changed our lives,” Nek insists. “Finally we can do more than just survive.”

“It was the castle, not me,” I object. “The spell circles that keep the place running were there far before I arrived. I don’t know how half of them even work; I just hooked things back up to the power source.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Dizzi says. “I’m an artificer myself, so I’d love to take a look. The more complex a system of spells are, the more difficult it is to function. Being able to investigate something designed by Fyreneth—that would truly be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!”

I can’t help but smile at that. The young harpy is already growing on me. Enthusiasm for learning something new, puzzling out a complex problem—that’s something I can relate to.

“Insight on the magic would be welcome,” I say. “I feel I’ve barely begun to learn anything on the subject.”

“Well you must know more than nothing to be able to restart an ancient series of spell circles,” Dizzi says. “Unless your feline friend over here is overstating your abilities.”

“He has a tendency to do that,” I say.

“Hey,” Nek objects.

Gradually, the tunnel widens as we approach the landing that leads into the fortress. As we approached from above, the tiered city opens up beneath us, abandoned streets and buildings now lit by a network of spells which simulate the time of day. The lights twinkle throughout the streets like a cloud of fireflies, gradually shifting from their daytime orange to their nighttime purple. As the levels of the city spiral upward, they transform into the ornate pattern of the palace, appropriately placed at the top of the ensemble. The entire city must be a hundred stories tall, and even though it now stands mostly still and empty, its magnitude is breathtaking.

“Welcome to Fyreneth’s Fortress,” Beryl says as the harpies look on, silent and awestruck. “Where would you like to start?”