We spend the day wandering the Catacombs, exploring buildings, temples, and empty fields. It’s all fascinating to me. The tall, swooping architecture, the flame motif that decorates the buildings, the statues of Fyreneth—it speaks to a culture wholly unique from anything I’d encountered on Earth. I ask Mirzayael about every crumbling statue and mural we pass, trying to absorb any bits of history I can manage, but she doesn’t seem to know any more than Beryl had. Mirzayael also appears to be right about texts. We find a room that was clearly intended to be a library, but all the papers have been eaten away by time and mold and bugs; nothing but dust remains. Disappointing, but I’m not deterred.
“Here we are,” Mirzayael says, leading the way into an echoing chamber. A hissing sound and flickering of shadows indicate a flurry of small creatures fleeing before us. Such occurrences are not uncommon, though luckily all have been significantly less violent than the encounter with the stingers.
“Where are we?” I ask. My talons click strangely as I step into the room, and I glance down at my feet even as the Dungeon Core perks up excitedly in my mind. “Tiles?”
Yes. The Core would love to sample some of these! They are different colors, too! It bets they all have different flavors. The yellow one might be sour and the red one might be sweet and the green one—
“The bathhouse,” Mirzayael says. “At least, that’s what I gather. If you want to search for your connection to the thermal springs, this place is probably your best bet.”
The visible path we’ve blazed through the Dungeon Core’s Map display has taken us on a sinuous route deep into the heart of the Catacombs. We’re somewhere in the lower levels of Fyreneth’s palace, though we’ve yet to make it higher, where the throne room might be, as a glacier has bisected the route we planned to take. It also appears to be cutting off a portion of the city, but no matter. I’m sure we’ll be able to find a way around it eventually. As Mirzayael said, I need to start somewhere.
“Thank you,” I say, continuing to ignore the Core’s constant pleading to eat the different colored tiles. “Well, then. Let’s see what we’ve got.”
I tell the Core to get back on track and make sure I’m not about to step through any more weak spots in the floor. It reluctantly complies once I let it know it can eat some of the tiles on our way out. For now, I venture into the room, sending a small Blaze ahead of me like a floating candle.
The chamber is covered in a mosaic of tiles, swirling like sunbursts across the ground. Large basins pockmark the floor, no doubt different pools that had been filled with steaming water once upon a time. But where did that water come from?
I carefully lower myself into one such cavity, slowly picking my way across the bottom of the pool. I crouch down over a hole in the floor, glancing inside. Unlike the cracks and crevasses that run wild in the Catacombs, this one is perfectly round.
I Check my mana: 112/200. I’ve managed to recover a good amount despite the trickle I’m expending on keeping the undersized Blaze going. I can afford to spend some more on the Dungeon Core here.
The Core vibrates excitedly when it hears this. Yes! A great idea. Give it more!
I will, but you need to keep your range very narrow, I say, mentally picturing what I mean for emphasis. Follow this tunnel. See how far you can sense it.
The Core is a little bit deflated. That doesn’t sound as fun as eating rocks, but it supposes it can go looking anyway. And maybe just take a tiny nibble on the way.
No nibbles.
Despite being an inanimate stone, the Core seems to sigh. No nibbles.
I close my eyes as I begin funneling mana into the Dungeon Core, and I feel its presence expand into the rocks beneath us. It swirls around the hole carved into the ground, and sure enough, it finds the perfectly round tunnel is made of a different material—metal.
The Core traces the pipe down, then off to the side, zig-zagging as its path twists and bends into the earth. Many other tunnels open into it, or the pipe we’re following splits into several different paths. I instruct the Core to follow the largest pipe at any juncture. Hopefully that will eventually send us in the right direction.
I follow its progress, concentrating on all the sensations the Core is picking up—the coolness of the earth, the contrasting texture of the pipe, densities, compositions, temperature, humidity—
I’m so focused on what the Dungeon Core is experiencing, that my mind gets pulled right along with it.
Disorientingly, I no longer feel my body. I no longer experience sight and smell and taste. At least, not the same way. The way the Dungeon Core experiences the world is far more quantifiable. Like I’m peering beneath the veneer of reality itself, exposing matter in its purest, most mathematical form. It’s dizzying and exhilarating. I don’t want to let these sensations go.
As we bore into the earth, following the pipes toward an ever-widening path, something shudders our surroundings. The Dungeon Core doesn’t pay attention at first, brushing it off as some sort of minor earth tremors, but my human senses recognize it for something else.
Wait, I tell the Core. Stop. What was that?
The Core affects some sort of shrug—I’m beginning to suspect it’s picking up these mental approximations of gestures from me—but stops burrowing. Our consciousness hovers, some hundred feet beneath our bodies, waiting for anything to stir in the dark.
The vibrations come again, knocking dust from the walls as they echo up the pipes. This time, I’m sure of it. That’s not an earthquake: that’s the roar of an animal. A very big animal.
[Mana Expired.]
The Dungeon Core’s range is abruptly yanked back up like a fish on a line, boomeranging both our consciences back into our bodies. I gasp, falling back on my butt, blinking rapidly as I readjust to normal human—er, harpy—sensations again. Mirzayael grabs my arm.
“Are you alright?” she asks, suddenly beside me. “You stopped moving. I thought you stopped breathing. You wouldn’t respond to me.”
“I’m fine,” I say, panting as if out of breath. Had I stopped breathing while following the Core down that rabbit hole? If so, I’ll need to be a lot more careful about using its abilities that way. “Sorry to worry you.”
Mirzayael’s concerned look purses into a frown. “I was not worried. Merely confused. Did you find what you were looking for, then?”
I check the Map Interface: sure enough, a thin thread of “explored” stone burrows through my display. It heads gradually down, but also cuts off to the side, as if diverting into a neighboring cavern.
“We’ve still a long way to go,” I say. “But I think we can start from a different point in the castle, closer to where the pipes are headed, and continue exploring from there once my mana has recovered. However,” I add, “there might be a bigger problem. Literally. Do you know of any large beasts dwelling in these tunnels?”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
I explain the roaring sound I’d heard; I wish I had anything more to give her.
She shakes her head. “I know of nothing that lives in these caverns that could produce such a bellow as that. Perhaps out on the ice sheets, there might be frost cats or direwolves, but they would be more likely to wander into the higher caverns above us, near the surface. I can’t imagine any large creature would have enough of a food source to survive at this depth.”
And yet, there’s no denying what the Dungeon Core and I heard. “I guess we’ll find out when we track down where those pipes lead,” I say. “However, I believe it would be wise to bring backup.”
Mirzayael nods. “I am in complete agreement on that front.”
Since I’m out of mana for the time being, there’s not much more I can do to investigate. We pause beneath yet another statue of Fyreneth to eat lunch—or perhaps dinner. Without natural light, I’ve lost all sense of time.
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
I nod to the statue as we eat a bowl of toasted mushrooms and sweet ferns. “Do you believe all the stories about her?” I ask.
Mirzayael glances up at the figure. “Depends on the stories.”
“Do you think she really raised a fortress from the ground overnight?”
She shrugs. “Such kinds of magic are not impossible. You yourself wield an artifact that allows you to shape the earth.”
She’s right about that, although it doesn’t seem nearly powerful enough to do what Beryl described. Or is it only the size of my mana pool that is restricting its potential?
“And you really think the entire city was forsaken by the gods?” I ask, a bit skeptical. “Is it possible, say, the castle was instead swallowed by an earthquake? Tectonic shifts?”
It’s Mirzayael’s turn to look skeptical. “And the structure remains intact?” She sweeps her hand around pointedly. “Why would you suggest that?”
“I suppose I find it difficult to swallow the existence of gods,” I admit. “The story is fantastical; I wondered if it could be more myth than history.”
“So you find a perfectly sunken city more likely to be the culprit of nature than magic?” she asks.
I chuckle. “It does seem silly when you put it that way. It’s hard to square everything I’ve ever known—or thought I knew—with this new reality. I suppose I could believe it was the cause of something magical.” I glance at my wrist, where the Dungeon Core sits glistening. “As you pointed out, I’ve plenty of irrefutable evidence for that at my fingertips.”
Mirzayael grunts. “The gods are real. Best to start believing in them now.” She spits to the side. “But don’t believe that they care about us. If they did, they would have answered any one of our prayers and saved our people generations ago. No, they want us buried and forgotten. And the Jorrians ensure their will is carried out by slaughtering any Fyrethians who dare attempt to venture across the ice.”
I shake my head. “If true, that seems immeasurably cruel. What’s worth condemning thousands of souls over?”
Mirzayael eyes the stone on my wrist. “That’s one aspect of the story that has always remained obscured.”
I look at the Dungeon Core dubiously. “Seems like such a small thing to kill so many people over. No matter their reasons, such an act cannot be just.”
“We are in agreement there,” Mirzayael says stiffly. She shovels the remainder of her food into her mouth, then begins packing the bowls away. “The question is: What will you do if the gods come for you, too?”
That gives me pause. I’m a nobody. A career engineer. A failed father. Someone who clearly ended up in the wrong place—in the wrong body—at the wrong time. It certainly was never my intention to draw anyone’s ire.
Yet that Role continues to linger at the bottom of my stat sheet: The Dark Lord.
Looks like I might not be given much of a choice in the matter.
“Well, I suppose I’ll have to cross that bridge if I ever come to it,” I say. “But if helping the people here is against the will of the gods, then it seems my mission is already doomed to be sacrilegious.”
Mirzayael smiles. “Good answer, Outsider.”
We pack up our things as Mirzayael decides it's time to return to Fyreneth’s Keep. She lets me lead the way back out—testing how accurate my Map Display really is, I suspect. On the way we stop by the hole I’d fallen through and reel up the string of insect bodies, securing the entire, enormous tangle to Mirzayael’s back. She stumbles a few times beneath the weight, favoring the side with the missing leg. I wish she didn’t have to suffer because of my actions. Somehow, I’ll make it up to her.
“Fire!” Nek calls when we return through the city’s hidden entrance. He comes bounding up the path, rather cat-like. “You’re alright!”
I smile, happily spreading my arms as he sweeps me up in an enormous, fuzzy hug.
“Glad to see you so concerned the both of us have returned,” Mirzayael says.
Nek releases me, wrinkling his nose at Mirzayael. “We all knew you’d be fine. It was Fire we weren’t sure would make it out alive.”
My smile turns into a grimace. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“Now what’s this?” Nek asks, stepping around Mirzayael’s side. “Stingers! A whole pile of them!”
“You can thank the Outsider for that,” Mirzayael said. “She fell into a nest and I had to go dig her out.”
“I took six down on my own, thank you very much,” I object.
Nek’s eyes go wide. “You did? Amazing! We will feast tonight. You must tell me all about it. Come! Come now, let’s get this back into town.”
“So long as we have your permission,” Mirzayael grumbles. But she and I head after as Nek races ahead, surely already spinning inaccurate and uninformed tales of our escapades.
“I apologize,” Mirzayael says as we walk. “I said ‘she,’ but you never said if that’s acceptable.”
I’d noticed that as well. Yet, it didn’t bother me. In fact, the more I hear others refer to me as a woman, the more right it feels. All this is certainly confusing. I feel I’m not nearly educated enough in this subject to understand the implications of my circumstances—socially, psychologically, biologically.
But maybe this puzzle of emotions is something that can’t be solved with logic. Maybe this is something I just need to feel.
“I… I think I like it,” I say, that nervous, giddy energy fluttering in my stomach once more. Like sharing a secret. Like confessing love. “I think I would like for you to continue to refer to me that way.”
“Of course,” Mirzayael says.
[Stat sheet updated,] Echo reports. [Gender: Female]
Can it truly be that simple?
More dracid are awake and helping to prepare dinner when Mirzayael and I finally stumble into camp. Beryl welcomes me back with a friendly nod. Sora sits me down and refuses to let my half-hearted attempts to help with food prep come to fruition. Truthfully, I’m exhausted from the journey and happy to let others take care of me for a while.
The stinger stew is delicious. It’s the first meat I’ve eaten in the week I’ve been here. The broth is warm and fills me with a hearty nourishment I hadn’t been able to find in all the cave fungi I’d been given before now. That’s another thing I should add to my ever-growing to-do list: establish some sort of corral where livestock like the stingers can be kept. I’ll have to ask Mirzayael why that hasn’t already been established; she’s sure to have some insight.
The hall is warm with laughter and company. Sora asks me about my travels, and her kids chase each other around the meal circle. It’s strange to find the conversations with these people coming so naturally. It’s foreign to feel welcomed, for my presence to be wanted. Why had it been so hard for me to find such connections on Earth? I always thought I couldn’t relate well to other people, but it’s been coming easily to me here. Maybe the whole time on Earth it was just me getting in the way of myself. Perhaps I’d allowed that ever present feeling of discontent—that instinct that something wasn't quite right—to cast a shadow over the rest of my life. If I’d been more certain in who I was then, would things have turned out differently? Would I have been happy? Could I have made my family happy?
Hypotheticals I’ll never know the answer to. I am here now. I am with these people now. Even if my last life was steeped in regrets, this one doesn’t have to be.
I smile as Mirzayael sits down with the rest of us, and I laugh as she wrinkles her nose at the shrieking kids. Yes, I think I can find a new home here.
That night, I sleep long, deep, and dreamless.
----------------------------------------
Over the next few days, I help out around town, practice a bit with my magic, and make several more expeditions to the Catacombs in an effort to continue mapping out the system of pipes. The townspeople are really starting to take a liking to me. I even set aside some time to practice spells and manage to get Blaze up to level 4, intent on not being caught off guard and weaponless again.
On our third expedition into the Catacombs, we trace the pipes beneath the glacier that’s bisected a corner of the city. Unable to go through, I spend some time with the Core trying to find the most traversable set of caves and tunnels that could take us beneath the wall of ice. On the fourth expedition, we start to map it out.
This time, Nek and three others have accompanied Mirzayael and I: a dwarf named Opal, an arachnoid named Zakaiya, and a felis named Rei. Mirzayael says it’s good training for the younger scouts. I suspect she’s concerned that knocking down walls and spelunking in unfamiliar caves will stir up more nests of stingers. I certainly don’t intend to object to more security.
“Here we are,” I say, stopping in front of a wall. Via the Dungeon Core’s map, I can tell the stone in front of us is only two feet thick. “Once we break through this wall, we should be at the roof of a cavern. It goes deep enough that it should allow us to bypass the glacier. From there, the city pipes end only another two hundred feet on. That must be where the springs are.” At least, I really hope so.
“Will you be able to create an anchor as you do so?” Mirzayael asks. This time, she brought a long coil of pre-spun silk. “That will greatly assist me in securing our rope.”
I relay the idea to the Dungeon Core, who is more than happy to make new shapes in the rock. It will be fun! “Shouldn’t be a problem. Ready?”
The young scouts lean closer as I raise a hand to the stone. None of them have seen me work with the Dungeon Core before, and I’m sure they’ve heard all sorts of stories by now (no thanks to Nek).
“Proceed,” Mirzayael says.
Alright, I tell the excitedly buzzing Core. Eat your fill. Then I hastily add, Within reason!
I mentally provide a picture of a hole, shaped in a circle with a three-foot radius, cut into the stone before us. The Core happily gets to work. Metrics about the stone it consumes stream through my consciousness like a torrent of water. Witnessed from a distance, it’s all sensations filtered through the Core’s interpretation, which it likes to describe in ways such as sour, cold, or, most often, crunchy. But if I plunge my mind into that stream of information, the details resolve into data: mass, density, composition. It’s tempting to lose myself in the raw numbers, but I focus on the external world instead. Before us, a hole appears in the stone, steadily widening as if eaten away by a horde of invisible gnats. And strangely, a glimmer of light and a burst of strong, stale wind blows through the opening.
Nek bounds up beside me, leaning forward to peer through the hole and into the glistening chamber below.
The glowing, white gemstones are the first thing I notice, covering every inch of the wall—and I taste them, like rock candy, like vanilla ice cream, as the Core consumes some of the crystals and their data is added to our ever-expanding database.
Then, the crystals move.
Nek throws himself back as a roar crashes into us, shaking the stones in our tunnel and resonating through the cave’s crystals like windchimes.
“Holy shit,” Mirzayael mutters, glancing over my shoulder.
As my mind finally catches up with what my eyes are processing, the shifting cavern of crystals abruptly comes into focus.
Amidst the crystalline cavern, a giant, white serpent lies coiled around the stalagmites at its base. It spreads its translucent blue wings and cranes its head in our direction.
The dragon’s maw parts in a toothy grin.