[Psionic Touch activated.]

[Cost: 1 mana per 5 seconds.]

Oh right, I forgot about that part. I need to keep a closer eye on the costs of these spells. At this rate, it will eat up my remaining mana in roughly ten minutes. Which means I’ll need to switch off my Spark if I want to stretch that number at all. Not a problem, just… an uncomfortable thought to be alone in a dark room full of bones while speaking to a strange entity in my mind. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I’ll play it by ear.

At first, nothing happens. I’m just touching a rock, trying to mentally speak with it. The thought makes me laugh. How absurd this all is! But I give it a mental nudge anyway. Hey there. Are you, um, alive?

And then I feel it. Something stirs in my mind. A presence slowly unfolding. Sensations roll into me in abstract waves. It’s tired. Confused, but curious. It’s wondering what roused it from its slumber.

“That would be me,” I say, amazed that I’m actually speaking with a gemstone. It really can think! Fascinating.

The Dungeon Core’s mind shifts, noticing me. It’s becoming more solid in my mind now, more alert, as if it’s shaking off the vestiges of sleep.

Mana, I can feel it realize as it focuses on me. All at once, its budding consciousness swells into a storm of thoughts and emotions that crash into me. There’s mana! Oh, it needs mana so bad. It’s desperate. Disoriented. Eager. Ravenous—

I gasp, snapping my hand away, and the mental presence vanishes.

[Spell ended.]

My mind spins as it tries to process the stone’s words. It’s nothing like speech with a person; my mind can only try to interpret it that way. But at its core, it’s such a chaotic thing, a swirl of emotions and impulses, no clear structure to its turbulent thoughts. And for one fearful, irrational moment, I felt I was about to be swept up in them.

“Echo?” I ask, hesitant to touch the stone again. “You said this thing is a Dungeon Core. What precisely does that mean?”

[A Dungeon Core is an entity capable of infusing essence of itself into its surroundings, thereby gaining the ability to manipulate and transform the affected landscape into a sentient dungeon.]

I raise both eyebrows. I suppose I should be beyond feeling surprised by anything I learn at this stage. Nothing should be stranger than waking up in a new body, with feathers and wings and the ability to summon fireballs.

Although a stone which can create a living dungeon does stretch one’s suspension of disbelief.

Curiosity draws my hand back to the stone, but practicality has me pulling it away once more. “It can’t hurt me, can it? It’s just thoughts.” Then something else occurs to me. “Am I inside a living dungeon right now?”

[Negative. The Dungeon Core has expired its mana supply, and is therefore incapable of enacting its will on its surroundings.]

That’s a relief. “So alive, but dormant,” I surmise.

[Negative,] Echo says. [The targeted object does not meet minimum requirements to qualify as ‘alive.’]

“Rather, it’s sentient,” I correct myself.

[Affirmative.]

“And sapient?”

[The degree to which the Dungeon Core is capable of logic and reason could be debated.]

I chuckle at that. It did seem quite driven by its instincts. Pity. I thought maybe I could ask it to open a door or turn on a light or some such. I give the rock a sympathetic look. “Looks like you and I are stuck in here together.”

Not in any hurry to experience the unsettling swirl of emotions that come from touching the Dungeon Core again, I decide to leave it be for now and continue to map my surroundings. My mana hasn’t recovered from the earlier Blaze, as the Spark spell consumes mana at the same rate I recover it, but all it will take is enduring an hour or two in the darkness to restore that amount. For now, I rely on my Spark to finish my lap around the cave, careful to avoid tripping over any other precious and sentient jewelry.

There’s not much more to uncover, however. The room is roughly circular, littered with bones, and, as far as I can tell, only has the one blocked exit I found. Briefly I entertain the idea of trying to fly to see if there are any exits higher up along the walls. Feeling rather self-conscious, I flap both of my wings, stirring up a wind and scattering some of the smaller bone fragments. I push harder, flapping them with all my strength, but my feet don’t even begin to lift from the floor. I quickly stop the absurd endeavor, chastising my own foolishness; I knew that wouldn’t work.

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I’d rightfully identified the wings as too small to provide sufficient lift the moment I’d first laid eyes on them. Are they merely ornamental, then? A vestige of evolution in the process of generationally dwindling?

These are not useful things to be wondering about while stuck in a cave and at risk of gradually succumbing to dehydration.

[Spell Level Up,] Echo abruptly speaks, causing me to jump. [Spark: Level 2. Mana consumption reduced to 1 mana every 2 minutes.]

Well that’s nice, if not a bit strange. Levels? I recall seeing something like that on the Stats Echo provided, now that I’m thinking about it. But in all my years of reading, I’ve never encountered a magic system that seems so quantifiable.

I think I like it.

Eventually, I make my way back over to the blocked exit, hoping to find a way to loosen the stones and clear a path through. I step carefully around the Dungeon Core as I search, tugging on rocks and shining my Spark through every crack and crevice. No luck, however. The collapse of this tunnel clearly happened a long time ago—judging by the skeleton half buried in the rubble, as well as all of these fallen warriors. The stones might as well be cemented in place. I look back toward the ceiling. If I can’t fly up there, perhaps I could climb?

No, not up these smooth walls. I’m more likely to get myself hurt. Then what’s the answer?

My gaze falls back to the Dungeon Core.

“Echo. You said that stone is dormant because it doesn’t have any mana, correct?”

[Affirmative.]

“And gaining mana would reactivate it?”

[Affirmative.]

“And if it’s activated, you said it can manipulate its environment?” I press further. “As in, shift the earth itself?”

[Among other influences, affirmative.]

I chew my bottom lip, having serious doubts about the soundness of this plan. I know nothing about this thinking rock. It could as easily be friend or foe. But given everything else at my disposal—which is to say, nothing—and the time ticking down to my inevitable demise, I’m not left with many alternatives.

I crouch beside the stone, hesitating before I touch it. I know it poses no physical threat, though a mental one remains yet to be determined. But if nothing else, I can always pull my hand away—and if for some reason I can’t do that, the Psionic Touch spell will eventually end on its own anyway once my mana is extinguished. It should be safe to touch the thinking rock.

The thought makes me lean back, and I huff out a laugh. How peculiar it is that I’m already growing used to all this strangeness. Yet, how intriguing! The mystery of all these new things sends a thrill through me. When was the last time I felt so excited to explore, to learn something new, to solve a problem?

If only my life didn’t hang in the balance!

Even so, I can’t help but grin as I reach for the Core, my fingers buzzing in anticipation.

[Psionic Touch activated.]

Once more, some thing springs into my mind, whirling with a dozen thoughts and instincts at once. Elation, suspicion, hunger, urgency—I push back, imagining a wall between us, and surprisingly, this works. The Core’s mind suddenly feels distant and muted. Cautiously, I shift the form of my imaginary wall into that of a screen: a filter through which its mind can pass. This time, instead of the foreign thoughts blinking through my mind in a turbulent mess, the flow becomes more laminar.

Can you hear me? I think toward the Core. Can you understand?

There’s a spark of recognition. Yes, it understands me. Its mind eagerly presses toward me, and I can sense it sensing my own mana. Starved. It is starving!

I know, I tell it. I can help with that. I pause. At least, I think I can.

The Core swells with elation. Yes! It needs mana. Any mana. Now, give it now!

“Bit demanding, aren’t we?” I chuckle.

I will, I tell it. But I need your help. If I give you mana, would you be able to open a way out of here for me?

The Core hungrily accepts. Easy! Trivial. Effortless. It can shape mountains, with enough mana to power it. It will show me! I will be so impressed.

I smile at its enthusiasm. At least it’s cooperative. And it doesn’t seem to have any ill intent. More like a starved animal than a calculating predator. But I haven’t actually established that I can hold up my end of the bargain.

“Echo?” I prompt. “Can I lend mana to this Dungeon Core?”

[Negative,] Echo says, and I grimace in disappointment. I should have thought to ask this sooner. [You do not have the correct class or skills to disseminate mana to other targets, living or otherwise. However,] she adds, [this entity is capable of forming a Pact with another creature.]

“Pact?” I ask.

[A Pact involves sharing resources between two targets,] Echo explains. [In this instance, the Dungeon Core would gain access to the user’s mana reserves, while the user would gain access to several of the Dungeon Core’s skills and abilities.]

Seems like a fair trade, not that I’m in any position to bargain. I can mentally feel the Dungeon Core’s presence pacing at the edge of my mind, like a dog impatiently waiting for its bowl to be set down.

Well, why not? There’s no other way out of here that I can see. And I’m sure this sentient rock is just as eager to leave this place as I am.

“Alright, then,” I tell the stone, mentally echoing the thought. “Let’s form a Pact.”

The Core perks up at those words, practically vibrating with anticipation. I can feel it extend a portion of itself toward me, and I bridge the gap, completing the mental handshake. The moment our minds touch, an electric thrill passes through me, and my perception of the Core abruptly shifts.

For a moment—just a fraction of a second—a pane of reality seems to shift. Like a mask slipping away. Like briefly conceiving a three-dimensional cube for the four-dimensional tesseract it truly is. The Dungeon Core is a small, tiny jewel—and then it’s a vast canyon of unfathomable depth. A black hole of bottomless hunger. Fractaling shards of existence threatening to pull me into its infinite potential.

And then it’s merely a gem once more.

My mind reels with shock. But before I have a moment to process all this—or voice any newly raised concerns—Echo speaks up.

[Pact initiated.]