I hold my Spark over the crevasse, but the light is quickly swallowed by the dark. I don’t even have enough mana to drop a Blaze down there and see how far it might fall. I guess I’ll just have to try not to slip—or I’ll get to find out how effective these wings really are.

Unfortunately, the ledge in the tunnel is on the opposite side of the fissure as me. At its narrowest point, the crack is a little over three feet wide. Physically, an easy space to jump. I could practically step over it if I stretch far enough. But it’s something rather different mentally when you know one misstep or crumbling block of stone will lead to your untimely demise.

Well, maybe not untimely. I’ve already died once today.

“Okay,” I say, glancing down at the Dungeon Core. “If I’m going to do this, it would sure help to have my hands free.” Unfortunately, I have a lack of pockets—or any sort of clothes for that matter.

But the Core seems to understand. It can take many useful forms.

Images flit through my mind of the Dungeon Core’s rocky veins reshaping into an intricate stone lattice to form a crown, with the jewel at its center.

“Useful,” I acknowledge. “But a crown might fall off. “How about…”

I picture a bracelet instead, woven about my forearm like a bracer, skin tight so it can’t accidentally slip off.

The Dungeon Core examines the design and happily agrees. It likes trying new shapes. It’s been a long time since it’s gotten to change its form. It can only reform once per pact, and it’s been a long time since it’s had a pact. A very long time.

“Wait,” I say. The tendrils of stone twitch, then come alive, snapping around my wrist. I can’t help but flinch as it does so, jerking my arm away as if to dislodge it. The veins of stone lace around my arm, settling the stone on the back of my wrist, then just as quickly become inert once more. “What do you mean you can only reform once per pact?”

[Form Change complete,] Echo says.

“Er, can it change forms again?” I ask Echo, since the Dungeon Core doesn’t seem capable of—or interested in—explaining. “Can I get it off?”

[Negative,] Echo says. [Until a new pact is formed, this form of the Core will remain unchanged.]

I grimace. I should have seen that one coming. Well, I guess I really don’t have to worry about losing it now. Next time, I’ll ask more clarifying questions in advance.

Seeing my mana hit 1/200, I deactivate Psionic Touch once more, so I can keep my Spark going. This really is getting inconvenient. Perhaps I’ll commit to that Psionic Link after all. In the meantime, however, I’ll just have to flick the spell on and off as needed, and as my mana allows.

I look back at the crevasse with a sigh. The stone stuck to my arm is the least of my worries right now. At least with Psionic Touch off, it can’t say anything to distract me.

“I suppose there’s nothing for it.” I back up a few steps, then take a running jump, giving my wings a good—pointless—flap as I do, and soar over the crack. I effortlessly land on the other side, scattering a half-disintegrated skeleton.

Oh. Well that was far easier than I’d made it out to be in my head.

I watch my feet—claws?—as I slowly pick my way along the tunnel’s ledge. I’d never been the spelunking type. Air was more my domain. Caves are just so claustrophobic. Cold and dark and damp. I pause, brushing my hand against the wall. It’s rough and dry here, likely from the rocks that had been shaved away. But if I could find a damp area of the cave, that might be my salvation. Now that I’m out of that first cave, finding water will be my top priority.

The tunnel goes on for a minute more, longer than I had expected. The end is marked by a wall of black that my Spark can’t penetrate. Cautiously, I step out the end. The Core’s fissure has tapered off into a gap only a handspan wide, but it continues on into the darkness ahead of me. I lift my light to try to survey my surroundings. I’m in another cavern, I think. But judging by the echoes of my footsteps, this one is much more massive.

“This may be a problem,” I mumble to myself. I can’t wander aimlessly about these caverns. Aside from getting lost, it’s simply an inefficiency I can’t afford. If I end up heading down tunnels that loop back on themselves, would I even know? I need to explore as much of this place as possible in the hopes of finding a way out, or at least some water. But without a map or way to track my pathing, there’s no way to be systematic about it.

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[Map available,] Echo suddenly speaks up.

I pause. “I’m sorry, what?”

[Map available,] she repeats.

I frown. “You’ve had a map available all this time and I’m just learning about it now?”

[Negative,] Echo says. [Map Interface unlocked upon Pact formation.]

“Oh,” I say, mollified. “I see. Sorry I doubted you, Echo.”

This must be one of the Dungeon Core “tools” she said I would gain access to. “Alright. Let’s see it then.”

Like Echo’s Stats, an image appears superimposed over my vision. At first it appears like a ball with a tail sticking off of it. It takes a moment to realize I can mentally zoom in on the image and rotate it at will. It takes that reorientation to realize what I’m looking at: a three dimensional visualization of the places we’ve been so far. The ball—or hemisphere, now that I can rotate it—is the cavern I started in, while the wavy tail is the tunnel I took out. Now I’m standing in a new area. Experimentally, I walk a couple paces to my right. The map similarly illuminates, tracing my new path. I see. It’s a map that’s only revealed to me as I explore it. Not the most efficient way to travel, but at least it gives me reference points, and I’ll know if I ever end up retracing my steps. In that case…

I turn Psionic Touch back on, just for the company. “Now, we walk.”

It doesn’t know what that means. It is just a rock.

Guided only by my Spark of light and the Map Interface of a sentient bracelet, I strike out into the caverns.

“Do you know if there’s water anywhere in here?” I ask I walk. “An underground river or pool?

Water? Its thoughts spiral around that concept for a second. It doesn’t remember water. It was a long time ago that it knew water. Now it knows only stone. Earth. Rocks. Pebbles. Dust. Boulders—

“Alright, alright,” I say, cutting it off. “I get the picture.”

Looks like I’ll be on my own as far as trying to find water and food goes. Perhaps it would be capable of searching for such things if I could provide it with more mana. I Check my mana at the thought: [2/200]. At this rate, it will take another six hours to fully regenerate. Then again, I have nothing but time.

I walk for hours. Sometimes the way slopes down, and sometimes up. Sometimes the cave narrows to a small passageway, and sometimes it widens into large caverns. The ways split, and they converge. They occasionally twist into passages too tight to continue. Sometimes there’s giant holes and chasms that my light can’t reach into, or passages halfway blocked with loose, dusty stone I expect came from the Core’s earlier rockslide. The walls have become moist, which I count as a good sign, but there’s not enough accumulated to quench my growing thirst. I know I should be able to go for days without water, but the exertion of my exploration isn’t helping. Each step I take carves out more of the Map on the Dungeon Core’s display, but without having any real destination, it’s just a tangled yarn of paths. I try to ignore my mounting concern. It’s early, yet.

A faint sound makes me come to an abrupt halt. This whole time, the only noises I’ve encountered are the echoes of my own footsteps, and Echo’s occasional status update.

But this is something physical, some source of sound that’s not coming from me. I tip my head, straining my ears, as I try to make it out.

Silence rings through the dark. Had I imagined it? A pebble I’d kicked just to hear it clattering down some crack in the stone? No—I’m sure it was something organic. A sigh, or whisper, or…

The grunt breaks through the silence. Excited, I hurry ahead, pausing before the passage I swear I can hear the sound coming from. Now, don’t get too overeager, I have to remind myself. It could be a wild animal. Something dangerous. And I’m just as likely to provide a food source to it as it is to me. But this is my first indication of any signs of life, and that’s an opportunity I can’t pass up.

I wait at the passage, weighing my options. My mana has finished recovering, which tells me I’ve already been wandering these caverns aimlessly for far too long. But that also means I have Blaze at my disposal. And if it’s a creature that can be reasoned with, I might be able to try Psionic Touch. Apart from those two things, I don’t seem to have many other tools at my disposal. The passage is dark and long enough to swallow the light of my Spark. It would be wiser to snuff it out so as not to alert the creature of my approach, but then I’d be walking blind, and given the uneven floor and countless holes, that would be unlikely to play in my favor. Perhaps I could—

A single word, quiet and strained, interrupts my thoughts as it echoes down the passage.

“Fuck.”

It’s a person! I’m not alone in here. Granted, perhaps not a friendly person, but at least someone I can talk to. Someone who can help navigate me out of this maze, for better or worse. I press ahead, my Spark raised before me. As I approach, I can make out the scuffs of something hard against stone and more heavy breathing and muttered swears.

“Hello?” I call.

The sounds stop. Slightly more cautiously, I continue on in the same direction. As I turn a corner in the cave, my light spills over a small cavern. It takes me several moments to parse what I’m looking at.

The space is small, only a dozen feet across. The opposite wall is not a wall at all, in fact, and actually appears to be a carved, artificial tunnel, though it’s half caved in with boulders. And between that tunnel and me, pressed against the fallen rocks, is a person.

Or… a spider?

A black, seven-foot-tall spider, with the torso of a human extending from where its head should be. Metal armor decorates its—her?—arms, legs, and chest, while long dark hair cascades down around her shoulders. Her face almost appears human: she has two ears, a nose, a mouth, and eyes.

That is, eight eyes.

“Um, hello,” I say after a moment, trying not to let any preconceived biases toward eight-limbed arachnids color my impression. “I don’t suppose you have a map?”