The spider woman hisses at my light and raises a hand to shield all eight of her blinking, black eyes.

“Ah, sorry,” I say, lowering my light and turning to place myself between the spider person and my flame. “Didn’t mean to bother—”

She doesn’t give me a chance to continue. Even as I’m speaking she snatches something from behind her and swings it around toward me. I hastily stumble backward, letting out a cry that bears an embarrassing resemblance to a squawk. The woman swipes at me with her spear, but I’m out of her range, and she doesn’t pursue.

“Intruder!” she hisses, jabbing her spear in my direction for good measure. “Are you the cause of this, then? It is a siege!”

“I… what?” I say, completely baffled.

The woman makes another swipe at me, this time stretching her long, spindly limbs as far as they’ll take her—then collapses with a cry of pain. One of her legs is pinned between the boulder and the tunnel, and while I might not know much—okay, anything—about spider biology, the angle her leg appears to be twisted at can’t be normal, and the sight sends an unpleasant flutter through my gut.

Echo, have any insight on this situation? I ask. What did I just walk into?

[Check,] Echo says, and more stats appear in my mind.

[Name: Mirzayael]

[Species: Arachnoid]

[Class: Silk Warrior]

[Level: 29]

[HP: 198/240]

[Mana: 110/110]

Oh, wow. I can get stats for other people, too? That’s incredibly useful. I also immediately clock some interesting differences between the stats that are listed for me as compared to this new individual—discrepancies I’ll have to sort through later, given the arachnoid’s health.

“You’re hurt,” I say. “Please, I mean no harm, and if I’m an intruder, I promise it’s entirely by accident. Will you let me come close?”

Mirzayael pushes herself off the ground, though she doesn’t attempt to stand, instead keeping her spider torso—and trapped leg—carefully still. She glowers at me, hand still curled around her weapon.

“Who are you, then?” she demands. Her voice is velvety and warm, though it’s a bit hard to appreciate beneath the way she bites off her words, as if each syllable is a nuisance to spit out. “How did you get here?”

“Those are… extremely fair questions that are actually quite difficult to answer,” I say. I hold up my hands, one empty, one still with my Spark hovering above the palm. “I can try to explain. Will you let me look at your leg?”

“No,” Mirzayael snaps. “Not until I know your intentions. How did you find this place? Did the Jorrians send you here?”

“No one sent me,” I say. “At least, not that I’m aware of. I’ve been lost in these caverns and stumbled down here after hearing your voice.”

I settle back on my haunches, deciding the most tactful move would be to sit at eye level with her. My wings awkwardly open and splay to either side as I do so, too long to tuck nicely behind my back while seated. Mirzayael’s gaze jerks in their direction, squinting into the dim light. Then her eyes widen.

“You’re a harpy,” she says, surprised.

“It certainly seems I am,” I agree.

“Lift up the light,” she demands. “Let me get a better look at you.”

I comply with her request, cupping my other hand around the fire so the flame is less blinding. Then I move it slowly before my face, wings, arms, and talons, letting her take it all in.

“You’re a phoenix harpy,” she says, a tinge of awe in her voice. Then, after a moment of silence, she adds, “Why are you naked?”

“Uh.” My mind short circuits. I mean, I knew I wasn’t wearing any clothes. But being covered in feathers, it kind of feels like I’m covered up. And frankly, I don’t have the same equipment that requires covering as I’m used to. I guess I had just assumed harpies didn’t need clothes.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Warmth rises up my neck and settles in my cheeks. I tuck my legs up close beneath me, and my wings wrap around my shoulders like a shawl. “I, ah, suppose I didn’t come with any,” I stammer. “Sorry about that. Ah, I don’t suppose you have anything to spare?”

Mirzayael frowns at me for a moment longer, then barks out a single syllabled laugh. “Well, you’re definitely not a raider, that’s for sure. How did you end up at the bottom of a cave with no clothes, Outsider?”

I try to rub the flush out of my cheeks to no avail. “I can tell you the complete and honest truth, though I suspect you will find it unbelievable. Even so, please try to understand I would have no motive to create such an outlandish story.”

“Try me,” she says.

So I do. I tell her about dying, about waking up here, about this body decisively not being the body I died in, about Echo, and the Dungeon Core, and then finding her here now.

I shrug helplessly. “That’s the long and short of it.”

Mirzayael regards me with a strange, thoughtful look. “Well, you’re right,” she says. “That is an outlandish story that’s entirely unbelievable.”

I laugh. Fair enough. I guess I should have been expecting that. “I find that reaction completely respectable. Perhaps you’d allow me to provide some supporting evidence?”

She eyes me suspiciously. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” I say, “Echo tells me your name is Mirzayael.”

The woman stiffens. “You’re a mind reader.”

“No!” I object. Then I remember Psionic Touch. “Oh, well, I suppose yes, actually. But I’m only able to do that with physical contact.”

Shockingly, this appears to do little to unseat her suspicion of me. “What do you really want?” she demands. “Why did you come here?”

I sigh. “I fear you will find nothing I say satisfying. But everything I’ve told you has been the truth. I’m lost and just as stuck as you are.” I tip my head at the boulder behind her. “If you don’t mind… how did you end up in this position?”

Mirzayael glowers at me. “Cave in. Some several hours ago. An earthquake, perhaps. I don’t suppose you were in this world when that happened?”

Her last words are spoken with clear skepticism and mockery, but I’m shaken nonetheless. I was in this world. In fact, I was probably the cause. Very likely, the rockslide that ended up here originated in my chamber when the Dungeon Core was breaking me out. She’s injured and trapped here because of me.

I swallow down my guilt. “I was here, yes. And I’m sorry you were caught in all of this. If you aren’t willing to believe what I have to say, may I demonstrate my good intentions instead? I believe I can free your leg from that rock.”

Mirzayael glares at me for a moment longer. Then she gathers all of her legs beneath her and staggers to her feet. She hisses in pain, leaning on her spear as she straightens. After taking a moment to recover, she looks down her nose at me and sizes me up.

With me on the floor, and her standing at her full height, she towers over me. Even without her armor and weapon, she’d be a terrifying foe. After regarding me for a moment longer, she finally lets out a grunt.

“Fine,” she snaps, scuttling the rest of her legs to the side to expose her pinned leg. “While I have my doubts about your claims—how you ended up here and that you have some way to free me—you seem to pose little threat without any weapons, or clothes to conceal them beneath.”

Thanks for that reminder. But she’s offering an olive branch, and I’ll certainly take it.

“Thank you,” I say, pushing myself to my feet. “This hopefully should only take a moment.”

Cautiously, I step forward, keenly aware I’m now entering Mirzayael’s spear range. She watches me, all eight eyes unblinking, hand tight around her weapon, but she doesn’t move as I offer a tight-lipped smile and step around her. I kneel by the boulder to inspect the pinch point.

“If you try anything,” she says, voice unsettlingly quiet, “I will part your head from your torso before you’re able to blink.”

“I believe you will,” I say. “And I’d much prefer you wouldn’t, for both our sakes.”

I move slowly, so Mirzayael can track my every move, and lay a hand on the boulder. Then I activate Psionic Touch, focusing on the Core.

It bursts happily into my mind. Mana? Is it time for more mana? It’s starving!

Yes, I think, pressuring it to focus. I’ve got some more mana for you. I also have another job. Think you can dissolve some of this stone for me?

What stone? It can’t see anything. It needs more mana! It’s blind! And so, so hungry. Why aren’t I feeding it? Please, it will die.

I raise a skeptical eyebrow. You seem to have hibernated in here for quite some time before I came along. I don’t think a few hours without mana is killing you.

The Core grumbles at this. What job? What does it need to do for me?

Let’s see if you can sense a bit of our surroundings with some mana, I think, offering up access to my stores.

[Mana transfer initiated,] Echo reports.

The Core excitedly takes it in, and as it does so, I notice a change taking place on my map overlay. I mentally zoom in on the map, blowing up the image of this room.

While the map might be three dimensional within my mind, it is, at the end of the day, still a map. The diagram shows the room we’re in, and even the boulder blocking the passage, but there’s no marking or representation of Mirzayael or I. Just the stone. As I watch, the revealed radius of the room expands, seeping over the boulder in the passage, and even a few feet down the hall.

Only the rock, I urge the Core, keenly aware of its destructive interpretation of the last request I gave it. Perhaps could you just dissolve the boulder in this passage?

The Core feels a little put out. Oh, alright. That’s not very fun. Really, though, when can it get more mana? This is nothing! It needs a bigger source. Much bigger. Much, much, much, much, much—

The boulder, please.

Heaving what appears to be a gemstone’s equivalent of a mental sigh, the Dungeon Core gets to work.