Despite Mirzayael agreeing to accompany me to the Catacombs, we don’t actually leave the next day. I wake up sore and stiff from the previous day’s walk, and though Mirzayael doesn’t show it, I suspect she feels similar. When she instead suggests I take a day or two to rest, I accept. While I am still eager to visit the Catacombs, Mirzayael also needs time to recover. It’s only been two days since she lost her leg, after all. The injury stings me with guilt every time I see it.

Instead, I spend my time working on the Dracid chamber, building up the structure’s insulation and providing more stones with lower specific heat capacities. Perhaps if we could find a better source of fuel, such measures would not be necessary, and we’d instead be able to sustain more and larger fires.

I also investigate the waterfall. Mirzayael had said the reason the cave of Fyreneth’s Keep was able to remain warm enough to sustain flora and liquid water might be due to an underground thermal spring. I’d wondered if the waterfall might help me locate it, but it appears from a crack in the ceiling, and likewise disappears into cracks of the rocky floor. Not easy to trace from here. But I hadn’t expected it to be that easy: there is still much to uncover.

Several more days pass this way. My Spark has leveled all the way up to 5, which means it only consumes 1 point of mana every five minutes, and its range and brightness has marginally increased. Blaze still has hovered at level 1, as I’ve been too busy, and in too bright a place, to need it for anything. Psionic Touch also has stagnated at Level 2, since I exclusively use Psionic Link with the Dungeon Core. But my frequent use of Psionic Link has resulted in an increased to level 4: this has reduced the mana cost to establish a new link to 100, and has increased the number of people I can form a link with to three. Not that I expect I’ll have many opportunities to form new links. Two other voices in my head is already plenty.

Speaking of voices, Echo and I have also been talking quite a bit.

This Role, I ask her one evening. The Dark Lord. You said it means I must defend my kingdom.

[Affirmative,] Echo says.

But what does that mean? I wonder.

[To defend: to refrain from leaving something unprotected.]

Yes, thank you for the lesson in semantics. I don’t have a kingdom. And I doubt this little community could count as one.

Echo remains silent.

I suppose that wasn’t technically a question. But the implications of such a role do not escape me. I’ve just not wanted to believe it. This role, I venture. Are you saying I’m… I’m meant to be the bad guy?

[Query not recognized.]

I sigh. Why do I have a Role? I ask, switching tactics.

[Any individual who gains System Access is required to have a role.]

System? I ask. What System?

[The adapted iteration of the neuralarcane network which governs the progression of System users.]

Are you also a System user, Echo?

[Negative. This cloned interface provides audiovisual access to System functions.]

You’re a component of the System, I surmise.

[Affirmative.]

My GUI, I suppose. But I’m getting off track.

You said someone in the System must of a role, I say. Is the inverse true? If one does not have a role, they are not in the System?

[Affirmative.]

That explains why no one has any idea what I’m talking about when I’ve tried to explain Echo or Stats to them. No one else that I’ve seen has a Role listed at the bottom of their statistics. Only me.

How can other people have stats if they’re not in the System? I ask. For that matter, why don’t they have access?

[Populated stats for non-system users are an estimated representation of evaluated qualities,] Echo says. [Non-system users have not met minimum requirements to access the System.]

And the minimum requirements are…?

[]

I jump when Echo comes back with this rather loud and firm response. Who has access?

[]

That’s troubling. There are different levels to this System then, and someone, or someones, have elevated privileges. This only summons dozens of more questions from me, but I appear to be digging too deep and only run into more permission issues from Echo.

It’s certainly a strange mystery. A mystery I intend to unravel, one way or another. I can feel there’s answers here, just out of my reach. All I need to do is puzzle out the right questions. Poke around for a back door.

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

Finally, nearly a week after our last excursion, Mirzayael announces it’s time to visit the Catacombs.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I don’t see why you are so excited.” She roughly tightens a strap around my waist, and I wince. “Even if you find the source of these thermal springs, how can that be of any use?”

I hold my arms up as Mirzayael adjusts my tunic, then spins me around, pulling the fabric around my wings. I stand there awkwardly as she adjusts the clothes to her standards. Apparently it’s been so long since they’ve had a harpy in their midst that the townsfolk had to tailor-make something suitable for me. The tunic is designed much like any other, except the lower back of the shirt parts into three separate strips to drape around and be tied beneath the wings.

“The Dungeon Core should be able to help with that,” I say. “If the Catacombs really do have a plumbing system, the Core should be able to trace the pipes to their source. From there, we might be able to find a way down to the springs. Or a way to bring them up to us. Can you imagine what it would do for the dracid? For this whole community?”

“Hmph.” At first I think Mirzayael is scoffing, but as she turns me back around, I can make out a faint smile on her lips. “You are certainly a dreamer, Outsider.”

She steps back to appraise me and gives a curt nod. “That will do for now. Here.” She hands me a pack next. “Make sure this fits. Tighten the straps under the arms—I’m sure you can figure that much out yourself. You’ll be carrying all your own supplies, so make sure the bag doesn’t chafe.”

I take the pack, which is heavier than I suspected, and sling it over my shoulders. It stops just short of where my wings protrude from my lower back, which is appreciated. I tighten the straps as instructed. “Is all this food necessary? It will only be a day trip, won’t it?”

“Ideally.” Mirzayael straps a pack of her own onto her back. That is, her spider back, not her human torso back. She twists around to secure her own supplies in place. “But I don’t plan on ideals. There’s three day’s worth of food and water in here just in case. The Catacombs are not to be trifled with.”

“Fair enough,” I say, recalling a couple Boy Scout backpacking trips I attended as a kid. Better to be over prepared than under. “Anything else I should know before we set off?”

“Yes. Plenty.” Mirzayael begins ticking advice off on her fingers. “Speak softly. Use little light. Pay attention to any noise you hear: clicks could be rock bats, chirps could be poisoned-skinned salamanders, and grunts mean you run. Don’t open anything that is already closed. Always watch your footing; holes and weak flooring is common. Keep an eye out for patches of ceiling which might appear unstable. Move carefully around corners. Watch for signs of stinger nests—loose masonry and grooves carved in nearby surfaces are the biggest tells.” She pauses. “Those are the most important things.”

I chuckle. “Watch the floor, ceiling, and passage all at once? I think I’ll be needing more than two eyes.”

“It helps to have eight,” Mirzayael says flatly.

I laugh.

She stares at me.

I turn the laugh into a cough. “Should we be off, then?”

Mirzayael cracks a smile. “Yes, Outsider. We can depart.” She ducks out of the house, not waiting for me to follow.

Nek and a handful of dracid wish us luck as we leave the city; seeing the draconic people awake and moving about fills me with warm satisfaction. I’m being helpful here. I’m doing good.

Maybe more than I ever did back home.

Not that I didn’t try. I loved my work. Airplanes have always fascinated me. And the ability to fly—who wouldn’t want that? In an indirect way, I could give something to people that would bring them happiness. Allow them to take trips. Visit family. Explore the world! Airplanes brought people closer.

Though it had had the opposite effect on my family.

My heart sinks at the thought, and I extract myself from those memories, trying to focus on the here and now.

Unsurprisingly, Mirzayael keeps chit-chat to a minimum as we travel. She strikes me as the type who enjoys silence—or, perhaps, loathes the sound of people’s voices. So why was she stationed in a leadership position if she didn’t like interacting with people?

“If I may, what exactly is there to guard against down here?” I ask as we leave the Keep. “The entrance to this place seems well disguised.”

“To your eyes, maybe,” Mirzayael says. “To a keen enough ear or nose; perhaps not. While it’s true I’ve never had Jorrian Scouts make it this deep in the caves, wild animals sometimes find their way in. Not to mention the cave-dwelling varieties which already live here.”

“Yes, you mentioned some of those,” I say. “Rock bats and, ah, stabbers?”

“Stingers,” she corrects me.

“Anything I should be worried about?” I ask.

“Not if you stay close,” she says. “Creatures native to these caverns are all rather small, and harmless when alone. In groups, and if agitated, they might defend their territory. But that’s why you have me.” She drums her fingers along the shaft of her spear. “So long as we tread carefully, there’s nothing in these halls I can’t handle.”

We enter the large, dark cavern outside of Fyreneth’s Keep, our footsteps echoing ahead of us into the large chamber. Instead of following the path we took before, however, tracing the lit runes along the walls, Mirzayael turns away from the illuminated path, leading us into the dark. She mumbles a few quiet words as we do so, and the head of her spear illuminates in a soft, blue light. She carries the spear before us, like a torch, and I similarly summon a Spark to my fingertips. My orange light joins her blue, blending on the floor before us.

As we walk, I bring up the Map Interface in the corner of my vision. I can feel the Dungeon Core curiously watching the map as well; this is the first time since our original exploration that we’re filling out new portions of the map, even if it appears to just be a large, flat, open space of rock. The Core doesn’t discriminate, however. All rocks are delicious, apparently.

“Here we are,” Mirzayael says after a moment, raising her spear.

“Really?” I ask, surprised. “We’re here already? I didn’t realize it was so close to the Keep.”

“This is merely the entrance,” Mirzayael says, gesturing above us.

The light falls over a great arch, and finally I see where we are. A gateway stretches a dozen feet above us, and castle walls reach three times as high above those. Beyond that is darkness, but the echoing vastness of this chamber suddenly makes sense.

“Can I summon a bigger light?” I ask Mirzayael. “That wouldn’t harm anything while we’re still out here?”

She gestures for me to go ahead.

I take a few steps back. “Blaze,” I say, forming the fireball in my hands. It rapidly grows to the size of watermelon, and Echo begins counting down my mana. I toss the fireball into the air, willing it to rise higher and higher yet. It flies ten, twenty, thirty, forty feet, and it’s still going. I imagine it could go twice as high if I willed it, but with my rapidly depleting mana that will have to be enough. I will the fireball to break apart, and it explodes outward in a flare of light, turning into a sort of firecracker as the embers scatter through the air. In that burst of light, I get a single still-shot of the Catacombs, stretching hundreds of feet above us.

It’s a fortress. Entombed in the rocks is a tiered city, growing from the cavern like the stalagmites themselves. It must have once housed thousands of people. Even once the light is gone, an impression of the grand, deceased citadel remains burned in my vision.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, quietly. But its emptiness feels wrong. The silence an intangible scar. “And terribly sad.”

“It’s dangerous,” Mirzayael says bluntly. “Don’t forget what I said. Now come on. Will you stand there gawking all day, or did we come here for a reason?”

“Right,” I say, summoning a new Spark to my fingers. “Lead the way.”

Mirzayael steps over the threshold and I follow quickly behind. Crumbling buildings rise up around us on either side, cutting off the view of the surrounding city, and a curve in the ancient street rapidly puts the castle’s entrance out of sight. Soon, we’re swallowed up by the Catacombs.