Fire explodes down the hall.

[Mana: 231/250] Echo reports, the numbers rapidly depleting. I dismiss the visual notification and focus on the fight. I pour more mana into the attack, ice evaporating from the walls of the tunnel as the wolf vanishes behind the torrent of my flames. Then a shadow appears in the flames, and I only have a fraction of a second to react as its jaws tear through the fire and come for my neck. I fall to the ground as the wolf flies over me. One of its claws catches my shoulder as it passes, and a burning pain lances through my arm.

[8 points of Slashing Damage sustained.]

I grimace as I roll away. I can hear the wolf’s claws scraping across the stone, scrabbling to turn around and come at me again. My fire did nothing to stop it. The wolf was too fast, and my flames too diffused. Quick, no time to think. I need to fight back with something solid. Something—

Core! My mental shout is so loud and so sudden, I feel the Dungeon Core jump in surprise.

A wall! I need a wall, I say, picturing what I intend, willing the construct into existence. I open all my mana to the Core. Help me!

The Core lunges at my mana with the hunger of a ravenous wolf pouncing on a—well, pouncing on a harpy, I suppose.

It’s jittery with excitement. Building? It LOVES to build. Why don’t I let it build more? It has so much stone in its Inventory as it is and—

“Now!” I cry, scrambling back as the wolf comes at me a second time. “Do it now!”

Strength vanishes from my limbs in an instant as my mana is sucked away. I stumble to one knee, unprepared for the spiritual punch to my gut, and raise a hand in weak defense, summoning another flame to my fingers as the wolf closes in.

Here is a wall! the Dungeon Core happily announces. Isn’t it great?

And the wall appears. One moment, the wolf is a handspan away from tearing me to shreds. The next, a wall of earth launches from the ground, catching the frost wolf from beneath and rocketing it toward the ceiling. The wall crashes into the stone over my head, then continues through, burrowing into the ceiling as the cave shakes around me.

The wolf is gone.

It didn’t even have time to let out a yelp of surprise.

[147 points of Bludgeoning Damage dealt,] Echo happily reports. [Frost Wolf defeated.]

Good god.

The Core had formed that wall before I even had a chance to react. Once more, I am shaken by its power—its danger. I’m beginning to suspect I’m barely using the Dungeon Core to a fraction of its potential. Perhaps I should be thinking bigger.

Assuming I want to give it that much power. Assuming I can still maintain my control over it.

I shakily stand up, reorienting myself now that there’s a giant wall bisecting the passage. Mirzayael and Ollie are on the other side—and based on the yells I’d heard before, I suspect they’re trapped back there with more wolves.

“Good job,” I tell the Core, and it preens at my praise. “But now I’ll need you to take it down. We’ve got others to help.”

The Core is a bit disappointed. It just made that wall! And now I want it to destroy it? It’s hurt. Wounded!

“Those are synonyms.” I put my hand on the wall. “Quickly now. You’ll have a chance to make more walls. We just need to get through this one.”

The Core deflates sadly, but the prospect of getting to build more walls is enough for it to go along with my request for now. The stone beneath my hand dissolves into sand, and the Dungeon Core affects a disgusted face. Digesting stone it’s previously eaten does not taste as good as natural stone. Not by a long shot!

Ignoring the Core’s commentary, I jump through the hole in the wall as sand still cascades around me. I shake the earth from my feathers as I dash forward, expanding my sense of surroundings through the Core’s spatial awareness and Map Interface. It doesn’t help me see Ollie or Mirzayael, but it helps me anticipate the turns in the corridor before I get to them. I can hear sounds ahead. Footsteps—

I turn the corner and nearly skewer myself on Mirzayael’s spear. Both of us are running full-tilt toward one another, but Mirzayael reacts before I do. She jerks to the side, whipping her weapon out of its lethal trajectory, as we both skid to a stop.

“You’re alive,” she says, and I feel slightly insulted to find surprise in her tone. “The wolf?”

“Taken care of,” I say. “You?”

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“Of course, the same,” she says. Then she flicks her spear back in the direction she’d come; back toward Ollie’s cave. “Come quickly then; there’s more back in the dragon’s chamber, I believe.”

She’s already moving before I have a chance to ask for elaboration. I run after her, wishing desperately that these wings could be put to some use.

Get ready, I tell the Core. If any more of those wolves are still standing, I’ll need you to act quickly.

I send it several rapid-fire mental pictures of what I mean: holes opening in the ground beneath the wolves’ feet, stalagmites dropping on them from the ceiling, cannonballs of stone firing at the beasts from the walls. The Core eagerly agrees to my plans, excited by all the new applications for its stonework it can try out. Should I be concerned it has so little value for life that it doesn’t even question crushing an animal into bonemeal? Or should I be more concerned I made those orders without hesitation?

Of course, the wolves are predators. They aren’t sapient, and they won’t hesitate to kill me. The self-defense on my part is justifiable.

A nuance the Dungeon Core is blissfully ignorant to. Would it even notice if it crushed one of my allies along with an enemy? I’ll need to keep a tight leash, just in case.

We pass a dead frost wolf on the way, its white fur stained red as blood continues to pool around it. I don’t let my gaze linger on the gore as we rush past. Another few twists and turns through the passage, and a bright light at the end of the tunnel marks the entrance to Ollie’s chamber. Mirzayael leaps through, and I’m hot on her heels.

I skid out onto the top of the staircase in time to watch the seven-year-old-boy-turned-dragon gleefully toss one of the wolves in the air and catch it in his mouth, devouring the animal like a gummy fruit snack. Around him, the floor is littered with the body parts of what must have been half a dozen other wolves.

Then again, all those pieces could have come from just one creature.

Ollie licks his chops and turns to us, letting out a happy chirping noise as he catches sight of me. “FYRE!” He bounds over to the stairwell, resting his chin on our ledge. I hesitantly pat his nose, trying hard to ignore the liberal layer of blood covering his muzzle. Tufts of hair are plastered in among the gore.

“DID YOU SEE WHAT I DID?” Ollie cries. “I BEAT THEM UP GOOD!”

I wince at the mental volume of his voice which I’m beginning to suspect he’ll never get under control. “Yes, you did great. Did you notice if any other wolves made it through?”

“NO, I ATE ALL OF THEM!” he happily and incorrectly declares. “THEY WERE REALLY CRUNCHY AND SALTY. JUST LIKE BARBEQUE POTATO CHIPS!”

But at least two made it through to Mirzayael and I. How many more might be running loose through the tunnels? We need to get back to the Keep to make sure everyone is safe.

Mirzayael must have come to the same conclusion. “I cannot linger here. I have to ensure the city remains protected.”

“Go,” I tell her, and she rushes back into the cave system. I turn my attention back to Ollie. “Where did the wolves come from?”

“DOWN MY TUNNEL, I THINK,” he says. “I WAS TAKING A NAP, AND WHEN I WOKE UP, ONE BIT MY TAIL. THAT’S SO MEAN!”

Damn. If I’d gotten here sooner, I might have been able to stop them from entering—or maybe I would have run face-first into the entire pack. Mirzayael isn’t going to like this.

“We might need to be more careful about when we leave the tunnel to the surface open,” I say. “Not just sealed at night, but anytime you’re not above ground. Mirzayael might be right—we shouldn’t leave it unguarded.”

“I CAN GUARD IT!” he objects. “I’M REALLY GOOD AT GUARDING.”

I smile, patting his nose. “I know you are. But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Ollie pouts as I head down the staircase into his cavern and make my way over to the giant passage that slopes up to the surface. The floor is absolutely filthy, and the cave has begun to smell musty and stale. Ollie certainly doesn’t seem to mind the state of his cavern, but it could desperately use a good cleaning. In fact, a pile of… things… have begun to form in one corner of his cave. I’d call it the start of a hoard, but that would be generous. Even as I have the Dungeon Core summon a wall of stone to seal off the exit to Ollie’s cave, I watch from the corner of my eye as he scratches at the remains of one of the wolves and pries something from the corpse. Once the desired artifact is finally free, he flings it over into his collection.

Where it clangs like something made of metal.

I tip my head. “What was that?”

Ollie’s head dips, like a dog caught in the middle of vandalizing a trash can. “WHAT? NOTHING!”

I head over to his treasure trove, wrinkling my nose at the smell of rotten meat as I find a pile of antlers, bones, and colorful rocks swept into a haphazard pile. Clearly, Ollie’s found a hobby to fill his time. But the item on top of the pile is different. It’s a metal plate connected to a strap of leather. I pull the object out of Ollie’s collection.

He nudges me lightly from behind, which is still enough to cause me to go stumbling forward.

“THAT’S MINE!” he objects. “I EARNED IT.”

“You did,” I agree, turning the plate over in my hands. There’s the symbol of a shield and eye hammered into the metal. An insignia? “And it is yours. Ollie, is it okay if I borrow this? I just want Mirzayael to see it. Then I’ll bring it right back.”

The boy is clearly not pleased with this proposition. “PROMISE?”

“I pinky promise,” I say, holding up a clawed pinky.

Ollie uses the tip of his tail to grab my pinky—though it’s so wide it actually wraps around my whole hand.

“COME BACK SOON,” Ollie says. “WE STILL HAVE TO DO STORY TIME TONIGHT. YOU HAVE TO TELL ME IF ALICE GETS SMALL AGAIN!”

“I will,” I promise, making my way back up the stairs.

I don’t have to go all the way to Fyreneth’s Keep before I find Mirzayael, however. She’s near the frost wolf she killed back in the tunnel, bent over the animal and pulling something from its hair.

The same plate of metal I found.

But this time I can see what the strap of leather was for: it was a collar.

“I guess I’m late to the party with my discovery,” I say, holding up my own identical accessory. “Do you know what it means?”

“It means this wasn’t some random pack of wild frost wolves,” Mirzayael says.

“They’re domestic.” Not exactly hard to gather from the use of a collar. “Who sent them?”

Mirzayael traces a finger over the shield and eye insignia, her face twisting with disgust. “The shield against the unfaithful,” she says, voice dripping with bitterness. “Those who wield the gods’ will. The only nation around for leagues, still stationed here just to make sure Fyreneth’s followers don’t rise again.” Mirzayael sneers. “Our betrayers. The Kingdom of Jorria.”