The halls of the palace are warm and humid, thick with the rich aroma of a dozen brewing cauldrons of stew. Beryl and Hetlanir are coordinating a feast for when the last of the newcomers arrive. Nek says the best way to forge bonds is over a hot meal, and I tend to think he’s right.

Fyreneth’s Fortress has been completely excavated at this point. We don’t have nearly enough people to fill the city, so right now most of the families are staying in the palace or the abodes just beneath it. Mirzayael’s scouts still patrol the streets to make sure stingers aren’t making nests in any of the empty lodgings, but for the most part the streets are lit, warm, and safe. It’s hard to imagine only a month and a half before, the people here were only barely scraping by.

I roll my shoulders and stretch my neck, trying not to slouch as I chop up a board full of mushrooms. It’s all hands on-deck for the feast, and there’s a festive atmosphere in the air as everyone bustles about, discussing which rooms have been set aside and prepped for which newcomers, and what sort of local cuisine each group prefers.

“So, Fyreneth’s Crown,” Dizzi says, appearing at my elbow.

“The Dungeon Core,” I correct her.

“Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. So can it eat stuff other than rocks?”

I hold up a mushroom stalk and mentally nudge the Dungeon Core. It takes a moment to notice what I’m drawing its attention to, but as soon as it catches my intent, it happily snatches up the fungi like an eager dog. The stalk vanishes between my fingers in two invisible bites. It proclaims the mushroom is not as good as rocks, but definitely better than spring water.

“That’s wild,” Dizzi says, grinning madly. “Does it digest it? Is there waste?”

“Er, no,” I say, thanking god that isn’t the case. “It gets stored in a sort of virtual Inventory. Anything that gets consumed by the Core can be recalled back into reality at a later point, given a small mana cost.” In fact, using that ability I’ve been working with a family of dwarves to establish some gardens in a few of the rooms near the kitchen. “I can also alter the matter that’s in the Inventory while it resides there.”

“Fascinating,” Dizzi says. “Can it eat people too, do you think?”

I grimace, having wondered the same thing before. “I’ve not yet tested that theory and have no intentions to. Though it seems it can only consume biomasses that have already perished, so at least there’s that. Here.” I push half of my mushrooms in her direction. “Be productive while you hound me.”

“Aw, come on,” she says. “You love the questions, admit it.”

“I do love questions,” I agree. “I don’t particularly love being hounded.”

She picks up a knife and tentatively slices a mushroom. Clearly this is not one of her practiced skills. “So you want me to stop?”

I sigh. “No, you’re right. I’d be a hypocrite to discourage such curiosity. Ask away, then.”

Dizzi ruffles her feathers in excitement. “Excellent. In that case, tell me all about this Interface you’ve mentioned. How does it work? What’s this Inventory look like? What are all of its capabilities?”

As I respond, some of the other kitchen workers come around and take our bowl of chopped vegetables, replacing it with more ingredients to prepare. Dizzi cuts awkwardly and slowly, leaving all the pieces in mismatched sizes, and often stops working altogether while she listens to something I say with laser focus.

“As an artificer, I’ve made a lot of magical objects in my days,” Dizzi says, “but I’ve never heard of anything this complex. It sounds like it basically has a mind of its own.”

“I believe it does,” I admit. “It’s certainly like no consciousness I’ve ever encountered. Vast and ancient, yet it harbors a childlike naivety. Incapable of empathy, but curious and hungry.”

“Not unlike Ollie,” Dizzi teases.

“With the exception of empathy, a more apt comparison than you might think,” I say. “Neither seems to be fully aware of the power they wield.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“It could be,” I agree. “If wielded by the wrong hands.”

“And you think you’re the right hands?” Dizzi asks.

I glance down at the Core, sitting dormantly on my wrist. Do I? Is it arrogant to think I’m capable of directing such a dangerous force? Of wielding it responsibly? “I don’t know if I’m the right one. But I think I’d rather it be with me than with someone who might have more ambition for power.”

“Hm. That’s a fair response, I think,” Dizzi says. “How’d it come to end up in your hands, anyway?”

“It was just sitting there in the cave when I woke up,” I say. “Literally stumbled upon it. I was able to forge a Pact with it, which gave me access to its Interface, and gave it access to my mana, and the rest is history.”

“Woke up in a cave, huh?” Dizzi glances at me, eyebrow raised. “How’d you end up there?”

I stop chopping the vegetables. I hadn’t even realized she’d guided me to admitting how I ended up here. “That was tricky.”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

“Sorry,” she says, though the grin she flashes indicates she’s not that sorry. “You kept being so dodgy, I knew I’d have to dig it out of you.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I don’t appreciate being manipulated. Did it occur to you there might be a reason I was keeping this information to myself?”

Dizzi’s smile falters. “Actually, no. I, uh, was just thinking about how I was going to weasel the truth out of you. Sorry.”

I frown. It’s not that I don’t trust her, like Mirzayael. But the rumors of my nature—however inaccurate—have already been incessant, and I’d very much prefer to not compound them.

Then again, Dizzi’s probably already heard everything by now. And maybe sharing the full truth will help put a stop to the rebirth theories that the half-truth has perpetuated.

I sigh. “Tell me what you’ve already heard.”

She jumps at the opportunity, leaning forward and blurting out all her words in one breath. “That you’re Fyreneth reborn and wield her lost weapon and appeared in the same location as her grave, wreathed in flames.”

“Wreathed in flames?” I repeat, laughing. “Someone is taking liberties.”

“What about the rest?” she asks, eyes wide and eager.

“I’m not Fyreneth,” I say firmly. “But there may be some truth in the other parts. I don’t have proof that this Dungeon Core was the same weapon Fyreneth once held, but given the similarities in the stories I’ve been told, I think it’s likely.”

“And you really appeared over her grave?” she asks.

I hesitate. “On that, I’m unsure. There were signs a battle took place in that location. The bones of Fyreneth’s enemies, according to your myths. But there was no indication of Fyreneth’s remains being there.”

“There wouldn’t be, if she reincarnated,” Dizzi says. “They say that can happen with phoenix harpies.”

“Have you ever witnessed such a thing?” I ask.

Now it’s Dizzi’s turn to hesitate. “No. But it’s a common belief.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” I say dryly. “In your scientific opinion, do you believe there is evidence to support that phoenix harpies can reincarnate?”

Dizzi hesitates for a long moment, likely experiencing that unpleasant dissonance that transpires when reason disrupts desire. Then, she sags in disappointment.

“So you’re really not her?” she asks. She actually thought I was some mythical hero.

I offer a sympathetic smile. “No, I’m really not. Just a victim of extreme coincidence.”

Dizzi doesn’t appear convinced by that. “Even if you’re not her, there’s too much correlation between your story and hers for all of it to be a coincidence.”

I splay my hands, helpless. “I’m not sure what to tell you.”

Frowning, Dizzi goes back to her cutting board. “Okay then. Going with your version of events. Why do you use her name?”

“I don’t,” I object. “Well. Okay it is a shortened version of her name. But it’s one that was picked for me. I guess you can say I was named after her.”

Dizzi snorts. “If you’re trying to avoid the association, you’re doing a poor job.”

“Tell me about it.” I chuckle.

“Follow up question. How did you get into the cave?”

Now that’s a tricky question to answer. But I’ve resolved to share the whole truth. Why not, after all? The only harm in revealing I’m from another world is not being believed.

“Well,” I say slowly, “the long and short of it is that I died on another planet, my consciousness got caught up in some sort of extra dimensional conflict, and then I woke up shivering in a cave—and in an entirely different body.”

Dizzi stares at me. “You’re not messing with me?”

“I am absolutely serious,” I say firmly.

“Boiling abyss,” she swears. She’s silent for a moment. Then she slams her hands down on the counter. “You have to tell me everything. What’s your world like? How advanced is its arcane body of knowledge? What caused your consciousness to switch worlds? Do you think you could get back? Could I visit?”

“It’s complicated, it’s nonexistent, I have no idea, I have no idea, and I have no idea.”

“Those are incredibly disappointing responses,” Dizzi says.

I laugh. “Sorry I’m not everything you were hoping for.”

“Are you kidding me?” Dizzi says. “This is way more interesting than a reborn old lady. Coming from another world creates countless possibilities and implications. Okay, I have follow up questions.”

“I suspected you would.” I tap her board. “Come on. Your hands aren’t broken while you talk.”

Dizzi groans, picking her knife back up. “I don’t know how you can expect me to perform mundane chores while reeling from existential revelations about the nature of reality.”

“Imagine my surprise when I ended up here,” I say with a chuckle.

“Yeah, so about that,” Dizzi says. “A different body?”

“I’m rather new to being a harpy,” I admit.

“Okay now that makes complete sense. That’s the most sense you’ve made since I got here. You’re the least harpy harpy I’ve ever met. You didn’t even know about the different Affinities. Wait.” She stops. “What were you before?”

“A human,” I say. Then it’s my turn to pause. “You do have humans here, don’t you?”

“Of course we do,” she says. “I mean, theoretically. They say Jorrians are mostly humans, but I’ve never met one myself. I’ve heard they don’t do well in the cold.”

“Well, now you have.”

“Huh.” She stops chopping again. She is really bad at this. “So should I think of you as a human or a harpy?”

“Oh,” I say. “Hm. I’m not entirely sure about that myself. Actually, no—harpy. I’m a harpy. The person I am now is not the person I was before. I like this version of me much more. And I want to embrace all of it.”

“That’s pretty cool,” Dizzi says. “And crazy. Like, wow. I’m still trying to wrap my head around all this. Do you think there’s more other-worlders like you?”

“I know so.” I nod toward one of the windows, which looks out onto one of the many pavilions I’ve fixed up for Ollie. He’s not out on the platform right now, but one of his toys—a giant shield he found who knows where—is sitting discarded on the surface. “Ollie’s from my world, too.”

“What?” Dizzi squawks. “No way! The dragon?”

“Yes,” I say, “though he was just a little boy back home. A human boy.”

Dizzi shakes her head, smiling. “This keeps getting stranger.”

“I haven’t even begun to tell you about our technology yet, either.”

That lights a hungry spark in her eyes. “You said your world was light on arcana theory. You’ve made up for it in other ways?”

“If by light, you mean nonexistent, then yes. On Earth, our research into fields of science is quite broad. My specialty was aerodynamics. You know the airplanes I mentioned before? They were needed because no one on my world could fly. My specialty was in wing design…”

As I talk about airfoils and ailerons, Dizzi wicks up my words like a dry sponge. It’s delightful to have someone to talk to about these things. Of course, I’ve discussed these topics with Mirzayael before, too, but those conversations were met with confusion and incredulity rather than rabid enthusiasm. In fact, we’re still talking by the time all the rest of the meats and vegetables are taken care of. And when we’re ushered out of the kitchen as the finishing touches of the feast are being prepared, we’ve only just touched on astrophysics.

The palace bustles with activity and warm voices as we head back to my workroom, discussing how my knowledge of physics might be better married with Dizzi’s knowledge of artificing. Throw the Dungeon Core into the mix—a magical fabrication lab—and then you’re really unlocking some interesting potential. All these together, and there’s no reason Fyreneth’s Fortress can’t rise to its previous levels of prosperity.

Exceed them, even.