Kenton stared at the space where the sound of the explosion came from.

Kenton could feel the heat of a fire flower, hot and dry with the smell of nectar lingering. No doubt about it, the unseen Elswith had been the one to cast it. Not that Kenton knew anything about magic, but he knew enough. He’d been around the Stable and the uppity upper Fae for one hundred thirty-seven years here after all.

Had Elswith always been able to wield fire flowers? The level of control and precision was unimaginable…What had his upbringing been like? How harsh had his tutelage been?

“Elswith?” He said, trying desperately to process what he had just heard.

He closed his eyes, focusing on what he wanted to find.

Elswith, that little miscreant who once played jump rope with an antique silver bridle rope that was over five hundred years old.

Elswith, that cocky young Lordling proudly proclaiming that he was going on Campaign for the first time.

Elswith, the fae Lord who had surrendered his own Lordling name in order to play a game. A game that involved the small rural places so often abandoned nowadays as the borders shrank.

And Kenton, beloved of the Stable, saw what he was looking for.

It was not how it wanted to see it. Not by a long shot. It was like…Like the walls of this room had been replaced had been replaced with clear glass that showed him another room built right next to this one. That other room was a copy of this room, but whoever had made this copy hadn’t really understood how rooms worked. On the other side of the now see-through walls, he saw yellowed paper walls, oozing brown fluid from punctures in the wall, white squares, and the terrible unending brown carpet the same color as the ooze.

And there were…creatures, below. Not in Kenton Owl’s Scope room. (He checked) No, there were only the bells and that accursed bucket here. But in this mirrored version, there were of sorts of awful creatures. Metal limbs and many limbs and things hidden in the shadows only with glowing eyes.

Kenton had a million thoughts, all in the same heartbeat.

Kenton looked up from the lower platforms in the mirrored not Stable room and saw the order of the room deteriorate. The closer to the top was the same impression of yellow walls, with horrid flashing lighting rods and white chalk, a confusing swirl of chaos and confusion, like someone who had only ever heard of a room, but had never seen it put together before and just guessed.

It wasn’t….

No.

It couldn’t be.

The last time was a fluke.

The Dungeon was dead. Every mapper for the last several generations had all testified to that. He had testified to that. The Dungeon had been ripped up and torn apart. Modern fae had no need of its challenges…That was the first Achievement of the most recent Fairy King.

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More than that, the Dungeon was never described as having yellow walls. And what was all that….oozing beige carpet?

But that did look to be the same room as the room Kenton stood in, which matched the legends of the Dungeon. In the stories, it mentioned the being made of ice and glass and fire, which purified and reflected the heart. Not this…yellow walls forever with the never-ending flickering lights and the unending beige carpet.

The Stable shrugged, as much as a forever changing compilation of animal housing and storage rooms could shrug. And Kenton heard, vaguely and disquietingly, Backrooms.

Well, hopefully hearing the Stable was a passing fad because he was going to retire!

Kenton saw where Elswith was: right here. In the Not Dungeon copy. But not here. And where was Elswith himself? Was he dead!?

Forget that, Kenton chastised himself. The Stable was showing him where Elswith was, but not Elswith himself.

Where was Elswith?

And the Stable showed Kenton more, and he almost wished it hadn’t.

The clear wall had been opaque the further up it went, but now it cleared and showed the top ledge of the other room, except for the old door with the brass knob remaining completely tangible. Kenton could see that Elswith was on the same platform as himself, in the copied room.

And Elswith did not look like a meek servant now. Nor some spoiled Lordling.

Elswith stood, like some Lord of Fae of legend. On a platform nearly identical to the very top one Kenton stood upon. He looked determined, his jawline strong. Grime clung to his clothes, as though he had just been in a major skirmish. His blue-grey eyes were focused, raw magic making them glow an unsettling shine. His broad shoulders and stance were confident, the golden light of the fire flower made his ash blond hair glow red, like the Red Lord himself. That expression…of believing so completely and totally in one’s own goals and purpose that they’d let the sun burn down the world rather than change course.

Kenton swallowed, nervously. This was Elswith. The little Lordling who’d read books to baby griffins.

But he looked so intense that Kenton would rather duck his head and hide until the powerful fae passed by, as he had done so many times in his career when Lords on a war path came near.

Then Elswith on the other side in that twisted place finally reached the door, Kenton taking careful steps to the side to keep eyes on him. Kenton saw the boy pull at the old brass knob on his side of the room. But the door was locked fast! The look on Elswith’s face was…hope.

And Kenton heard his version of the door pull!

“Elswith!” He cried, forgetting his fear. He didn’t care that Elswith looked scary.

He went to the old door that led to the terrace outside and pulled at the handle. It did not open. It should have opened, smoothly and easily, the old brilliant craftsmanship of a begone era far exceeding its newer counterparts. Not that Kenton had been up here before. Not since that one time when he lost his arm temporarily when the Stable was being moody, but that was nearly fifty years ago now!

He needed the key!

Kenton couldn’t see Elswith now, as the door did not become see-through as the walls had. But he could feel the boy pulling on the door.

“Who is it?” came a slightly muffled question from other side of the door, Elswith's tone polite as though he was just checking the mail.

“It’s me! It’s Kenton. Elswith, can you hear me?”

Mappers had certain privileges and had made certain pledges. Once, Mappers had served a different purpose. They had served in the conquest of the Dungeon, and that meant that they had keys.

Did he bring it today? He'd retired from that line of work ten years ago, but he still had his key. He hadn’t been bringing it with him all the time. But he still brought it by habit if nothing else. He had it. Right? Of all the days to leave it behind, he surely would not have this day.

“Elswith, hold on!” he banged on the door with his right hand, feeling the heat from the fire flower explosion.

There was a sharp click and Kenton turned. There, standing on his side, on the tenth ledge, was the other thing the legends spoke of:

The Dungeon’s Fears.

And it was here, with Kenton. In the Stable.