Kenton watched the tearful reunion. The terrifying griffin melted and enfolded her wings around the kneeling ex-Lordling, all soft and gentle and not at all snarling and vicious as he had seen her.

He’d had preferred it if he wasn’t hanging by his coat. The cinnamon terror pledged by all dead things she would leave him the Emarris Dragon Hide Saddle after the conversation with Elswith, or as he had said “The random stranger”. She had left Kenton in his precarious situation as a warning to not disrupt the reunion. Spiteful griffin.

Kenton was left wracked with dread not knowing what happened to the saddle. While Elswith disappearing suspiciously after he was alone with Kenton would 100% destroy Kenton’s chances of elevating to midling, the saddle being taken away under his watch would still be a huge blow against his accumulating authority.

He supposed it could be worse, feeling the blood start to dry on his forehead. The worst case would be that kleptomaniac Sparks taking it. The Cinnamon terror stole things, but at least she stole them on purpose. Kenton couldn’t count how many of his silver-backed leather brushes and canisters of queen beeswax Sparks had stolen because she liked how the sun sparkles against the shinies.

While Elswith was being embraced by a griffin and Kenton was firmly embarrassed by the griffin, he couldn’t help but look back to the blue glowing screen in front of him.

Player Level Up!

“What kind of deep magic is this?” he muttered, halfway hoping the Law of Fae or that game thing would help him out.

I'm the System!

Answered the blue screen in front of him.

It didn’t speak but wrote it out in plain and clear faespeach.

Kenton almost cried out, but he was still hung by the back of his coat and thought better than jerking and recoiling suddenly. He doubted the spoiled griffin would catch him a second time.

“What manner of fae are you?” he said, checking furiously on his own person to make sure he had not somehow accrued debt of a powerful entity. But outside of the debt to his Lord and his home court, he was still unattached.

I’m the System!

There was a deep, threatening growl from the Cinnamon terror above on the topmost ledge, and Kenton realized he needed to keep it down.

“What does that mean?” he whispered. “What is a System?”

The system is the System!

Not…very smart, he decided. Or very smart that it understood profound truths that seemed so simple that they were hardly worth mentioning. He hated working with those. As a Mapper, he would be requested to work with scholars and map makers, and half those people would insist on going to the worst and most dangerous places and then staying there for an inordinate amount of time with their pens and their magic flutes and their arcane protractors.

The number of times he had to bolt, practically dragging protesting scholars as the gates shuttered and shook as the creatures on the other side attempted to get familiar with the visitors with their teeth was uncountable.

And they’d yell at him, saying he was interrupting their research. They were very sure that the Stable wouldn’t let them next to creatures that could actually harm them. Fools had almost gotten him killed so many times.

The Grant Stable was dangerous. It housed dangerous creatures. And dangerous secrets.

“You’re part of the dungeon, aren’t you?”

The System is here to help you get stronger! ♪ I am to comfort and equip you to face your fears! ♪ It doesn’t matter who you are, anyone can face their fears and grow stronger. ♪

The text rolled out.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

And Kenton suddenly understood why the current King of the Seelie Court had destroyed the Dungeon.

High Fae had high magic. Outside of a few Mages and a smattering of old wizards, the fae who had been unable to compile and gather the Law of Fae themselves and then learned manually, the normal fae had small magic. Small, not worthy of combat or much agency. Midling fae seemed like deities to lowling fae, especially in the rural places and the outer courts. And High Fae were worlds above midling. The number of lowlings that ascended to midling were small, only thousands every year compared to the untold magnitude of all lowling fae.

The number of Midling rising to High Fae? Perhaps a hundred, maybe? By themselves, not at the behest of a powerful family elevating someone? Kenton believed it happened once when a Midling saved an entire court from destruction and the cumulative power was enough to bring him over and into the upper echelon of the High Fae.

If the Dungeon could help even the small become mighty, what would happen to the power structure of the world?

There must have been a balance or a check before. In the past, all children of Lords could accumulate power, instead of the scant few.

While he knew he was still young and he still had time to get to midling, he felt his joints hurt in bad weather and his hair was teasing at going gray, but most importantly he had experience. For 137 years he worked in the Stable in the Citadel, and for 137 years he had seen lords and Lordlings and Courts and Senate battle each other for the scrapes of power. Especially the last 10 years he’d spent too much time around the Red Circle, even in only adjacently as he worked on their equipment as they came in and out of missions. He had overheard them speaking with their minders, and speaking with each other. He had overheard his fair share, (And a good deal more than his fair share).

That Law of Fae seemed to be paying acute attention now. He didn’t like that. He never liked that.

However, the cold logic continued to land, cold like iron against bare skin, understanding crashing into him. He knew that there were fewer Circles now than a hundred years ago. Not too many less. But still less.

If there were fewer Lordlings, then there would be fewer Lords eventually. It would take a long long time, of course. Lords' lives were measured in hundreds and hundreds or even a thousand years.

But they still grew old and faded away into the rust.

Like blows from an attacker, Kenton felt himself bombarded with terrible logical jumps.

What would happen to the dynamic of powers if the Lords eventually disappeared? The Senate would seem to benefit, but the Senate was comprised of high fae too, just less powerful ones than the ruling Lords.

Had the Dungeon helped create the High Fae, or was it a threat that stood to gain from the reduction of the High Fae? Did it create a rival group that did not utilize the Law of Fae, or did the Fairy King not want anyone to ever be able to overpower him or threaten his position?

Had the Fairy King known this, and planned for it? Had he caused the Lord’s shortage or attempted to slow it?

The Law of Fae was cheering for him.

This was too big.

Too big for a little lowling like himself.

There was a sound, like someone had whipped a sheet, and Kenton turned belatedly and saw the griffin had opened her massive wings.

She took off into the air and went straight up into the rafters, and pulled down the glowing silvery saddle of the Emarris. (It had probably been there all along, dagnabit) She glared disdainfully at the Law of Fae, presumably, then glided down and landed gently and silently on the same ledge as Kenton was hanging from.

She set the saddle down, in the middle of the ledge, then crawled, like a cat approaching a bird hiding in tall grass, to the edge. “No see me.” She whispered to Kenton.

Expect there was no cover, and even Kenton could see her if he craned his neck uncomfortably.

And Kenton could see through the wall as well. There, standing at the edge of the door was the red thing.

And for the first time, he could see it distinctly.

It looked like Elswith. Not Elswith now, but Elswith after he came back from a bloody campaign victoriously. A little too cold and a little too sharp for the lowlings, a little too giddy around the eyes for the beast blood splattering his garments.

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“You know, Kenton,” said his mentor in his memory, so long again. “The legends go that the Dungeons grew too dangerous. They understood the fears too well. And once they take a form, they could keep it until they were defeated. Including all the abilities…”

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Kenton clutched his hands nervously. He should have included that he gets his key first and foremost from the griffin. Who cared about the saddle if something that stole the form of Elswith got out of the Dungeon?

The fastest thing was having Elswith get the key. But for Elswith to move, someone else needed to go first. “Cinnamon Girl. You need to leave now!”

“I just want to see my friend one more minute.”

“I need to get my key back! You have to go!”

The huge griffin hissed at him and whispered softly, like lovers fighting at a friend’s house. “I no like you anymore! Not unless you give me lots of boc bocs. Like 10!” She grabbed the saddle in dissatisfaction and placed it carefully on his head. “Don’t drop it or I take it again!” Then she sprung into the air and glided down.

At the base, carefully avoiding the bells, the griffin looked back to the top ledge and roared defiantly. “Love you!” purred the griffin to the Lordling sitting perfectly still like a statue. “Love you play again soon!” said the naughty griffin.

And then she was gone.