Ryia did the wisp equivalent of staggering at the disorienting tornado of sensations being forced out of a space entailed. The stagger looked like someone had decided to use a lightbulb during a tennis match, but Ryia was in no mood to find the situation amusing.
“Make a Core angry, and you’ll see why the World Core has survived for so long.”
The words of her old instructor rattled through Ryia’s head; a ghost come to haunt her. She stared at the archway, her words adding to those of her mentor, a never-ending song of self-recrimination and regret. She turned from the archway and flitted away, her incorporeal sinking into the ground without a trace.
For those alternate timeline ENADs Kiadoz, the name of Granite’s planet, was roughly the size of Jupiter. As a result, even traveling at Ryia’s incorporeal speed it took several days to reach her destination. But finally, after days of lonely silence; her only company the rock blurring past at incredible speeds, she reached her destination.
Thousands of lights glimmered in a cast chamber, the sheer number of orbs perfectly illuminating the city below. Vast structures towered, spiraling buildings that were as much art as they were residences, but even the monumentally large spires only occupied half the gargantuan space. Wisps of all shapes, sizes and colors streamed about their business, the sound of the city unhearable to those who couldn’t hear ManaSpeach. At the center of it all floated a pinprick of light, its tiny size hidden behind the living rainbow or radiance that put all other orbs to shame. It was the home of a race, the heart of a civilization.
It was Wispheart, the capital city of the wisp race and home of the World Wisp.
The World Wisp, created by the World Core to be a companion through the ages, had been the inspiration for wisps as a race. The bond between dungeon and wisp was not just mental, not just an agreement to be friends. When a dungeon and a wisp agreed to bond, they sealed a pact between them, to be true to one another throughout the eons. It was similar to marriage for an ENAD, but at the same time completely different. The bond was to marriage as a blood oath to friendship, similar and yet on an entirely different level.
Once the bond was made, the dungeon and wisp were connected in a way that was, as far as anyone knew, unique in the world. The mana of the two mana beings would link, intertwining to make a greater whole. For good or ill, from that point on their fates were interlocked. When a dungeon died, so did the wisp, and vice versa. It was considered by some to be a dungeon's only weakness. Of course, killing a bonded wisp was even harder than killing a normal wisp, as they could draw on their Core’s power, but still.
Ryia paused, the beautiful sight never failing to take her breath away. The city stretched before her; all she had known for the hundred years of her childhood. But despite its beauty, its living art, the unending kaleidoscope of colors that cast the city in ever-shifting hues of brilliance, for her it was tainted. Tainted by the people known, by the things learned, and by the Core she had been given. She turned away from the radiance, her orb dimming with her emotions as she flitted towards the living quarters, her tremendous speed made laughable by the chamber’s size. An angry moment and a foolish Core had brought her to this spot, the one place she knew her problems could be solved.
Her former teacher’s home looked like a large beehive, the only opening the cylindrical tanned exterior being a hole at the top. As she floated inside, knowing her mentor had already sensed her, her gaze settled on several objects scattered along the floor, from a golden feather glowing softly with an inner fire to a simple rock chipped on one side. When she’d asked the owner why he, an intangible wisp, kept such things, he’d only said each item was a memory he wouldn’t release.
Inside, waiting with his distinctive calm patience, was her mentor.
Aging for wisps didn’t work the same as for ENADs. They had no bodies to deteriorate, no brains to degrade. The only way to tell the age of a wisp was by the nuances of their mana. The mana of the wisp in front of her told a story of centuries passing, each particle unique and powerful. For those who could sense it, it was like looking at an antique, or more accurately a family heirloom. You knew that each small scratch, each tiny ding held a story. In this case, it was a story of hardship, of experiences gained and lessons learned.
“Greetings, teacher.”
Ryia’s normally flippant personality vanished in the presence of the person who had taught her everything she knew about being a bonded wisp. The being said nothing, simply looking at her, reading her manna like a book. It wasn’t hard. The facts that she had been in a Core’s domain, had not established a bond, and was kicked out of the domain were obvious, if you knew where to look. Combine that with his intimate knowledge of her… enthusiastic personality, and the wisp knew all but the details.
“I told you that temper of yours was going to cost you someday.” The ManaSpeach was smoothed out by her teacher's mana control, a further indication of lengthy experience. Ryia said nothing.
The wisp sighed.
“Tell me what happened.”
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Barus felt terrible.
His head hadn’t hurt this much since he’d gotten his hands on a B ranked bottle of booze and decided that his C ranked body could handle a little alcohol. Hint: BAD IDEA. He rolled onto his side, and started coughing, pausing when blood splattered through his lips. All he could do was lay there, heaving for air that refused to enter his burning lungs. After what felt like an eternity of heaving agony, each moment filled with pain radiating from every soft tissue on his body, his directed regeneration allowed him to crack open a single, blood encrusted eye.
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He was in the jungle, lying in clearing with the rest of his battered team. He staggered to his feet, for once regretting Converting his brain instead of his body. It allowed his mind to recover first, which didn’t help much when every part of him was “only” recovering at peak D rank speed. Even so, he was better off than Amaris. Her air mana was particularly susceptible to physical attacks, and she might have suffered permanent damage. His fears were proven to be gender biased as she opened her eyes, looking around in confusion.
“What happened?” She croaked.
Altair grunted as he clambered to his feet, helping the woman to do the same. His earth and fire mana provided extreme regeneration and speed at the cost of magical flexibility, making him the first to bounce back from trauma.
“I don’t know,” Altair grumbled. “But whatever it was, it wasn’t magical.”
Barus looked to Amaris, and she nodded in confirmation. His mind raced over everything he had seen, his B ranked mind providing perfect recall. The muffled hissing of a force projection rune… a barely remembered word about dungeons being a sealed environment… the strange kitten Altair had killed, allowing the dungeon to raise the difficulty.
All this for a cat.
He started laughing, and once he started it was hard to stop. The others looked at him like he had just grown a third eye, which made him laugh all the harder. When they finally got him to explain what he had pierced together, they were not amused.
“That can’t be right.” Altair grumbled. “I don’t care what sort of hokey pokey you mess around with; air pressure isn’t strong enough to take down a C ranker.”
“It is if you’re in a dungeon.” Amaris had a thoughtful look on her face as she gazed back at the archway, a good hundred feet away.
“We need to report this.”
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Eight days later.
“So, Brink finally got a dungeon, eh? Took ‘em long enough.”
The branch director carefully scrutinized the assessment team’s report, noting how each of the testimonies agreed up to a point. Something had happened in the final room, probably overpressure, and the result had almost been catastrophic. They still didn’t know how they’d escaped the dungeon, and the recommended danger ratings for the dungeon varied wildly from Adventurer to Adventurer.
“Great, another complication. As if my life wasn’t difficult enough.”
He dropped the slip of paper onto his oak desk as he stood, turning. Behind his desk stretched a large bookshelf, taking up the entire back wall of his office. He carefully ran his finger along the spines, their titles gleaming in the fading sunlight streaming through the open window. Beyond, the sound of Windhallow was muted by the Adventure Society branch's orchard-estate. The subdued quality of the small room’s furnishings spoke to an educated, practical man who got things done, as did the practical Adventuring gear he used as clothing. He finally pulled a massive tome from the shelf, carefully leafing through the pages as he set it down.
“The Dungeon Archives.” The man announced to no one in particular. He had found himself doing that more as he’d aged, his increasingly infrequent outings no longer enough to contain his energy.
“Now let’s see Dark dungeons, Void dungeons, Death dungeons, Necromantic dungeons, Dungeon dungeons-interesting- ah! Here we are. Physics dungeons.” The man looked over the single page of text, his normally confident expression marred by a deepening frown.
“Interesting.” He dragged each syllable out of the word as he snapped the book shut, sitting down heavily.
“Well, best keep an eye on that one.” He reached for a stamp containing several dungeon grades, then hesitated.
Dungeon gradings were similar to Adventurer rankings, but fundamentally different, as Core’s didn’t fit onto the traditional cultivation scale. They were instead ranked based on mana density, mana type, and the Core’s perceived ingenuity. Using this information, the Adventurer Society could roughly gauge a dungeon’s difficulty, attracting only Adventurers of that rank. Rating a dungeon too high would disappoint high ranked cultivators, which was never a good idea, while rating a dungeon too low could get Adventurers killed.
The words of the chapter flashed through the man’s mind as he stared at the dungeon’s file. For a long moment he hesitated, torn between logic and his gut, before he decisively slammed a stamp onto the file’s cover. While waiting for the ink to dry he carefully replaced the large tome, his shadow lifting from the folder and allowing the sun’s light to glint over the drying ink. The words were magically transmitted to the Adventurer Society’s archives, notifying thousands of directors of a new, high C grade dungeon.
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“So, you were afraid this dungeon would be destroyed by the mortals, hmm?” Ryia could tell it was a trick question, heard the slight undercurrent of anger in the words, but couldn’t help herself.
“Yes, teacher.”
“LIE” The wisp hissed, its anger now on full display. “You were afraid that this dungeon would be too different, that the mortals would not come, and you would remain in obscurity, forever doomed to be the unknown wisp to a failed Core. Even now, knowing this flaw, you cannot help yourself. The bond between a wisp and a dungeon is not a contract,” the word spat out like a curse “it is not a rigid formality set in place for mutual benefits. It is a friendship.”
The orb dimmed towards the end, its voice becoming softer.
“I have seen what happens when a dungeon and a wisp cannot stand one another, when their beliefs come into conflict. Their mana fights each other, and the best one can wish for is that both are destroyed. If not, the only mercy you can grant pained ruin of the two is a swift death. If you do not wish to bond with this dungeon, then don’t. We can send another, and there are always places for a trained wisp to go. But be honest with yourself, be done with the lies. Granite will not have failed you; you will have failed him when he needed you the most.”
Ryia opened her mouth to say that yes, another dungeon would be more suited for her, but then paused as an image formed in her mind. The sight of Granite, sitting alone in the dark. It was the first she had seen of him, a simple being with no name and no conception of what was happening or who he was. Her thoughts moved past that, seeing him struggle to understand why gold was valuable, of watching the shocked astonishment ripple through his mana when the explosion destroyed his fledgling dungeon, the single-minded focus as he worked to convert a tiny ant to a dungeon mob, the joy as he made a kitten roar loud enough to scare the most ferocious beast.
She found herself strangely… happy with the memories. There had been no fame, no glory, but he had been happy. Thinking about it, so had she.
“Thank you, mentor.” With those parting words she shot out of the wisps home, then across the cavern, barely noticing the beautiful display that before had always held her captivated, beginning the long trek home. Yes, she had made mistakes. But all knowledge that was worth having came from mistakes.
She just hoped Granite would see things the same way.