The defense of the heart proved bloody. The core found minions -willing or not- and yanked them into being in my path. This was a place where warriors came to whet their blades, hone their skills and cut down a myriad of foes to further their standing with their patron Gods.

I had reason to be here today. The movements came sloppily at first. Too-wide swings and choppy executions even with the experience I had. My mind knew which way the axe should fall. How it should be gripped and swung. My body did not. That took getting used to. It had been many long years since I had ventured into this dungeon. Yet I knew it, and it’s secrets. It’s trials and rewards. For why else make a place so dangerous, if not to reward those who overcame it?

Through the dungeon’s bumpy corridors I strode, not so much as a scratch on my clothes. The same could not be said of blood. That was splattered all over me, though none was my own. I knew how to kill, and how to do it well.

So confident was I in my skills that I had not even thought of armor. The Kobolds posed little threat to me, and I disdained them. The dead I left in my wake, to be reabsorbed and reused by the core once I left. There were traps, of course. Traps that proved ineffective once a man knew of them and where they lay.

The core lay before me all too quickly, its domain torn through in my quest for power. The beating heart of the dungeon. A fragment of divine power, placed here as a tribulation for the worthy to overcome. And so I had done, and now I laid claim to my prize.

Once every year, there would be grand ritual. A celebration of the Gods Above, where young hopefuls would step forward and choose their path. Where they would be guided by grace to their destinies, find their path laid before them.

I needed to shortcut that. The festival would be held weeks from now. None would find a new path. Instead there would be only death and fire as the town burned from within.

In my last life, this had been the spark that set off the powder-keg and roiled the region into chaos. I had survived because I had not been present, but slipped away without any knowledge of the happenings. When I had returned, there had only been burnt ashes and a pyre that held everything I had once known to be good and happy.

Heresy was the least of what I was willing to commit to stop that.

Dangerous as they were, the core of these dungeons were sacred. Placed here by the Gods Above to test those who might one day call themselves worthy. Places to hone skills and strengthen one's resolve. The weak might fall in these halls, but such was life.

Ill-content to wait for power, I would make my own.

The core pulsed, and a single crystalline shard emerged from its rocky surface. Endurance’s reward, to be presented before the altar in exchange for power and blessings. A small morsel of what could be yielded. It was not enough.

I raised the axe and smashed downward into the core. It held, of course. Such a vessel filled with power was resilient to most any physical attack, and I was not the strongest man to exist. I was, however, girded by resilience and steadfast in the knowledge that I must do this.

To destroy a core was heresy. To spit in the faces of the Gods and their gifts and take them only for oneself, to leave none for others who proved worthy. This was why dungeons were not simply destroyed for power once found. Every land held this belief, although some enforced it more than others. This knowledge -and the punishment for destroying this core- burned fresh on my mind with every swing that chipped into the rounded shape before me.

My relentless assault finally yielded fruit. With a heartbreaking glimmer and a soft tinkle, the core shattered before me. Wind gusted in the cave’s depths as it released might and magic, it’s final death-knell unnoticed for anyone save me.

Smooth, sharp fragments cut my fingers even as I scooped the remains into a tough leather pouch and sealed them away.

Time to leave before anyone came looking.

Terrence was nowhere to be found when I emerged from the dark, rocky depths. My words had sent the jolly man off on a sudden matter of business that needed to be reported. Him and those he was with I would deal with shortly. For now, I needed to put distance between myself and the dungeon before anyone realized what had happened.

Back towards the forest I went, careful to avoid any figures out on the fields. There, I began to bandage my wound, aware that I had left a trail of blood behind. A younger, less wise Jacen would not have thought of that. The river would make anyone on my trail lose scent, and the reeds there could provide a rudimentary bandage. It was here that I also paused to concoct an alibi.

Another issue rose to mind here; I did not know who was in on it. Terrence I was certain of, but only because I had caught up with the man years later. All the other perpetrators had remained a mystery to me. It simply boiled down to the fact that I had not been here when the massacre happened. I needed to know. My words earlier had set that plan in motion, and now it was up to me to follow it.

A good, thorough dip in the river drenched me, and left my clothes damp. With that I set off back to town, headed towards a place I was all too familiar with. The axe I left stashed near the bank, unwilling to raise suspicion by suddenly carrying around a weapon.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The Jackdaw’s Crown was my drunkard’s hole of choice. A place where I had wasted far too much of my life and coin. Inside its walls, one could find drink, music, games of chance and men or women. Today I was here for none of those.

“Young Jacen!” A bearded, bald face heralded me as I approached the bar. “So glad one of my loyalest customers graces me again today.”

“Rukso.” I grunted back. A wide, greasy man with an easy smile and an ear for gossip.

“I admit, I was worried as to your patronage when young Lucian came by himself earlier.” He remarked, already readying a mug of ale for me.

“Why, never.” I smiled, every word forced. “I only went for a refreshing swim.” I gestured towards my damp clothes. My cut hand was hidden out of sight, the other firmly on the bar. The place was full, as usual this time of year. People had finished the work-day and made their way here, or perhaps simply hadn’t worked at all.

“I admit, I’m not here to drink tonight. The folks and I had a little spat, and now I find myself in need of a room.”

All too believable a lie, given my proud father’s temperament mixed with my own lazy disposition.

“A shame.” He nodded along to my woes. “Any preference?”

The coin was slid over the counter, and I was soon in possession of a key. Up the stairs I went, the noise and light of the bustling pub left behind me. I had requested a specific room, one at the building’s corner that looked out over the street. It was already occupied, and so I had gotten the next best thing. The one right next to it.

The sounds of the pub were all too easily ignored as I let myself in. The lights I left unlit, and instead dragged a chair next to the window. Curtains open, I seated myself and leaned forward, gaze falling out over the streets of Novic.

Dusty streets that longed for rain to tide them over were sparsely populated with people as the day drew to a close. The comings and goings of the town’s residents were of no interest to me. Only a single door would yield what I awaited.

The dungeon guard lived off a rather generous salary, and it showed. His house was nice, modest and well-kept. Flowers grew outside, the product of an attentive wife. Well cleaned and well-maintained. I took in every detail, leaned to the side as I kept my eyes focused on the doorway. Hours fell away and the noise beneath my feet grew, the evening crowd arriving for their entertainment. None of this deterred me, and with steadfast patience, I waited.

Patience was rewarded, and come dark, a figure emerged. Dusk had long passed, and the streets were quiet now. The moon was bright, and because of it I saw Terrence pass through his front door and turn down the street, headed for the town’s edge.

The pub’s window slipped open as I let myself out, door to the room locked firmly behind me. A short fall off the overhand and I too paced the streets of Novic, my eyes locked on the man ahead. From the distance I trailed him, always just out of sight. There were no moments of complacency or carelessness as I followed the man across the fields and into the woods.

Once he had passed into the treeline I dashed for the woods, and soon found his trail. The large man was not overly hard to find, nor was his path hard to keep laterally. Deep into the forest he went, his path sure and footsteps hurried. And soon, he was alone, standing amidst an old clearing. Eyes locked onto him, I set myself off to the side as he lit a lantern, the light spilling forth. Gaze still focused on him, I swept around my feet to make sure no loose branches would suddenly, inconveniently give my presence away, then settled in and watched.

I did not have to wait overly long.

A thin, long man emerged from the foliage, face covered in a hood. A robe of green covered his from, a pattern of scales on the fabric. Terrence pulled his own hood up from beneath his clothes, and more figures emerged from the darkness.

My gut tightened as I recognized faces here. Dorry the baker, round and merry. Steinen, the mayor’s assistant, his fingertips perpetually blue from ink. Alexos, one of the two carpenters in the town. But most importantly, my heart sank as the thin specter was revealed to be Andres, the priest.

‘Well, get on with it.” He snapped at Terrance. “There must be a reason you’ve called for an assembly.”

The fat man looked nervous now, beads of sweat wiped from his forehead.

“The secret has been let slip.” He blurted out after a moment of silence. “The Jacen boy knows, methinks. Went so far as to threaten me with the knowledge today.”

He recounted what had happened to a hooded, shadowy crowd, stumbling over every few words. A pretty concise recalling, I had to admit from where I lurked, nestled into the trees and shadows.

“The brat thinks he’s on to something.” Andres spoke after a few moments. “If he really did know, there would be a legion of the crown’s inquisitors here and we would be burnt corpses.”

There were murmurs of agreement from the hooded figures.

“Still, we cannot be too careful. The culmination of our efforts is nearly nigh, and this cannot be allowed to interfere with that. Helcor, deal with it.”

The town jailer nodded, visage stony and scarred.

“Terrance,” The thin man sighed. “You have my thanks for bringing this matter to us in a timely manner. Stay behind after everyone leaves.”

Now there came fear and dread on the man’s face. The rest of the shadowed figures milled about and left, their business concluded. Only the two remained now.

Shadowed and thin, the robed figure approached the sweating, rounded man. A pale hand he extended onto the fat man’s shoulder, and I saw scales and claw where fingers should.

“You have made a mistake. Cost us dearly by way of your loose tongue and slack habits.” The claw tightened on Terrance’s shoulder and the thin man bent over the smaller figure, his words harsh. “Decades of preparation will not be ruined because of you, do you understand?”

He got no chance to reply.

Andres let go and sighed.

“You’ve been a loyal member of the weyr, and to repay you by punishment would be a bad taste. This close to our grand day, we need all the manpower we can muster. You have faulted, yes, but there is redemption, child. Work hard, and you too will find the Dragon’s mercy. Slip up again, and you will taste her flame.”

The two left, and soon I alone was left to darkness.

It was as I feared. Everyone here was complicit. All were members of the Cult of the Dragon.