I do sleep.

I don’t need to eat or drink or even breathe, but I do need to sleep. That’s sort of strange but sort of not.

Dreaming is how I got here.

Or, that is my best guess.

I’ve always had rich, vivid dreams. When I was younger, I had a dream journal that I’d fill up with what I remembered, but then I got so good at remembering that I’d spend an hour every morning recording my dreams.

Before I was an ink demon, I dreamed of being one. Not often. I might get dream of it once every few months, but over the years, it happened enough that it became familiar.

Then one day, I woke up and my dream had followed me home.

What happened to my body? Could it be that the human me is still alive and kicking back home?

I feel like I am a bit of skin that grew until it was large enough to slough off and become its own person.

That’s a nasty image, I know. Sorry.

But I really do think I am someone’s dreaming mind becoming so strong that I came into existence. It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but it feels right. And it’s not like there are a bunch of ways a human can become an ink demon overnight and travel to a different world that make sense.

I call it ‘magic.’ But that’s just my way of saying that I have no idea.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really an ink demon. It could be that I’ve lost my mind. This dungeon is actually a mental hospital. Maybe the other monsters are other patients and the adventurers are nurses and doctors.

When someone stabbed me with a spear, it came right out because that was just me getting a shot.

It’s possible, but I don’t entertain the idea with any seriousness. No different than when I saw the Matrix for the first time and wondered if the world was actually a computer simulation and I was really a brain in a jar.

I learn useful things when I dream now. For example, there are twenty levels to this dungeon and on the twentieth level is the dungeon core.

You can experience the dungeon as a going up or going down. For me, it’s going down a level. For others, they’re climbing a tower.

The dungeon core dreams the dungeon into being. That is why when you destroy the core, the entire thing can vanish. The monsters within the dungeon, those that it spawns, are figments of that dream. I am a foreign dream that lives within the dungeon ecology.

Mana is, in some ways, actualization. Creatio ex nihilo.

(That means ‘creation from nothing.’ It’s a Latin phrase. Someone important said it; I don’t remember who. I didn’t speak Latin but I remembered some phrases because they were important things said by important people... I think? Gah! Nevermind. It can’t be that important.)

In my dreams, there is a white stag and it shines like moonlight. We’re in a peaceful forest at night and the stag looks at me with eyes that are luminous and wise.

Stolen story; please report.

Most of the time, it doesn’t talk. We just look at one another. But I know the stag is important. Not in a dealing-with-personal-issues way, but in a major way. The white stag is more important than me or the dungeon or any of the adventurers.

I wonder if I will ever meet it in real life.

...

My dungeon is in the middle of a town. The town grew up around the dungeon. It’s been here for several decades now. It’s not a novice dungeon, but the dungeon you go to after you tackle a novice dungeon.

Most people who come here aren’t interested in destroying or harvesting the core.

The three adventurers I hid from before were hunting for rock turtles. Those are a type of dungeon monster about the size of a table. They have a huge white shell of stone that they hide under. Their heads never come out. They also have paws like giant moles.

They like to dig.

Adventurers kill them for their shells, which people make things from. It’s like pure marble.

Monster parts are very useful, so hunting them down can be lucrative.

I wish my dreams would teach me the local language. I’m listening to the three adventurers now. They’ve set up a small camp in a side room. Don’t ask me how caves have side rooms, but that’s what it is.

Level four is mostly a cavernous biome. It's illuminated by torches that grow from the walls, as well as glowing mushrooms and mossed. Most everything is rough stone but there are clear rooms and passageways. The ceilings are nice and high, with lots of shadows and cracks to hide in.

The rock turtles congregate around a pool in one of the larger caverns. The pool is filled by a waterfall and there’s an abundance of greenery. Lots of tiny creatures like birds, frogs, mice, and bugs. I don’t know if they were spawned by the dungeon or wandered down here.

I don’t know how you can have a small forest without sunlight.

I wonder if I’ve been told all these things in my dreams and I just forgot them because they were less boring than knowing there’s a famous pie maker in town.

I’ve never seen him or been to his shop, but I know about him and his tasty pies. Some dreams, I can even smell them. Buttery, flakey crust cooling in the shop window, mixed with the scent of cooked peaches and cinnamon.

I have no mouth and I must eat pie!

The three adventurers managed to kill one of the smaller rock turtles. They’ve dragged its body to their side room, not far from the large cavern. By ‘small,’ I mean something larger and heavier than an adult human.

I woke up to the sound of them grunting as they carried it.

All three of them had to struggle to lift it but they seem excited. It’s hard to tell them apart. Three young men with weapons and shoddy boots. They can’t hang the turtle properly, so they’ve leaned it against the wall and a pool of blood has formed under it.

I hang above them, hidden on the ceiling. I’ve been here for almost two days now and they haven’t spotted me. Sneaky, sneaky...

They have a candle I want. Adventurers carry candles and light them when they go to sleep. These candles keep out things like me. It’s like there’s a barrier I can’t see but still can’t cross.

But, if I’m inside when they light the candle (there’s more to it—they chant while lighting it, but I don’t know the words) then I can stay. Also, I can leave if I want. The barrier is only one-way.

They’ve lit the candle and are settling down after their meal. They ate some of the rock turtle. It must be tasty because they seemed happy while eating it.

They are very relaxed right now. Feeling good because of their kill.

This is what I’ve been waiting for.

I don’t have anything against adventurers. Not in general or these ones specifically. Even the ones that stab me or toss a fireball at me—it doesn’t bother me.

When I was human, if someone tried to hurt me, I would be very unhappy or sad. Not anymore. Lots of things will hurt me if they get a chance. It’s scary when I’m attacked and have to run, but for some reason, knowing the world is dangerous doesn’t bother me at all.

But I want some of these adventurers' stuff. And I know something they don’t: the smell of blood from the turtle has attracted other monsters.

They’re a pack of very short, skinny, ape-shaped people with dog-like heads and lots of hair all over their bodies. And swollen bellies. I call them murlocks. The first three levels have a bunch of them and they’re loud, but the ones on my level are more thoughtful.

I’ve seen one or two peering into this side room and sniffing the air. The candle keeps them away too. I’m trying to catch one’s attention.

With luck, I can attract one and its pack will be nearby.