Daphne wished Mark had never mentioned that damn turkey pesto BLT.

After an hour of trudging through a dark, narrow tunnel, that stupid sandwich was all she could think about. At first, the journey had been great, way more fun than her and Mark’s attempt to cross the Silent Plains. The tunnel was built by and for griffins, so it was just wide enough for two humans to walk side by side. Her right shoulder was constantly brushing up against the wall, but that was more reassuring than annoying, especially since she couldn’t really see anything in the darkness. The only light in the tunnel came from the sphere pendant around Runar’s neck, which emanated a faint glow. It was enough for him to see by, especially since he seemed sure of every footfall. The best it could do for Daphne and Mark was illuminating the ground right at their feet, and only if they followed Runar as closely as possible.

Still, it was fun. The air was clear and cold, which Daphne infinitely preferred to the sluggish, lukewarm non-weather of the Silent Plains. Chances of encountering a Rabid Daydream down here were basically zero. And, best of all, they were following a GRIFFIN. A griffin who had winked at them. Daphne had been positively giddy.

But now the novelty of Runar and the ultra coolness of having been winked at by a creation in Daphne’s own book, had worn off. The griffin wasn’t in the mood to talk either, encouraging them to conserve their energy and move quickly. There was nothing in this cramped space to distract Daphne from how hungry she was, and no pleasant prospects to ward off the thoughts of fresh, herby pesto… warm, toasted bread… juicy bacon, cooked to crisp perfection…

Not that she mentioned any of this to Runar, of course. She was already intimidated enough by the majestic creature. Best to keep up the pretense that, somehow, he might think she was pretty cool too.

Which would be easier if she wasn’t starting to feel like an absolute fraud.

This was supposed to be her world. Her creation. Daphne expected to control it, or at least understand it. But the longer they spent in Euloban, the more helpless and ignorant she felt.

Sure, she had managed to rustle up a few measly word-chains, but that was mostly thanks to the Prism. Sure, she and Mark had defeated a Rabid Daydream, but that was only because Runar had shown up in the nick of time to complete the Word of Truth. And even if they had managed to take down the monster on their own, they never would have known to extract the word-power before another Rabid Daydream spawned. They still would have needed Runar to save their asses.

What kind of pathetic writer knows so little about her own damn story? Daphne’s thoughts chanted mercilessly. No wonder this series never went anywhere. No wonder I was a nobody for so long.

She gripped the pen in her pocket, but it had stopped buzzing once they entered the tunnel beneath the Speech Tree. As they walked, it had gone cold, almost like it was sleeping.

Which it deserved, honestly. It had done most of the heavy lifting in that fight.

Thank the muses for the Prism, Daphne thought grimly, still taking comfort from the reliable solidity of the pen in her hand. Without it, I’d still be a nothing writer going nowhere fast.

Daphne’s stomach growled loudly, as if wanting to get in on the self-pity party her brain was throwing. Worried that Runar might hear the uncouth rumbling, she decided to take another shot at conversation.

“You said these tunnels go all the way to the mountains, Runar? Do they still come out in the Hall of Parables?” Daphne asked.

The griffin paused. In the dim light of his sphere pendant, Daphne could make out the silhouette of his head turned slightly back towards her.

“Thou art new to this land, yet thou hast been to the Hall of Parables?”

“We… I…” Daphne squeezed Mark’s hand in a silent call for help.

“We’ve been gone for a while,” he said smoothly. “So some of this is new. But Daphne used to spend a lot of time here, and she… invited me along, sometimes.”

Runar’s silhouette did not move, but Daphne thought she could feel the golden eye blinking.

“And where didst thou visit during the times of thy sojourn?”

“All — all over,” Daphne stammered. “I guess you could say I used to live here. A long time ago.”

“Didst thou then see Euloban as it was before?” The wistfulness in the griffin’s voice made Daphne’s soul ache. “As it was meant to be, before the plague of the Wordmaster?”

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“I caught a glimpse of it,” Daphne said.

“And was it the most beautiful and wondrous of places? A land of true joy?”

The ache expanded, covering Daphne’s emotional landscape like a mushroom cloud. “It was.”

Runar nodded once, slowly, as if it were a bow in honor of glory lost. Then he resumed his brisk pace down the tunnel.

Mark pressed his shoulder against Daphne’s as they followed the griffin. She could almost hear the encouraging words she knew he was saying internally: The most beautiful and wondrous of places. That’s what you made, Daphne. A land of true joy. This world is amazing, and it exists because of you.

He had given variations of this speech so many times before, and it had never failed to cheer her. This time, she had some tiny confirmation from one of her own characters that her story-worlds were once good places to be. She would have thought this would squash all existential doubt forever, or at least buy her a solid month of relative peace.

No dice. Somehow, Runar’s sorrow for his vanished home made it all so much worse. That ache was still spreading through Daphne’s insides, squeezing her lungs and sitting heavily on her stomach. Even when she had received all the rejections for the Rise of the Wordmaster manuscript, her heart hadn’t hurt this deeply.

Why? she demanded of her sorrowful subconscious. So Runar loves Euloban. Why should that kickstart an achy angst-spiral?

For once, her subconscious refused to reply. It had been a very eventful few hours, both internally and externally. Maybe she had reached her self-analysis limit for the day.

Or maybe she was just hungry.

She decided to go with that.

As if reading her mind, Mark spoke up. “Any chance of a snack, Runar? We both haven’t eaten since this morning, however long ago that was.”

She never could figure out how he managed to sound, and be, so genuinely nice about everything. Coming from her, that request would have come across as whiny and demanding. From Mark, it was the height of courteous candor.

“But a few moments more,” Runar replied with equal graciousness. “We shall reach a place of rest, and there, I can make some small provision for thee.”

“A place of rest?” Daphne’s writer-brain perked up. Here, at least, was something she knew about. “You mean a dalamelle?”

“Dalamelle?” Mark echoed. “Remind me what that means?”

“It’s an ancient name,” Daphne said, relieved to be on somewhat familiar ground for once. “From the old griffin language, back when they first made the Under Library and the whole underground network. A dalamelle is a cave built into the tunnel wall, stocked with food and water and such. Right, Runar?”

“Thou hast the name aright,” Runar replied. “And the purpose. Each dalamelle holds refreshment for those traveling the tunnels, and other tools besides. Scrolls, ink, perhaps a packet of letter seedlings. But I would not call it a cave.”

Suddenly, Daphne became aware that the light around her feet was growing brighter. It had probably been happening for a while, but she’d been too wrapped up in her own inner fog to notice. Now she realized that she could see not only the whole floor of the tunnel, but up the walls on either side.

And by every god… this was worth seeing.

Whenever she’d written about the tunnels that connected the Under Library to the griffins’ ancestral home in the mountains, she’d pictured them as plain rock. They were just meant to be pathways cut through the earth, to be functional but not beautiful.

Here, again, her imagination’s offspring had surpassed her.

Every inch of the walls and ceiling was covered with intricate carvings. Pictures, words, runes, and all manner of intricate designs transformed these tunnels from basic service channels to works of art.

Mark gasped. “Daphne —”

“I know,” she breathed. She released the Prism, removed her right hand from her pocket, and traced one of the runes reverently with her fingers. “It’s more beautiful than I ever could have dreamed.”

“And big!” Mark added.

“Yeah,” Daphne agreed absently, pressing her hand against a carving of a strange flower. Then her brain did a double-take. “Wait — what?”

She’d been so focused on the gorgeousness to either side that she hadn’t noticed they’d stopped moving. Now she tore her eyes away from the carved walls, looked ahead, and promptly echoed Mark’s gasp.

“Mark —”

He squeezed her hand in silent reply. Then they both just stood there, drinking in the sight.

A dalamelle was apparently not a tiny cave carved into the wall of a single tunnel. It was a vast cavern formed by the meeting of two tunnels. Scratch that. THREE tunnels. Directly across the wide space, their tunnel continued on into the rock, sloping slightly upward. Far away to the left and right, Daphne saw the entrances to two other tunnels that crossed to create this way-station.

The ceiling was so far away it was barely visible, but Daphne could see enough to know that the carvings continued, covering every bit of exposed rock in the cavern. She even glimpsed a sparkle here and there, like gemstones were embedded into carvings, flickering in a clear, blueish light.

A moment later, she found the source of the light. A small lake took up the center of the cavern, leaving an ample walkway around the edge. The water was so clear that it glowed, suffusing the air in the underground hall with a silvery blue radiance. A thin vertical stream of the glowing water flowed between the ceiling and the center of the lake, like a solitary waterfall.

Waterfall? Was the water actually flowing down from the ceiling? Daphne blinked and shook her head. She could have sworn the stream was shooting up, like a fountain, except it was moving far too slowly and steadily, and not coming back down…

She blinked again, only to find her eyes filling with tears.

Who cares? she thought, letting the tears slide down her cheeks. It’s beautiful. It’s all so gorgeous. I don’t have to understand.

“This is a historic moment,” Runar said gravely. His golden feathers shimmered in the radiance from the lake, as if answering with their own inherent light. “It has been many years since a human has traveled the tunnels, and even more since all three classes have gathered here, as ‘twas the purpose. Today, we see a portion of the glory of Euloban restored.” He turned to face them, spreading his wings wide in a gesture of invitation.

“Welcome, friends, to the Dalamelle of Triunity.”