A voice cries out. Thump, thump, thump. A fist pounds on the door. Our door.

Before we can react, the desk chair whips across the room and smashes to splinters against the wall as the door bursts open and an oafish man tumbles inside. He swings around, performing a flailing roundhouse kick to the door. It slams shut.

The room may be dark, but the man’s outline is clear enough, and I can’t imagine there’s a single medieval peasant in history that’s got that dad bod.

“Ron!” Luci cheers.

“Hey… button…” he replies between breaths. Hands on his knees, he pants, his bare chest heaving.

“Um, Ron?” I say as a sliver of metal catches the candlelight. “You got a halberd in your back.”

“I knew it!”

He twirls around, arms twisting behind him as he fumbles for the weapon’s shaft, but the blade is wedged right between his shoulderblades. It’s like a dog trying to catch his own tail. There’s about a six-inch spike on top that is dangerously close to impaling his head.

“Hold on, hold on! Don’t hurt yourself.”

“I’ll get it.” Elias strides over, then stops when he realizes the blade’s just a little too high to extract safely. “You need to, uh… You need to crouch.”

“Right-o!” Ron drops down on one knee. “So, how you guys been? The little man told me- yow!!”

Elias yanks out the bloody blade. In true Elias fashion, he gives Ron’s wound a cursory review before bestowing a much more thorough examination to the weapon. It’s a tall piece of work, the tip glimmering about a hand over Elias’ head.

“Thanks, man!” Standing, Ron rolls his shoulders and tilts his head side to side, then takes the polearm from Elias. He tosses the shaft from one palm to another. It almost looks small in his hands. “Oh, hey, this one can stab.”

Elias looks him up and down. “You’re sober?”

“Painfully, dude,” answers Ron. “Ohhhh, you’re talkin’ about the drinks last night. No worries, man. I was rampin’ up to three-day hangovers in my old age, but dammit if I couldn’t down a dozen shots without feelin’ it now. I was worried there for a sec that ‘resistance’ meant I couldn’t get drunk. Turns out it just means there ain’t a single after-effect! Fuck, I love the apocalypse.”

“We should go,” I say. “There’s no way Lord Cathal’s not awake by now.”

“Yeah, man. Dude’s def awake,” replies Ron. “There was a big ruckus when I was comin’ in. Thought it was you folks at first, but the guards were all splittin’ the other direction.”

“What about Éogan?” Luci asks.

“Uh…” Ron looks around. “I dunno! Little man was here a second ago.”

“Come on.” I hurry to the hidden passageway, the torchlight casting wavering shadows across the stonework. “We gotta go.”

“Hell yeah!” Ron shouts. “Secret tunnel!”

Luci giggles and skips across the office, the bounce in her step relaxed and cheerful - not that spiteful ‘fuck you, Tío’ glee that she’s had going. It’s obvious she missed the big guy. I missed him too, if I’m honest. It’s like, if I’m the kindergarten glue keeping this clusterfuck sorta-kinda pasted together, then he’s the glitter that makes it sparkle. I guess that makes Luci the core that we’re trying to maintain, and Elias is some type of box he keeps trying to squish us into. Yeah, that makes sense. Good analogy, Helen.

Either way, it’s good to have him back.

As the constantly unraveling but somehow tight-knit group that we are, we pile into the alcove, but none of us make a move toward the staircase. Orange light quivers across our faces as we stare at the uncanny staircase below, the end - if it has an end - swallowed by darkness.

The bookcase slams behind us, sealing our group in the stairwell.

“Um.”

“Tío Elias can still punch through it,” shrugs Luci.

The air buzzes as a shimmer rolls over the wood.

Warning! Detected: Arcane Lock

Skill Proficiency Increased:

Detection 2

“Okay, well, now he can’t,” Luci laughs. “So why wasn’t that on the other side?”

Static snaps as Elias touches the bookcase. He pulls back his hand and shakes it out. “This isn’t funny, Luciana.”

“I mean, it’s kinda funny. You’ve been warning us about traps the whole time. It’s like… irony,” she sings.

“Guys, it’s fine,” I interrupt. “We probably don’t want to go back for a while anyhow. We’ll find a way out later. Come on.”

And because I seem to fear emotional drama more than a dark, abyssal staircase, I take the first step down. And I only keep walking down because now I’m embarrassed to ask someone else to go first because holy shit, I do not like the look of that blackness just engulfing whatever lies below. There’s torchlight, sure, but it isn’t enough. If something charges or flies up out of the dark, we won’t know until it’s too late.

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It’s like when Ethan took me snorkeling in the Florida keys. Most of the coral reef was shallow, but at one point, we held our breath and I followed him down, down, down, to a place where the reef ended. It looked like the end of the world, like Chicago splitting off into the sky. Just a chasm that went on and on, and looking beyond, it was nothing but water - clear enough to see the sun’s rays but murky enough to not know what might be swimming right at me.

I’m tellin’ ya, my flippers never flipped so fast. I swam right back to the boat.

Now, my heart thunders as I lead the group into our bottomless descent, imagining what horrors might lurk just out of view. Not to mention there may be an angry lord or some vengeful participants hunting us down soon. But they’re a danger, not a fear. They’re a known quantity. Just another battle on another list where we die or we don’t. Of course, if an arrow or a magic bolt nails one of us, I’ll probably feel a little less indifferent - depending on who it hits.

We continue down the stairs. Down and down. One step, followed by another. After some time, I realize it’s been awhile since any of us have spoken. Luci isn’t chatting. Ron isn’t piping up with some dumb but somehow insightful comment. I’m curious whether he had to fight on the way into Lord Cathal’s office. It sounded like it. If so, I think he’s a Level 10 now. I wonder what hidden class ability he earned, if any.

I should ask, but my thoughts stay trapped. Not because my brain is fighting itself like always; it just somehow feels wrong to speak, as though the stairway is sacrosanct. Something here slumbers. We’re intruders, it feels. This passageway is intended for someone, and that someone isn’t us. We have no right to speak.

After awhile, a heavy gust of air wafts up from the depths. It’s warm and earthy, the flow leading the torchlight in a tempered dance. It bellows more the farther we go. Heavier and more humid too. It almost smells tangy. Fungal. A cavern maybe?

I don’t know how long it’s been. Time just sort of hangs around us. It feels like a minute. It feels like a day. At some point, I realize I haven’t checked behind me. I wonder if I’m alone. But Elias, Luci, and Ron are in tow, their eyes obscured in shadow.

The light of the staggered torches pulsates, the orange of the flames briefly flashing on droplets of water as they scurry down the stone wall, dodging divots and dripping onto the steps. That wasn’t happening before, was it? In fact, the stone itself looks different. It’s coarse, brittle, eaten away by earth. There are tufts of spongy moss wedged in the cracks, little vines and roots spidering across the wall.

The steps seem weathered as though beaten by wind and rain. Above us, gnarled tree roots have breached the arched ceiling, contorting and winding between bricks.

At last, an end appears and a message comes with it.

DUNGEON: THE CAVE OF CRUACHAIN

Deep in the belly of the earth lies the Cave of Crúachain, said to be the crossover between the realm of man and the Otherworld: the land of the fae and the children of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Some believe this particular cave to be the entrance to hell, the birthplace of Halloween, or simply an underground haven for cats. Whatever the case, this subterranean grotto is where the men of Hy-Brasil and the Aos Sidhe meet. It is not the joyful paradise of the fae. It is not the harsh reality of man. You’ll find it’s somewhere in-between.

[Regional dungeons are isolated areas containing high-level enemies and valuable treasures that cannot be found elsewhere. Saferooms are available. There is one exit. Upon reaching the exit, you will be rewarded with a unique active or passive ability tuned to your party’s needs. Dungeons may be completed by multiple parties. Whereupon the region’s decay begins, you will be alerted. Please plan accordingly. Good luck!]

The staircase yawns open into the mouth of a vast cavern, glistening minerals gleaming like stars in a midnight sky. Alone, the haunting nature of life underground would be breathtaking: the varied earthy shades of the limestone walls warping like shaken sand, raw pathways fractured by time, shimmering gypsum veins tracing lace-like patterns in the stone, the light reflecting off crystalline streams.

But otherworldly beings have made their mark in a way mankind never could. It’s nature and art melded together. Chunky stalagmites rise from the ground before tapering into marble pillars, stalactites and chandeliers intermingle, sculptures of godly fae erupt from the limestone walls as if the figures themselves yearn to break free.

And the colors! Most of the cavern is beige and ochre, interspersed with shocks of green moss and iridescent blue mushrooms. It’s subtle. It’s gorgeous. There’s an amber mushroom no bigger than my thumb that pulses with a soft, sunny glow. One type keeps growing this bizarre, ghostly, gauzy cap before shedding it and growing again.

Actually, that one’s not pretty. That one’s creepy as hell.

And as if that wasn’t enough to steal my breath, there’s magic. Not the static, uncomfortable buzz on the surface. Real, innate magic, as warm and enveloping as the air itself. I can see it, smell it, taste it. Like honey and berries, prancing and twinkling around us like fireflies.

Hell, if nature was always like this, maybe I wouldn’t have been such a city girl. No bugs, no glaring sunlight, no scratchy grass or spiky burs. It’s just soft and lush and wonderful. Maaaybe a little too much humidity for my tastes, but still. The beauty. The solitude. The hushed reverence of ancient growth. It’s just staggering.

Luci breathes deeply. “Okay, what’re we killing first? …What, no one? Come on. Someone had to say something.”

“I think I’m rubbing off on you a little too much,” I reply.

Ron chortles. “Phrasing!”

“Not now, Ron.” I shake my head. “Jesus, you people. Can’t take you anywhere.”

Elias unhitches his battleaxe as he steps onto the mossy stone path blanketed before us. “This way. We don’t know how long we have.”

Without waiting for an answer, he begins to lead the way. Luci mockingly mouths whatever he just said but readies her bow and follows him anyhow. Halberd in hand, Ron takes up the rear. I suppose it’s a good of a position as any; if something attacks us from behind, he’s got our backs.

Meanwhile, I hop up on the more uneven terrain to the sides of the fractured path, skulking about in the shadows and practicing my footwork along the way. I’d rather just kinda lollygag and make jokes, but I’m beginning to realize that I’m not really being the best role model here. Or the best fighter. Or the best player.

If Elias is going to at least attempt to take a few cues from me, the best I can do is take a few cues from him. A little more earnestness, a little more seriousness. It can’t hurt.

My foot slips down a wet stone, my ankle twisting as I grapple the nearest stalagmite.

Skill Proficiency Increased:

Acrobatics 3 (+9 Dexterity)

Worth it. Just gotta hide this limp for a minute while I heal, and no one will be the wiser. Yup, totally earnest and serious.

A twinkling laugh ripples off the cave walls.

Luci tenses. “Did you hear that?”

“I thought that was you,” replies Elias.

“I don’t sound like a bell, Tío.”

“Aw, I think you do!” Ron says, entirely sincere.

Luci giggles.

Something giggles back.

It's like an off-tune chime, sweet and wrong. Like an adult mimicking a child, or a child scarred by too many years.

Our group stops, heads on a swivel. It could have come from anywhere. Behind us, in front, above, below.

Drawing my twin daggers, I slink behind a stone pillar as I search for our target. Okay, maybe the humidity is a bit of an issue. My skin is dewey with sticky sweat. The harder I clench my daggers, the slippier they become. It’s even worse when I crouch.

It’s fine. Just concentrate. Balance. Be like Elias. Cool as an accountant.

I take a deep steady breath, securing my stance against the smooth stone, readying myself for our first fight against the fae.