In the years between when my world ended and the entire world ended, I got a lot of sleep. It wasn’t good sleep; it hovered somewhere between anxious, nightmare-fueled fits and intoxicated comas, but the total of hours spent in the attempt was staggering. I guess when being awake has nothing to offer, staying in bed feels like the only option.
So it comes as a surprise to find that I’m the first one up. Even more of a surprise, I’m okay with getting my day started. No, it's more than that. I want to get my day started. But why?
I'm not un-depressed. I suppose I’m just eager to get this shit over with. I need time to recalibrate. Time without children and fairies and murderous parties and dungeons.
Maybe I'm just anxious. If I don't get a mental break, then I'm due for a mental breakdown. And while I'm a-okay with a little self-sabotage, I'll be damned if I take my party with me. Better to get started, get moving, and get the hell out.
New Status!
Well Rested: Gain 10% XP from combat for the next 6 hours.
I toss off the fur blanket and sit up, then attempt to rub away the saliva I left on the cushion. While it turns out that fairies are dicks, it feels wrong to mar their whimsical cathedral with drool.
Stretching, I wander over to the baskets of food that have magically replenished themselves overnight. Ooo, they have scones. Fairies really don’t half-ass things, do they? It’s like a full breakfast buffet. How nice of them to provide such a filling platter for all the children they kidnap.
I help myself to a scone, a handful of berries, and a clay urn of fresh-squeezed juice. Returning to my drool-encrusted cushion, I chow down.
New Status!
Well Fed: Gain 25% Stamina Regen for the next 3 hours.
Huh. Still the only one awake. The speckled yellow flowers dotting the cavern walls have started to leak their sunny light, so it must be getting onto morning.
Welp. I can't leave. Can't sit still.
I need a distraction.
Alright, time to putter around the cavern, make sure we didn’t miss any loot. Luci actually found a pair of uncommon bracers last night that increase her fortitude by one and her ranged proficiency by three. That’s one piece of good loot and one piece of evil loot.
Bad drops, dungeon. Would not recommend.
Doesn't seem like we missed anything though. Still feeling rather antsy, I grab Elias’ bag and sort out the weird bits and bobs we stole from Lord Cathal’s hidden office. I have no clue whether alchemy is a skill that can be acquired in this game or how to mix potions in the first place, given that it’s an entirely fictional art. I suppose it’s tantamount to herbalism. But the hell do I know about that either?
I pick some ingredients that seem the least likely to explode. In the end, it feels like I’m just making a shitty cocktail. Crush some honeycomb, squeeze a bit of minced ginger, add alcohol. I swirl it around in the clay urn and peek inside. Looks like the bottom of a blocked up sink.
New Skill Unlocked!
Alchemical Mixing
You can now create draughts and other alchemical concoctions. Improve this skill to decrease the time and ingredients needed as well as to concoct more potent creations. Invent or seek out recipes to expand your catalogue.
[Proficiency Bonus: Wits]
New Skill Unlocked!
Alchemical Identification
You can now identify lesser draughts and other alchemical concoctions. Improve this skill to identify advanced concoctions as well as the ingredients and portions used to create them.
[Proficiency Bonus: Wits]
Hell yeah! Look at me, all inventive and shit.
Alright, let’s see what I made.
Concoction Identified: Rubbish
Well, fuck you too.
“Whatcha doin’?”
I look up and smile. “Oh, hey Luce. Trying to see if I can make potions.”
“And?”
“It’s a work in progress.” I pat the spot next to me. “How’d you sleep?”
She sits down cross-legged on top the blanket. “I didn’t really. Ron snores like a truck.”
“Yeah, he does. How are you doing otherwise? Ready to finish up the dungeon?”
“Totally,” she answers, entirely unenthusiastic. She begins to absent-mindedly pick at the fur on the blanket, twisting it in her fingers and pulling out the loose bits.
“Got any plans when we get back to Pharos?”
She stops. “Plans? Huh. Uh... Well, I’m gonna sleep, for sure. Like in a real bed. And I could use some ice cream. I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Sleep and ice cream sound good. I was thinking about trying out the training facility. Get some martial arts going with these bad boys,” I say, slapping my sheathes.
“Cool.”
“Yeah… Would be good to research where we might want to go next too.”
“Right.”
A lull forms. She returns to picking at the blanket.
“Hey, I was-
“I keep- Sorry, you go.”
“No, go ahead, Luce.”
She closes her eyes. “I just keep replaying it. That man.” She swallows. “Was he scared? Was he sad? Do you think he was in pain?”
“I think it was mercifully quick.”
Luci pulls out a hunk of fur and scrunches it in her palm. “I keep telling myself it doesn’t matter. He’s gone, and I didn’t know him anyway. And he was trying to kill us in the first place, so really, I should be happy. But I just keep thinking, what if that was someone I knew? And then I remember, that it’s already happened to people I knew. I mean, maybe they didn’t explode but they died, and they probably died horribly. My parents. Ava. Like, how many times did Liam die and respawn before the end?”
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
My heart stops. “Luce. You can’t think like that.”
“How? How can I not? How do you do it, Helen?”
“Practice.” I spit it out before I realize it, the same cavalier way I always handle these things. “To be honest, though… Years of therapy. It’s a muscle. You train it. It’s possible I trained it too hard. I’m not the best person to ask.”
She looks up at me, her face so damned sincere. “You are right now.”
“Well, that’s not good.” I rifle through my internal folders of ‘things my therapist told me’ but I’m coming up short on ‘apocalypse-induced explosions.’ We did discuss grief though. And spiraling. And expectations. Now that I think about it, having a therapist in your apocalyptic group is a highly underrated position.
“If we’re talking about right now… When you think about that man, distract yourself. And when you feel grief, let yourself. And when you feel happy, let yourself feel that too. It isn’t wrong.”
“And when I’m scared? You know, that it might happen to you or Ron or Tío Elias? Then what?”
“Um. I guess, there’s good worrying and bad worrying. The bad version is when you simply sit and imagine it. That’s just indulging in grief that hasn’t happened yet. The good version is using that worry to prepare. To improve.”
“To get stronger,” she says.
“Yeah.”
She pouts. “And what’s the version when you worry so much you don’t let someone in your party do anything?”
I laugh. “That’s called failing miserably at being a parent.”
“We agree on that,” she declares with a sassy smirk. Finally, she lets the blanket rest. “Thanks. I’m gonna go get food before everyone wakes up.”
And then she’s off before I have the time to respond.
Huh. That could have gone worse. Now, I just have to listen to my own advice and not spiral into the ‘what ifs’ of possible outcomes of my terrible conversation skills. How about a little more potion making? Just a little something I’m probably less likely to blow up.
Thankfully, I don't have to occupy myself for long. Soon, the rest of our entourage awakes and eats. The cathedral brightens with life as the children chatter and Ron sings - he’s passionate, but we really have to get him another instrument. Meanwhile, the flowers bathe the room in their strange sunlight. It feels like morning. A beautiful, magical morning.
It’s pleasant. Yet it takes a lot of willpower not to just clap my hands and say let's go, let's go, let's go. I don't know if it's my own anxiety coughing up this feeling of paranoia or whether I should actually be nervous here, but I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, the moment when our saferoom loses its facade of tranquility. Surely, that other party will make an appearance. Surely, the fairies will attempt to reclaim their lost children. Surely, Luci will lose it or I'll lose it or all of us will just fucking lose it.
Instead, we wake peacefully. We eat peacefully. We pack up our things. And we leave without any trouble at all.
Once again, we return to the dark corridors of the cave. We tell the kids they should stay quiet, as we never know what monsters might lurk around the corner, but it’s rather ineffective. Afric decided to bring a frog from the cathedral along, and it’s got the entire group in titters, including Ron.
We could be harsher about it. More stern, parental glares at the very least. But it’s nice to have a little revelry. A little laughter to calm the nerves. Even Elias seems loathe to break it.
After twenty minutes of hiking, Éogan points out a corridor to the right. “Almost there. Just need to turn this way.”
“Not yet,” says Afric, cupping the frog in her hands. She sets the little hopper on a raised ledge.
“Yes, yet. When they brought us, we had to turn left.”
“Not yet! It was bigger, remember?”
I examine both corridors - one straight ahead and the other to the right -, finding both to be dark and cave-y. Truly, I have a terrible sense of direction. I imagine Elias could immediately point out which way’s north, but I lost which way we were facing the moment we entered the stairwell. I just figured the cave system would loop back around until we end up in Lord Cathal’s office again. However, now that I think about it, we may not end up back in Glasbaile at all.
“Did you come through Lord Cathal’s office?” I ask.
“We ne’er saw his place,” says Éogan. “We came through a house on the outskirts of town. Cave winds ‘round like a labyrinth, it does. We aren’t far now. We just have to go this way.”
“Not yet!” his sister protests.
“Okay, okay, let’s not get too loud here,” I interrupt. “Senan?”
The boy looks hesitantly at Afric, then sighs. “I think Éogan’s got the right of it. We turned. But I also remember it weren’t hot ‘til we came about here. So I don’t know.”
“Then maybe we should, um…” I lose my train of thought, momentarily distracted by Afric’s new pet. It frogs about, hopping and snatching up bugs with amphibian abandon. Li’l dude has no idea he’s in a dungeon.
Then the frog stops, its throat bulging with a loud croak. There’s something right behind it. Something that doesn’t belong: a familiar pewter statue of a skinny little leprechaun.
“Has that been there the whole time?” I ask.
Luci leaps across the trail and leans in toward the figure. It’s sitting on a stumpy rock, its back to the wall on our right. “It’s one of those again! What should we do? Should we break it?”
“Let’s find the trap first,” suggests Elias.
Afric scoops up her frog. “Trap? What do you mean, trap?”
“The statue always comes with a spell,” explains Luci, her hand caressing the hard cavern stone. “Like this! The wall here isn’t real.”
I join her. The second I look at the wall - really look at it - the illusion immediately reveals itself. It isn’t that the limestone changes or disappears. It just has no sense of presence. In other words, there aren’t two paths available to us; there are three.
Warning! Detected: False Wall
Luci raps her knuckles against the stone. “I can’t get in though.”
“Magic’s too strong,” I say. I manifest the cloak from my inventory and toss it over the statue. “Now try.”
Again, Luci taps the wall. This time, her hand sinks right into it. She giggles with delight. Then, without hesitation, she steps through, vanishing behind it.
“I knew we turned here!” Éogan remarks. With a grin, he hops onto the ledge and follows.
Afric grunts. “You still had it wrong.” Still, she seems excited by the prospect of a hidden path. Fighting a smile, she follows her brother.
Senan joins, equally excited. Then Elias and Ron. Finally, before I gather with the rest of the merry band, I consider smashing the statue, if only because it is creepy as hell. Also it could be handy not to have an illusory wall if we need to head back this way.
Instead, out of a gamer’s curiosity, I gather it within the confines of my cloak and try dumping it into my inventory.
Item Acquired!
Rare Talisman of Lesser Spell-Holding
A held item of magical properties.
Wits Requirement: 10
Level 1 Ability(s):
Set in Stone: Place the talisman to create an aura of +5 wits to all party members within a 5m radius.
Level 10 Ability(s):
Trickery of Choice: Direct the talisman to create and hold one of the following spells: Lesser False Wall, Static Decoy, Lesser Sound, Lesser Image, Minor Arcane Lock, Alarm, Darkness, Lesser Globe of Light.
Huh. I did not think that would work. Not entirely enthused about a freaky stone leprechaun in my inventory, but I’ll take it.
With the false wall gone, I join the others.
“Ah, this is it!” says Senan. “I remember now. It was right drafty.”
It is. There's a faint cool breeze cutting through the thick humidity.
Sticking her tongue out at her brother, Afric waggles the frog in his direction. “Told you it wasn’t the other way.”
“Well it wasn’t your way either,” says Éogan.
“Oh, go off!” Senan intervenes. “We’ve almost made it!”
The boy slaps Éogan across the shoulder and sprints down the path. Éogan gives chase, followed by a rapturous Afric.
“Let’s go, Luci!” she shouts.
Luci smiles, those brown eyes shining and gentle. With a skip, she follows the others - not as fast, not as playfully, but I can see it. The children tug at her heart, the way she tugs at mine. That need for protection: it’s a lifering pulling the jaded from drowning in their own storm-crested waves.
Is this what she needs then? Joy? Peers? Friends? Is that what I need?
Beside me, Elias’ shoulders tense but he makes no move to stop her. He can see it too. She needs this. And when the monsters come, because they will, we’ll be right behind her.
Within a few minutes, the corridor opens into a cavernous hall very similar to what we first encountered. It stretches as wide and tall as a gymnasium, tiers and tiers of smooth stone punctuated by stalagmites and columns, a flat circle of terrain carved out by eons and eons of dripping water and fairy feet.
Two gargantuan Lord of the Rings-style sculptures stretch from floor to ceiling, their flawless marble figures breaking free of the jagged stone as though they were birthed behind it. The sculpted Sidhe arc across the cavern, reaching for the other’s face as though they yearn to kiss. Or wrestle. One of the two.
There’s more movement here. More life. Mushrooms and minerals dot the cavern in spectral colors and ethereal light. There’s that warm, enveloping air of magic - the kind that speaks of music and miracles. Those amber mushrooms pulse with their strange, honeyed glow. That weird ghostly fungus is back too, growing and shedding layers of gauzy gowns on repeat.
It feels alive. It feels enchanting.
It also feels very much like an arena.