The thing about the fifth was that it was impossible to build. Not impossible, impossible. Capeo was leagues and stretches untold. From where the Empire held its court to the unlivable land that of damned south it was a fact that need no proof, existed some classes, niche as they were, that capable to set a proper standing structure on the fifth. And even in the unlikely case that there was none —none to be found that was— there was still the eastern sea, the arrow isles, and the line over the deep ocean that none of the bravest sailors dared to cross—that was not the point.

The point was for everyone else, no matter whether it was made from soil or river stones, from iron or elves-blessed woods, after a certain height, any structures, by the law of the world itself, was commended to need of a foundation. Indentation dug that allowed the above structure to be set firmly — stabilized. And here where the problem lied: fifth couldn’t be dug at all.

It was not the weirdest thing to ever exist in a dungeon, People could breathe inside the water of the Riverdeep, second had a functioning day and night cycle, and Throne of the Sky had parts of it that literally float with magic that no [Mage] understood. Fifth simply one of them. Odd? Yes. Unique compared to the other? Barely.

The [Trapmaster Rogue] supposed it might be a hoot in the early days before delvers, all ever practical, utilized is as a safe zone — and why wouldn’t they? There was no trap, there was no monster. It was an empty floor—it had been an empty floor.

Nowadays, tents, second floor-high and held down by weightstones were propping up everywhere. There were fruits of every shape, linens of every color, and trinkets of magic peddled by dozens of burgeoning enchanter-merchants from their open-style makeshift wagons. Nowadays, flagon and flagon of gailens were served liberally and without restrain, exchanging their drinkers today’s grief for tomorrow’s headache. Nowadays, an inn had been built, a common erected. Nowadays, the fifth was the heart and center of the dungeon. A celebrated floor that hosted both civilians and delvers alike.

A second Ar’endal but in the name.

Before all of that, however, fifth was simply a floor of pure, untarnished white. Yes. Untarnished white. The ground, the floor, the sky — the wall, all of it made from one continuous, unbroken, purest, whitest marble everyone he knew had ever lay their eyes on. He even knew for a fact that if you head to the repository before the afternoon rush and asked for that ledger to the on-duty [Librarian], you’d be presented with a tome that was two thumbs thick, listing names of people who had tried to take just a speck of the ground. [Earthfire Miner], [Great Geomancer], [Warborn Warrior], all failed. Their pickaxes, their magic, their strength were no match against the dungeon’s power. Which might be the reason why people take homage to the stele. Protruding and three men high, the melded slab bore Her Light’s symbol. Two rings, one inside the other with eight rays of light like the sun.

But he knew that it wasn’t a miracle. It was just how safe zones were marked. He knew, he had been to other places — other dungeons. Not often but not too seldom either. Mostly because caravans (which he was guarding from one town to another) had a lot of downtimes that spending three to four days inside the dungeon making coins seemed like an obvious use of his time.

And it was the same; everywhere was the same. A slab of stone and Her symbol. Two constants that not magic and nothing more. Just because fifth wasn't a hollow cave or a grass field or a forest or other ‘normal places', it didn’t mean there was a special meaning there. The slab was simply made by what material that commonly found in that area. And since the only material here was that white weird marble, it was of course, was the material the slab was made of.

That was why, spying on the cat notwithstanding, he was glad that Rene finally—finally finished praying to that stupid, stupid stone.

“Hello, hello! Welcome to the Smile Behind the Curtain. The best tentmatcher in fifth. Would you like rooms, dear customers — Emily?”

“Hi, Polly.” He took a step back — ten step backs. In fact, he was standing by the tent opening in the way so that the unchanging white light of the fifth kinda blurred him. The woman was Polly, and oh man, he didn’t need to come between what would happen next.

“Oh my! You looked famished, dear.” the woman practically leaped from behind the counter. Like a frit ambushing from her hiding place, by the next breath she had been grasping and pinching Emmy’s cheek with a speed only a concerned cousin could do. “So sallow and bony! Atrocious! Did that useless man ever feed you anything?”

“Polly...”

“Rene.”

“Just give us rooms, woman. then we’ll get out of here.”

“Nonsense! I’ll give you your rooms, you useless leat, but!” she hugged Emmy, glaring at his poor bud who of course, raged but, largely impotent. Family. Could do nothing about family.

“My poor cousin here needs a hearty dinner — the likes you never gave her, apparently. Wait a bit, dear. I’ll tell Moko to prepare a good serving at the commons right now.” she said. “And of course all of you welcome to join us! Except that useless oaf. Munch a pan, you flea lover.”

“Eat a mud, you fake woman.”

“Polly! Please!” Emmy blushed, sighing. “Rene is right. We’re in hurry.”

“Nonsense! I may be just a humble tentmatcher and not a fancy spearmistress who could"—she glared at her, pressing her shoulder—"finagle her way to unearth mountain of golds, but even I know that the door wouldn’t open till dawn.”

“If I may interject Miss Wells.” The cat said, taking two steps to the front. Smiling and bowing. “Lady Emily and her party need to do a complete resupply.”

“Even after dinner, the time would be quite tight, this one imagine.”

“Oskar? They hired you?”

“Yes, Miss Wells.”

“Emily, what’s this? You aren’t collecting mana stones?” the woman asked, her eyelids fluttering fast, catching on. “Oh my — is, is that wise?” she whispered to the rogue's furrow — rapidly scanning their surrounding. Good, he nodded. At least Polly knew to not speak it when the tent was full. Which it wasn’t. Unlike most days, the tent was unusually empty, then again most days didn't have an uncontrolled swarm. With the accident in fourth, it’d be at least two more bells before the miners there swamped this place.

“It’s something I need to do Polly.”

“Does Tim know about this?”

“...he—”

“You hide it from him, didn’t you?”

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The silence was all that it took.

“I wouldn’t lecture you on your life, Emily. You’re a grown woman, I mean look at you, a B before your thirty!” she said, pressing her cheek. “...but you’re still his sister.”

“...I need to do it, Pol.”

“All right.” she smiled and nodded. “Would you like tents on the northside then?”

“That’d be perfect.”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“Pol?”

“I’ll see you tonight... While I can’t stop you, I’d be damned if I can’t explain what had happened to her sister when your little brother ran here.”

“Thank you, Pol...”

[https://i.ibb.co/kHLk3wt/Line-Break.png]

“Come on, dude.” his bud said. No. His used to be bud said. Because right now, the man was stretching their friendship very, very thin.

“Family’s problem” he said again. “Stay in the family — I’m not dipping my hand to that ogre-mess.”

“I’m not asking you to dip your hand— that would be too much for a first time, just— just restrain her? Spin your good ol’ Clem charm. I mean I wouldn’t mind if by the end of the night you want to put your rope trick to use and tied it up permanently— ”

“BYE.”

“Clem! Don’t leave me alone!!”

“ENJOY YOUR DEATH!”

Seriously. Asking him to ‘handle’ Polly. And he said that he was his best friend? Some best friend. No offense to Emmy but her family was a bit ‘too much’. Except her mother maybe. And that because she died before he could know her. So unlike her irresponsible father, his obsessive little brother, and that smothering cousin of her, he still be able to imagine the older woman in rather good way. Again, no offense.

Anyway, they split. Emmy needed to report about the sign before checking their tent. Which somethig they forgot to do on fourth because, well, because of that. Lene meanwhile, managed to convince Lyd to appraise the potions together — unearthing their secret. At least that what was she was trying to do. His enchanter friend had been trying to do that every break with little to no success. He wasn’t going to say it to the girl’s face but, her mage friend was only there for ‘emotional support’ while in actuality she'd be catching up with her study. Which was understandable. Their exams were nearing.

Then there was his ‘good bud’. Which could die for all he cared. Mangled by some stray rust or something.

Leaving him, who of course, was following the pair.

It was quite simple actually, most transporter companies had resupply points for those who went for a deep delve. There were two, the first one on the fifth, the second on the eighth. Now as the duo promised, they were walking toward the supply tent. A twenty by twenty, three layered tarps that were hoisted by iron poles stabilized with runes.

Unfortunately ‘without any proof’ he couldn’t just barge in. Or pretending to be a customer for that matter. The supply tent were only patronized by companies, so unless he had their credentials, he was out of luck. So the next best thing — parting his hair to a boring dapper, turning his coat inside out so it resembled a tunic, and slowly closing in.

“[Conceal Presence], [Sense Silhouette].” he said in the barest whisper. At once, his vision shifted. The colors muted. Muted, not vanished. The color was still there. It had simply taken more ...somber tone — dimmer. Like a layer of charcoal applied. Which was the point. It diminished distraction and make the moving shadows behind the tent sharper.

"Yes, Mr. Oskar."

One of the silhouettes moved — Rishi. The man just put his transporter bag down. From inside, boxes, two, three, and finally four were dropped in front of the other man which from his height and voice Clem determined as Mig, the dwarf who ran this tent.

“Clothes… utensil… — what is this?” the man said, pointing at the last box.

“Delivery, master Mig. President Rake thinks that our associates at the 5th deserve more recognition for their exemplary service.”

Was that the message? Clem bored his eyes into the box. But the dwarf didn’t even lift whatever inside and he didn’t want to risk lifting the tent now.

“Hoh!” the man exclaimed, sounding almost ...happy. “Your president knows how to treat us, folks. Good, good!” he said. “Finn, my boy! Come here!”

“Yes, Master Mig can Finn help you— Delivery? No, not delivery, gift! Gift master Mig! Gift for us?”

“Yes, yes, boy. Store this into the warehouse—”

POP.

“Oh wow, good ones these are. Good! Thank you, Mr. beastman. Thank you, Mr. Human. Finn would surely enjoy these delicious— ”

THWACK.

“I said store this into the warehouse boy, we’d have a bottle later tomorrow. Tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow Master Mig? Tomorrow? Not now? Tonight? How about tonight Master Mig?” the boy whined, holding the dear thing to his chest. Clem frowned, he knew that fat bottom. It was a ...bottle. A bottle of Cailen — gailen that was made from the first gaily harvested in scorch and processed with a method only known to the grove’s elves. Was there where the message was?

“Get your greedy hand off it, boy! One look at a barely good spirit and you already forget what I always say?” the man bellowed, snatching the bottle and putting it back inside the box. “What do I always say, boy?”

“L—lady portion take precedence Master Mig, but Master Mig surely Finn may—”

“No! Sideline a tenth for tonight’s service!” even from here he could feel the man glare. “Another tenth for next week’s. If I see the bottle missing it’d be on your head, boy.”

“Y—yes, master Mig…. Finn would deliver this now.” he heard the little lad scurrying away, carrying the box.

“[Intuit: Item of Interest].”

Damn! Not it. The skill wasn’t always right. Sometimes it was as shaky as drifting driftwood, other times it was flippant, mocking him in yes and no that changed every breath or so, but this time, this one time, it felt true — strong. This Finn’s boy didn’t carry the message.

And now he was down to his last one for the day.

“So what do you need?” he turned his head back to the tent, putting his ear back to the tent’s tarp.

“First item on our list is ...rations, Master Mig.” replied the cat.

“Obviously. How long? How many people?”

“Two weeks ration for seven people, Master.”

“A bit much, had you account for the spares?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Good, good. The last party who forget to bring one? They ate a growl’s meat.” the man shook his head. “Equipment?”

“Climbing set containing a double-threaded rope enchanted with [Firmness], two iron hooks with [True Aim], tens — sorry, twenty pitons and two hammers.”

“Hmmm… anything else?”

“Newly charged Prestidigitation wand, two bottles of weapon oil…”

The cat went on and on for two wicks, listing agreed on equipment. He matched it with his memory to find if there was any discrepancy — none. Had he made a mistake?

“...and finally fourteen sets of inner clothes. We also like to have the [Manalight] staff recharged.”

“Okay, all in order. Come at the last bell. Everything would be ready then.”

“Thank you, master.” the cat bowed, leaving the tent. “Come on Rishi, we’re leaving.”

“[Intuit: Item of Interest]” His last one for today, come on, come on— what?

The pair were leaving, heading toward the inn-tent, and somehow, despite him listening in, spying in, the message had been transferred without any handling whatsoever.

“So the dwarf, huh.”

His eyes were glued to the crates.