Self-pity was a concept as foreign to Thorne as the darkest reaches of this new labyrinth. Sure, he’d his share of setbacks in his life, who hadn’t? His first forge burning down thirteen years ago was a particularly sharp memory. Then there was the day that Sarah up and walked out, telling Thorne she just couldn’t take it anymore. “You might as well have married your fucking forge,” she had told him. Thorne wondered aloud if such a ceremony was legal, and if he could ask his anvil to be best man.

But each of those times he had dusted off the soot, straightened his apron, and returned to the anvil. Yet, how could he dust off now, being nothing more than a sentient gemstone, deprived of his once powerful hands in which to do any dusting?

A feeling of vulnerability crept over him, crawling into his consciousness like an burglar in the night. Lacking the ability to creating even a simple pair of metal tongs made him feel like an apprentice again. No, worse. At least an apprentice had hands.

"Ah, the grand tragedy of Thorne, the heartbroken blacksmith!" he said aloud, his voice resonating around the spectral corners of the dungeon.

“You’re doing it again, master,” said Percy.

“Doing what?”

“You always talk about yourself in third person when you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset, boy.”

“You are.”

“Who gave you a tongue all of a sudden, that you would talk back to Master Thorne…to me… in such a way?”

Percy approached warily, like one might with a wolf caught in a bear trap. "We need to figure out what to do, Master Thorne," he said, his voice echoing in the spectral silence of the dungeon.

Thorne's crystalline form pulsed dimly. "Do? What is there to do, Percy? I am no longer a man but a glorified rock!"

The frustration in Percy's voice was palpable. "You are still Thorne. You are Ironreach’s master blacksmith. You still have your mind, your will. Maybe there's more you can do."

Thorne scoffed, his laughter ringing hollow and bitter in the endless dark corridors. "What good is a blacksmith who cannot swing a hammer?”

A silence fell between them, a chasm as deep as the dungeon itself. Then Percy spoke, his tone uncharacteristically harsh. "You know, wallowing in self-pity won't forge us a way out. You're still my master, and I need you to act like one."

Thorne recoiled, his form flaring with sudden anger. "How dare you, boy! Surely I've hammered more wisdom than that into that thick skull of yours? Don't forget your place!"

Percy, not one to step back from a challenge, stood his ground. "Maybe it's you who needs to remember who you are, Thorne. You're not just a blacksmith, you're the best damn blacksmith in Ironreach. If anyone can figure out this mess, it's you."

Thorne felt his sadness turn to rage, before spilling out so fast he couldn’t control it. "What do you know about being the best at anything, Percy? You've barely managed to make a passable horseshoe! And let's not even talk about that pitiful excuse for a sword you attempted last month!"

Percy bristled at the comment, his temper flaring. "Oh, so we're going there, are we? Well, for your information, master, your coffee tastes like swill! I’ve been choking it down every morning out of respect for you, but it tastes like piss!"

Thorne's form shimmered in disbelief, casting spectral rays of light around the chamber. "My coffee? My coffee?! I suppose your delicate palate prefers that hogwash you call soup, then?!"

Percy's eyes widened and then narrowed. He crossed his arms, huffing indignantly. "Oh, I see how it is. At least my soup doesn't look and taste like a molten piece of metal, unlike your stew!"

Thorne's form tremored with indignation. "You wouldn't know a good stew if it splashed onto your face! You’re a disgrace, boy. I’ve never seen someone so unkempt. Have you looked at your bed recently, Percy? It's as lumpy as your first attempt at a chain link!"

Unabated, Percy retorted, his voice edging into a sharp, prickling anger. "That's rich, coming from you! Have you ever heard yourself snore? It's like a bear wrestling with a pile of clanging pots!"

A deep rumble echoed through the chamber, Thorne’s crystalline form glowing a brighter hue. "At least I don't walk like a new-born deer on ice! Your footsteps always clanging around like some drunken goblin!"

Percy snapped back, standing tall, his chest puffing out. "Well, you're so stubborn, a mule would look cooperative in comparison! And let's not even talk about your sense of fashion, Thorne. You wouldn't know silk from burlap!"

The words hung in the air, sharp and bitter, marking a new low in their argument. Thorne was seething, his crystalline form pulsating in rhythm with his fury.

"You ungrateful whelp! It seems I've taught you nothing. You've forgotten your place and I won't stand for such insolence. Consider your apprenticeship... terminated!"

With that, the dungeon fell silent, the words echoing around them before being swallowed by the darkened depths. The sound of Percy's retreating footsteps echoed hauntingly around the chamber, the metaphorical door slamming on their relationship.

Alone, Thorne allowed himself to stew on his anger. And this stewing only brought to mind what Percy had said about Thorne’s stew which he made for the apprentices every Friday, believing it was what a good master did to reward his lads for their hard work.

“To think that Master Thorne’s stew would be insulted so,” he said aloud.

It was as his words echoed in the dim cavern that he heard how ludicrous he sounded. Regret was a devout follower of anger, and it wasn't long before it settled in Thorne's consciousness. His crystalline form seemed to pulse with remorse as he replayed the words he'd spat at Percy.

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“I was cruel,” he said to himself, “Cruel and unkind. And what’s more, he lad was right. I’m the master, and I need to take control. And perhaps my coffee does taste like swill.”

Thorne made a decision. He would find Percy and apologize, even if it meant swallowing his pride, which seemed to be one of the few things he still had left to him. He began to drift away from the heart of his new domain, a place that now felt both alien and intimate.

But as he floated further into the labyrinthine dungeon, an odd sensation spread through his form. He felt a tethering cord being stretched, a link to his sphere of influence growing thin. It was an invisible boundary, a line that he instinctively knew he shouldn't cross.

Then came the voice.

It wasn't an audible sound, but rather a whispering echo in his consciousness, soft yet profound. It was as ancient as time itself, reverberating in the vast chambers of his mind.

"You are leaving your sphere of influence," it intoned, like a guide speaking to a novice traveler. "Your power to create and control lies within your domain. Step outside, and you become just a specter, a wandering light. Return, and reclaim your power."

The words struck him, pulling him back from his intended course, but his fear for Percy battled with this newfound understanding of his existence. Ignoring the voice, Thorne pressed on, driven by guilt and worry. His crystal form shimmered as he picked up speed, casting ghostly reflections on the damp stone walls.

Thorne had braced himself for many scenarios - an irate Percy, a sullen Percy, even a Percy sulking in a corner. But the sight that greeted him had nothing to do with Percy's mood and everything to do with the horrors that lurked within this dungeon.

He found Percy in the heart of a nightmare, encircled by a group of creatures, each ghastlier than the last. They looked as if they'd crawled out from the deepest abyss of the underworld, their forms a testament to the most terrifying nightmares from the most diseased mind.

First, there was a massive beast covered in scales as black as obsidian, its size dwarfing Percy. With every sinewy movement, a shroud of shadows seemed to slither and play around its form. Its eyes, two beady orbs of fiery red, held an unnatural, mesmerizing glow.

Next, a group of smaller creatures, almost humanoid, huddled together. Their bodies were a grotesque patchwork of flesh and bone, with protrusions and appendages in all the wrong places. They had wide mouths lined with jagged teeth and eyes that were too human, lending an eerie sense of familiarity to their otherwise alien countenance.

Thorne's crystalline form quivered at the sight. Percy, his brave but foolhardy apprentice, stood amidst the host of nightmare-born entities. Thorne’s heart, or whatever passed for it in his new form, clenched in dread.

A surge of fear coursed through him. He needed to protect Percy. But how? In a desperate bid, he did the only thing he could think of; he flew into the creatures in an attempt to disperse them.

A sudden surge of wind buffeted Thorne as the larger, scale-covered beast lunged forward. Its obsidian claws scraped against Thorne's crystalline form, emitting a shrill sound akin to a thousand glass shards being shattered. The smaller, humanoid monsters hurled themselves against him, their jagged teeth scraping and gnawing on his surface.

Caught in the madness, Thorne was about to ram into the largest monster again, when Percy's voice broke through the chaos like a dagger.

"Thorne, stop! I wasn't being attacked. I was... I was talking to them."

In his astonishment, Thorne missed the wave of hostility rolling towards him from the spectral shadow-creature. With a howl, it unleashed on him a powerful shockwave that sent him spiraling away.

Percy ran past him, beckoning him with his arms. “This way, Master!”

While Thorne floated through the air and Percy ran for all his worth, the monstrous horde was on their heels, a wave of nightmares that chased them back into the heart of Thorne's domain.

Thorne found he was able to keep up the same floating speed without tiring, which he supposed passed for an advantage in his new form. But Percy’s face was as red as beetroot, and he was huffing more with each step.

Thorne glanced behind him to see if the monsters were catching up, but he did it in the strangest way. He hadn’t really thought about it; more just done it on instinct. However, the truth was undeniable – he had looked behind him without moving his head. In fact, he could now see all around him without moving.

His sense of wonder was short lived because his vision showed him the monsters gaining on them, while another part of his vision simultaneously fed him the sight of Percy, to his left, losing his breath.

“I’ll hold them off, lad,” Thorne said. “You just keep running no matter what. If they smash me to dust, you just remember your good master Thorne, and all the care and attention he put into every morning cup of coffee he made, and the stew he made on Fridays.”

“So…melodramatic…” Percy huffed. “I can keep going.”

As they neared a part of the dungeon that Thorne recognised, the creatures skidded to a halt, their monstrous eyes narrowing at the sight of the intimidating crystal formation. Then, with reluctant growls and hisses, they turned and retreated back into the shadows from which they came.

Thorne waited a good while until he allowed himself to believe the creatures had really gone. Silence hung as heavy as the darkness around them. A darkness which Thorne could simultaneously feel and yet see through at the same time.

Percy, panting heavily, turned to Thorne. He was about to say something when Thorne cut him off.

"Percy," he began, his voice trembling with remorse, "I... I apologize. I let my fear and frustration get the best of me. You didn't deserve what I said."

Percy shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It's all right, Master Thorne. Let's just chalk it up to new dungeon stress."

After a moment of silence, Thorne continued, "Our first priority should be finding a way out for you."

"Why?" Percy asked, his brows furrowing in confusion. "I don’t have anyone outside, Master Thorne. You know my family. My place is here with you.”

“You aren’t scared?”

“I’m glad, if anything.”

“Glad?” Thorne echoed in disbelief.

“Aye. Since you don’t have any hands, you can’t make any coffee, so at least I’m safe from that. But that’s our priority, master - we need to get your body back. Those monsters might have told me something valuable, but I doubt they’d be interesting in talking now.”

Thorne considered this, his form shimmering thoughtfully. "Then perhaps we ought to explore a little and find someone who is."

Percy, who seemed happy now that he had his decisive master back, nodded in agreement.

Thorne said, “Percy…how did you speak to those creatures?”

“I don’t know, master. I thought the words, and they came out in their language I suppose.”

“You just thought the words?”

“Aye. There were flashes, images that came with the words. Feelings, almost. It was as if I could sense their intentions and their thoughts. When I spoke, I wasn't speaking their language exactly. It was like my thoughts were reaching out to them, and they understood. It was instinctual."

"Instinctual?" Thorne echoed, thinking back to how he’d used his new sense of sight. "Like a sense of knowing without knowing how you know?"

Percy nodded, understanding reflecting in his eyes. "Exactly, master. It was as though I knew exactly what to say, how to say it. It's like...like knowing how to breathe. You don't think about it, you just do."

"And what did they say to you?" Thorne questioned, intrigued by Percy's newfound ability.

Percy paused, his expression turning contemplative. "They spoke about their home, deep within the dungeon, a place they called 'The Mother’s Heart.' It was filled with fear and respect. And something else. Something about heroes. But then you attacked them…”

A silence fell between them as they processed Percy's words. The vague prophecy hinted at things beyond their understanding, their roles in this strange world still unclear. And while the information was unsettling, it also provided a direction, a purpose.

Maybe it was time for them to unravel the mysteries of the dungeon underworld just a little more. They were no longer just a blacksmith and his apprentice, but a crystallized master and his monster whisperer.

“Well, Percy my lad, perhaps we had better explore our surroundings a little more. I’ll leave the talking to you this time.”