Thorne and Percy, laden with the strange information provided by Tebo the merchant, returned to the safety of their own part of the Aspect. As they crossed the threshold, Thorne felt a stirring within his crystalline form, a new sensation, like an echo in his mind.

“Master?” said Percy.

“One second. I…”

“What is it?”

“Just a moment, Percy.”

It was a sense of presence, of potential - of resources. It was an odd sensation, almost as if his consciousness was stretching out, touching the very essence of the dungeon around him. Thorne concentrated, focusing on the feeling, and was rewarded by a distinct pull from a particular direction. Experimentally, he reached out, his 'awareness' moving through the rock and earth.

There was a moment of resistance, and he lost his grasp on whatever it was. Frustration mounted in him. It was the curse of being a master; after being at the top of his craft for so long, he’d forgotten what it meant to start at the bottom again, and to have to overcome obstacles and a lack of skill. In that regard, Percy, as an apprentice, was way more suited to their new existence than he was.

“Are you okay, Master?”

“There’s something behind the walls.”

Percy looked alarm. “Rats?”

“After what we’ve seen so far, rats are what scare you? No, it’s nothing living. Metal or coal or something. I don’t know. I just feel like I should be trying to get it but the damned thing keeps slipping away.”

“Perhaps if you were to meditate for a while, Master, your control of it might get stronger.”

"Meditate?" Thorne echoed, an incredulous edge to his voice. "Percy, I’m a blacksmith, not a monk."

"I've read about it in the books in Ironreach, Master Thorne. Meditation can help focus the mind. Maybe it will help you get a better grasp on...whatever it is you're trying to do."

Thorne gave a mock salute. "Yes, your lordship. Perhaps you'd also like me to take up painting? Or would you prefer I start composing sonnets to the beauty of molten steel?"

"That wouldn't hurt," Percy retorted with a grin. "Maybe you'd actually develop an appreciation for the arts. Instead of your typical grumbling about everything that isn't a piece of metal."

"Oh, the lad has a tongue in him, after all! Last I checked, you couldn't even handle a simple filing task without nearly cutting your own hand off."

"Last I checked, Master, you’re the one who made us end up in this dungeon by annoying the sorcerer somehow. And it's my tongue that's getting us through this place."

"Well, you know what they say. An old man can forget, but a young fool will always remember the wrong thing."

Percy shook his head, chuckling. "Even when you're a floating orb, you're as stubborn as a mule."

Thorne decided their argument had gone far enough. "And you're as annoying as a mosquito, but I wouldn't trade you for the world, lad."

This sudden niceness threw Percy, and he couldn’t come up with a response. The poor lad wasn’t used to adults treating him in such a way, and though the master and apprentice often bickered, Thorne had always tried to build up his confidence. In fact, he felt that the bickering actually helped in that regard. Thorne’s policy was to try to treat Percy as an equal, not just a youngster. And equals often argued.

“So will you try meditating?” said Percy.

“No.”

Thorne didn’t mediate. He refused to. Instead, he simply allowed his mind to settle, and he took slow breaths in and out, focusing on the breaths instead of thoughts. If a thought popped into his mind, he simply acknowledged it but then imagined it floating away on a stream.

“Are you meditating?” asked Percy.

“No, I’m thinking!”

Thorne tried drawing from the wall again and this time, something seemed to yield, and he felt a rush of energy. He absorbed it into his core form and suddenly he found himself aware of a variety of metals. Iron, copper, even a trace amount of gold. All became available to him, ready to be shaped, hopefully, and used as he saw fit.

“Percy, lad,” he said, “I think it’s time we forged ahead.”

Percy said nothing.

“Percy. Didn’t you hear me? We need to get started, and I’m a master blacksmith and I used the word ‘forge’ but in a different way than normal.”

Sighing, Percy said, “I heard you, master. What happened?”

“There are metals within the walls, some deeper than others. It seems I can draw them out without damaging the structure of the dungeon.”

“I don’t see them.”

“It’s strange to say, but they’re inside me, sort of filed away. It’s like I have shelves deep in myself.” He made some copper appear on the ground. “See?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere, master! Do you think you could make pickaxes, or maybe a drill, and we could dig out way out?”

“I don’t think manual labor will get us out of this, Perce.”

“Please don’t call me Perce, Master. The other apprentices used to do that, as it sounds like a ladies handbag.”

“Sorry, Percy. But all this talk of Aspects and powers…it isn’t as simple as digging our way out through hard work. There’s more to this. Let’s explore a little more while my absorption ability gets its strength back.”

The duo moved cautiously through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Aspect, their path illuminated by the soft, ethereal light emanating from Thorne's form. Shadows danced and flickered against the rocky walls, playing out an eerie pantomime that enhanced the sense of being in an otherworldly place. Percy followed Thorne's lead, his eyes taking in the wondrous and often bizarre sights that lay around every corner.

As they ventured further, they noticed the environment around them subtly changing. The bare stone walls gradually became adorned with creeping moss and strange luminescent fungi that pulsed gently in sync with an unseen rhythm. Luminous stalactites hung from the ceiling, casting prismatic lights onto the ground. The air turned moist and held a faint, earthy fragrance, an odd contrast to the dry, dusty atmosphere they had encountered before.

"Now, isn’t this a strange sight," Percy mused aloud, breaking the prevailing silence. "The further we go, the more alive it feels."

"Aye, this is no normal dungeon. Feels more like a... like a wild beast, slumbering and waiting.”

As they made their way, Percy often paused to examine peculiar stones and minerals, his apprentice mind buzzing with excitement and curiosity. Thorne, although initially impatient, found himself appreciating the boy's enthusiasm. It reminded him of his own journey as a young blacksmith, and what his own master had told him. Curiosity is the knock upon the door of experience, and hard work is the key that unlocks it.

Thinking back to those days made Thorne feel wistful, but there was also another emotion there. A kind of motivation that he hadn’t felt in a while. A sense of young wonder, the kind of energy that growing old knocks out of too many folks. It was with this feeling that he looked around him with an investigative mind.

This being the first Aspect of the dungeon, it bore signs of numerous encounters with other people who had once found themselves there, either intentionally or accidentally. It was essentially the dungeon’s threshold, the entry point for most who dared venture within.

This initial Aspect carried the wear and tear of human passage. Here and there, etchings and inscriptions adorned the walls, left by previous adventurers either as warnings, guideposts, or simply desperate epitaphs of their soon-to-end existence.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Look at this, Master,” Percy pointed to one such inscription, a crude drawing of a creature and a series of lines that seemed like a map. “It’s like a language, all its own. The tales of those who came before us.”

“Can you understand them?”

“No. I can sort of see it. I can see my understanding. But when I try to reach it, it feels like there’s a barrier between us.”

“What do I always say? In the gap between desire and achievement lies hard work, Percy. I suspect if you practice with those language abilities of yours, that gap will shorten.”

“Still, I can’t help but feel these are the whispers of the past in stone, Master. Every adventurer who steps foot in this dungeon adds a bit to its story."

“I wonder what ours will say.”

To this, Percy had no answer.

Occasionally they encountered the remnants of old campsites, their scorched earth and charred remains testament to nights spent under the ever-watchful eyes of the dungeon. Though, given how timeless this place seemed, Thorne found it impossibly to put a date on them. Discarded equipment, rusting weapons and tools, even bones, were scattered around, marking the journey of those who had tried to conquer the dungeon’s mysteries before.

"Seems like this place has seen its fair share of visitors," Percy mused aloud.

“Aye, and we won’t be the last,” Thorne agreed. "We're all just passing through, leaving our mark as we go."

On they wandered, always walking slowly, carefully, spending their curiosity like they had pouches filled with it. No matter where they went, Thorne could feel his own part of the dungeon glowing in his inner core, always ready to guide him back to it.

Soon, though, their peaceful exploration was interrupted as three monstrous figures emerged from the shadows.

“It’s those creatures again,” whispered Percy.

This time, instead of lunging to attack, the monsters halted at a distance. A larger beast, grotesque and imposing, stepped forward, its massive form hulking in the dim light. The skin that stretched over its muscular body was rough and scarred, the color of burnt umber. Its eyes glowed an eerie red, and its mouth, a gaping maw filled with rows of razor-sharp teeth, curled into a sinister grin.

"We demand tribute!" it rumbled, its voice resonating through the air, causing the ground beneath them to shudder slightly.

“What kind of tribute?” asked Percy.

“Metals. This is a core, and we know what it can do!”

Percy looked aghast at the demand, his gaze flicking back and forth between the monster and Thorne, "Master, they're demanding a tribute of resources from you."

Thorne already felt protective of the iron and copper he’d absorbed from the walls. It was ludicrous, really. Back in Ironreach, he’d had storage huts filled with metal, but now a few measly ores meant the world to him.

"Tell them they’ll have to collect the ores from my dead body," Thorne said. “Repeat my words exactly: If you want my metals then by all means try, but I will use my core form to bash your faces until not even your own mothers recognise you. For I am Thorne, Master Blacksmith, and I will not be robbed! Have you got that, Percy?”

“Yes master,” said Percy. Then, to the monsters, he said, “What are your names?”

After a brief exchange with the monsters, Percy turned back to Thorne, "The large one is named Wrutch, and the other two are Trag and Spodge. They are a part of the Tarlik clan."

“Fine, but it didn’t sound like you translated what I told you to say.”

“I did.”

“You couldn’t have. You weren’t speaking for long enough.”

“Their language is very short, master.”

“Right. My threats seemed to have placated them, somewhat.”

“Err, yes. What now, Master?”

“Well, ask them…Hmm. Let me think on this a moment. No sense asking the wrong question.”

Instead of waiting, Percy took his own initiative. “I'm curious. Our understanding of the dungeon is limited. Could you enlighten us about the different Aspects and pathways?"

Wrutch fixed Percy with a stony gaze, his monstrous features set in an expression of suspicion. "Why should we tell you?" he growled, folding his bulky arms across his chest.

Percy wasn’t one to give up so easily. "As fellow dwellers of the dungeon, shouldn't we all help each other?"

Wrutch's lip curled into a sneer. "We Tarliks are not in the business of helping others, especially not humans," he growled dismissively.

“What are you saying to each other?” asked Thorne.

“I’m trying to get information out of them, Master.”

“Any luck?”

“They’re not being very cooperative.”

“Perhaps I ought to threaten then once again. They seem to cower beneath my name, after all.”

Undeterred, Percy tried again, this time attempting to stroke their ego. "You all are clearly the more experienced here. It would be a great honor for us to learn from such distinguished creatures."

Wrutch snorted, and a few chuckles echoed from his companions. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” the big Tarlik said, a wide, toothy grin on his face. It wasn’t a friendly smile.

With a sigh, Percy ventured another try, switching gears. "Perhaps a trade then? Information for... more tribute?"

This time, the three Tarliks shared a look. Percy held his breath, hoping he’d piqued their interest. However, Wrutch merely shook his head. “We already have a tribute agreement. No need for more. Bring us metal, or die a painful death full of..of…”

“Pain,” added Trag.

Percy felt a pang of frustration. His attempts were going nowhere. Worse, the Tarliks were clearly enjoying his discomfort, their grins widening with each failed plea.

Then, out of nowhere, an idea struck him.

It was a strange sensation, almost as if some part of him knew what he had to do, even if it made no sense. The urge was almost overpowering, a sudden strong pull towards something...unorthodox. It made no sense, but the feeling was insistent.

A dirty joke. He couldn't explain why, but he knew he had to tell a dirty joke.

With a gulp, Percy took a deep breath and let it out, trying to suppress his nervousness. “So there was a knight, alright? And he had a problem. He couldn’t…shall we say…pick up his sword.”

“Were his arms puny and weak?” asked Trag.

Wrutch swatted his clanmate with a meaty paw. “He means the knight’s human reproductive organ, you piece of cave moss! Continue, human.”

Percy launched into a joke that he remembered hearing from Thomas, one of the other apprentices. It wasn’t to Percy’s tastes, but it had caused riotous laughter at the local tavern. He repeated it as best he could, and after he delivered the punchline, he held his breath, anxiously watching the Tarliks' reactions.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, to his surprise, the creatures began to laugh. The sound was deep and thunderous, echoing around the chamber. They laughed so hard they had to clutch their stomachs, their faces turning a deeper shade of umber.

When their laughter subsided, Wrutch turned to Percy, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “That was good,” he admitted. “Very well, you've earned some answers. What would you like to know?”

On hearing what Percy had done, Thorne felt his inner core glow hot with pride. “Well done, Percy! I’m beginning to think you were apprenticed to the wrong master. You should have been learning from a famous politician, perhaps. You’re too good for a hammer and a forge.”

“Thank you, master, but I wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

Seeing his apprentice look so proud was a tremendous feeling for Thorne. But it didn’t stop there, because something strange was happening.

What in the hells?

Thorne felt, heard, and fancied that he even saw a huge, metal chain knitting itself from him to Percy. It glowed red hot for a moment, before cooling and then disappearing.

Now, he felt closer to his apprentice, to the lad he’d always thought had potential but just needed a good master to guide him. He looked at Percy with a new understanding of himself, and he realized that he saw him not as a nuisance apprentice, but more like a son.

Was that how he’d looked upon all this apprentices? Was that why he was so devoted to teaching the lads and lasses in his workshop all of his skills? Was he just filling a void?

With a pang of sadness, Thorne’s mind flickered to Sarah. To the talks they’d have by Crosser’s Hill, where they’d plan their future. The house that Thorne would build, which he did. The business he’d grow, which he did. The children they’d have – two boys and a girl. But that last wish, their most important…

Well, a man couldn’t have the world, could he?

This meant something, Thorne decided. This visual showing of some kind of chain, of a bond between them getting stronger. It didn’t happen for nothing. The Aspect, or perhaps his inner core, was telling him something.

Percy broke Thorne from his thoughts. “What would you have me ask them?”

“I’m interested to hear what you think, lad.”

The apprentice considered it. “Perhaps we should question them about dangers we might encounter here?”

“Hmm. We certainly need to know something like that. But right now, I’m of the mind that the most important thing is getting a better sense of where ‘here’ is. Yes, we know this is an Aspect. We know that I own a part of it, it seems, and I can always find my way back to it. But what of the rest of this place? I’d like to learn from them what else lays beyond these foul halls.”

Percy nodded, and asked Wrutch about the Aspect. The monsters conferred for a moment, before Wrutch answered.

“The dungeon, you see, is divided into Aspects. The deeper you go, the more challenging they get. This Aspect here, it's just the beginning. Let me tell you a little more about it…”

Thorne followed Wrutch’s explanation, before realizing something.

I can understand him!

For a moment it confused him. He wondered if he’d learned a new language ability in the same way Percy had, but he didn’t feel anything like that in his core, like he’d felt when earning his resource abilities.

No, he thought. This is something different, and it’s something new. It must be the chain I saw. The bond between Percy and me. When he understands them, I understand them. Only, he still has to do the talking.

As Percy and Thorne listened to the beast, Thorne felt a mental map begin to fill out so that he could see parts of the Aspect he’d never visited before. It was something instinctual and inner, much in the same way that he’d used his abilities and in how he felt his resources stockpiled in his core.

Percy, meanwhile, felt a stirring in his mind. A sort of expansion of power, as though new synapses were firing inside him. There was no doubt about it; something had unlocked as a result of his successful negotiation with Wrutch and his pals.

Now, when he looked at the monsters, an inner voice gave him some scant information about them. Their personalities, their proclivities to hostility or negotiation, and what means could be used to persuade them to cease aggression, trade information, or even give assistance.

“Now,” said Wrutch, breaking Thorne and Percy from their thoughts. “There’ a little matter of the tribute.”

“I thought we’d resolved that?” asked Percy.

“Oh? Do I have metal in my hands? Do I have iron, copper, silver resting on my palms?”

Percy began, “There was once a monk who…”

“One joke is enough, human! It won’t work again. For your insolence, the tribute is now doubled.”

Percy's face paled at the demand, but to his surprise, Thorne agreed without hesitation. His voice, when it came, was steady and calm.

"Come to my part of the dungeon in a few days’ time and you’ll get your tribute."

“That’s more like it,” said Wrutch. Then to his friends, he said, “What did I tell you? Cores just need treating like unruly whelps. Whip them a little, and they subdue.”

Percy eyed Thorne, who wanted so badly to wink at him to reassure him. Lacking eyes, he couldn’t do this. All the same, he hoped Percy understood that in a few days’ time, Wrutch and his pals would get more tribute than they bargained for.