Etin followed the group as the gigantic Miranavisr led them deeper into the cavernous lair. The children were talking excitedly in hushed voices, but Etin wasn’t paying them any attention. He envied their enthusiasm, but wasn’t sure where it was stemming from.

He’d caught some of the chatter. The words ‘fighting’ and ‘monsters’ had come up a few times, as had ‘level up’. The idea of leveling seemed to be generating the most buzz, but Etin had only heard tales about the mysterious floating numbers. He’d overheard Julian talking out loud about possibly inducing Etin into the System, but the notion bothered the living skeleton and he wasn’t sure why.

Back on the Sparrow, he had listened to their stories from the previous dungeons—and David’s vivid description of being cornered by living plants had frightened Etin quite a bit. He struggled to see why the group was so nonchalant about heading into certain danger.

Etin turned to the great bear ambling beside him. Winnie had yet to say any words, though he could clearly understand human speech. But for all he lacked words, he had no trouble making himself understood.

“Aren’t you afraid of the dungeon?” Etin sent to his friend.

Winnie turned his head toward Etin, gazing long into his eyes. Then he snorted derisively and flicked his head in Sarah’s direction.

“Ah. I see.” The meaning could not have been clearer—where she goes, I go—yet it did little to assuage Etin’s worry. He, too, cared about the children, and not to mention his maker, but he nevertheless found himself unwilling to follow them into the dungeon.

He was… scared, he realized, for the first time in his life, and it was a feeling Etin quickly decided he did not like.

Lost in thought as he was, Etin didn’t realize the group had arrived at their destination until he bumped into Alexis’ back. The girl turned as Etin staggered, stumbling back a few steps.

“Sorry,” he sent, scratching at the armor on his neck. From his observations, humans did this to signify embarrassment, though the hollow armor dampened the effect somewhat. It didn’t help that you could see his spine through the holes, either.

Alexis quirked her lips into the shadow of a smile as she mouthed, “No problem.” Then she tilted her head and furrowed her brow as she noticed something. “Are you alright?”

Before he could answer with an automatic ‘Yes,’ Etin caught himself and paused in his tracks. He wasn’t alright—he was afraid—and if he’d learned anything in his years of watching people as they lived their lives, it was that fear was something people were ashamed about. He’d seen many fights sparked by a simple declaration of cowardice, so it followed that calling himself a coward would make Alexis look down on him, and… he didn’t want that.

It turned out, though, that the question was timed, and by taking so long to think of his answer, he failed implicitly.

“Etin?” Alexis asked with a hint of worry. “What’s wrong?”

Again, he froze—but he was saved from having to answer by the great dragoness clearing her voice.

~*~

The entrance to the dungeon was an obvious thing. It was flanked by black marble pillars carved with intricate depictions of dragons which, rising all the way up to the ceiling of the cavern. Between them, a gaping void opened, the light not reaching farther than a few feet past the boundary.

Miranavisr had sat quietly for a minute as she started at the dungeon. Their excitement irked her, though she kept her face impassive. She always found it hard to keep her emotions in check when she was near the dungeon, and the children had done nothing wrong.

If only the dungeon hadn’t turned out to be a tomb for so many of her own brood. She’d had many children over the years — and one by one, they’d left her behind. The pull of adventure, the yearning, the burning curiosity that drove their kind ensured that sooner or later—and usually sooner rather than later—her children would set out on their own.

Then, they’d return, only to fly off again—until finally, they’d decide it was time to brave the dungeon. To bring back what had been lost, to open the way to the ancestral home—

But it didn’t matter, in the end. They always failed, and each time her heart would break anew. And they wouldn’t ever know their cause had been doomed from the start.

Miranavisr looked over the assembled group, her gaze lingering just a heartbeat longer on Al’vathazen.

Her precious child. So few of them remained, and this one was barely more than a hatchling. And in that brief moment when their eyes made contact, Miranavisr knew he’d want to join the lich’s lot, even if he’d deny it.

Yes, Miranavisr thought. It would be just like her youngest to try and sneak into the dungeon once her back was turned.

With a sigh, she turned back to the task at hand, making a mental note not to leave little Vathaz out of her sight.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“The Dragon’s Eye is… not quite like any dungeon you might have seen before.” She closed her eyes as she spoke, her muscles already taut from the strain of fighting the geas. “The ones that dot the Archipelago are simplistic little things, and barely even alive.”

“Dungeons are supposed to be alive?” one of the children asked. Miranavisr could feel the magic wafting off him—the fledgling mage, Cameron.

The dragoness nodded kindly, finding it easy to fall into her old teaching ways. “Where there is Mana, there is life.”

“And there’s a lot of Mana in dungeons,” Cameron noted.

Miranavisr nodded, finding that it was all she could do. Oh, how she despised that geas.

“What of the dungeon cores?” Julian asked, and for a moment the dragoness loathed the man as her body betrayed her.

“I’m afraid that touches too close to what I cannot tell you,” Miranavisr said—or rather, the geas. It wasn’t often that her curse would take control entirely and speak with her voice, but each time it did it was no less disturbing.

Inwardly, she railed at the unfairness of it all. The Dark Lord and his kids would most likely perish in the dungeon, and with them, her chances of her ever being free again. And there were so many things she knew that might help them through this trial, but the compulsion was too strong.

If he’d noticed her inner turmoil, Julian gave no notice. “I understand,” he said, giving her a sympathetic smile. “But if there’s anything you can share—anything at all—I would be in your debt.”

Oh, if only he knew, Miranavisr thought. But in spite of his earnest plea, there was nothing more she could say. The dragoness shook her head. She’d already toed the line to its limit.

“There’s nothing more I can tell you,” she said with a wan smile, moving her lumbering mass out of the way of the entrance. “You may enter now, with my blessing—or you could go back. I would not begrudge you that decision.”

“That’s not an option,” Sarah forcefully cut in. Then, she paused, looking around. “Right?”

Heads nodded—nearly all of them, and joined by a young dragon whose tail was vibrating of glee—but nobody noticed the lone skeleton who’d frozen in place.

~*~

A sense of finality hung in the air. The decision was made. There was no backing off now. Etin grit his teeth and braced himself for the departure.

Yet the moments stretched, and nobody stepped forward.

“Right?” Sarah asked again, with a hint of uncertainty.

But Julian wasn’t looking at her, Etin now saw. The Archmagus had turned around, and was now staring at the sky the way they’d come.

Miranavisr craned her neck to see what he was seeing. “Oh,” she said. “What a curious little thing.”

Seconds passed, and Etin finally understood what had caught their attention. It was difficult to make out any details, but something was flying in their direction.

Another dragon? No, even from this distance, Etin could tell it was a much smaller creature. A bird, by its shape. Sent by the enemy, perhaps? He’d heard all sorts of things from the Heroes, and compounded with his own experience, it made for a grim outlook.

Only the gods knew how many droppings he’d had to clean off his head during his long tenure as a guard. Even though he hadn’t had the capacity for thought back then, the memories still irked. No, Etin decided. Birds could not be the bearers of good news.

“Oh, hey,” Alexis said, breaking the tension. “Looks like you’ve got mail.”

Indeed, shortly after she spoke, Etin spotted the roll of parchment tied to the beast’s leg. And as it drew close, Etin saw that the bird wasn’t what it seemed. A falcon, yes, but one long dead with its feathers frayed from being used longer than they had any right to.

Etin felt an odd sense of kinship with the feathery fiend. He’d been just like it, minus the flight—an it, and not a person.

The bird gave no sign of sharing his inner turmoil. Etin supposed it made sense—he was, after all, unique.

A beat later, he glanced at Winnie, who was preoccupied with a nearby anthill.

Perhaps nearly unique was more accurate.

The falcon landed lightly on Julian’s outstretched arm, who hurried to unfurl the small piece of parchment.

His brows rose as he read before his face finally settled on a wince.

“So, what’s up? Spill,” David said.

Julian started, as if he’d forgotten he wasn’t alone. He coughed into his fist while folding the parchment with the other hand. “I… may have forgotten about a previous engagement.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “May have,” she said in a deadpan tone.

Julian sighed. “It’s Jenna. It’s been… a while, but I believe I’ve mentioned I asked for her aid.”

“That’s your lawyer friend, right?” Shiro asked.

Julian nodded.

Etin perked up. He’d heard the story—Alexis had thought it was the funniest thing. Etin’s opinion was much more somber, however.

“I get that your lawsuit thing is important to you,” Shiro said, “no way you’re thinking of giving up on the dungeon, right?”

“No, of course not,” Julian shook his head sadly. “It’s just unfortunate. She was able to secure a hearing, but I won’t be able testify if we’re going in the dungeon.”

“So you lose by default?” Alexis asked.

“She can still plead my case for me, but it’s an academic dispute. Even if I send her my note, she wouldn’t understand it well enough to prove that the work is mine. It’s as good as lost.”

“Probably should have thought of that before leaving the Continent behind, eh?” David said.

Julian bristled. “I’d been planning on using the scrying chambers on the Floating Isle, but that’s not an option anymore.”

“Sorry,” Sarah said, visibly wilting.

Julian sighed. “It’s not your fault. I apologize for snapping at you. But in any case, no witness means there’s no point continuing with the trial. Just… give me a few moments to send back a reply and then we can move on with the dungeon.”

“Wait,” Etin said.

Every head in the clearing turned to him, and Etin dearly wished he had shut up instead. But he’d sniffed an opportunity, insofar as he could sniff anything, and he felt like he had to try.

“You don’t have to be the witness, no?”

Julian’s eyes narrowed. “In theory, no. But in practice, no, there’s no one else. A collaborator might have worked, or a test subject if there were any, but there’s—”

“Me. When you made us, I was there. In the beginning.”

Julian seemed shocked. “That… that might actually work. And you’d go, truly?”

The skeleton nodded. “It is the right thing.” It remained unsaid that if Etin went to this trial, wherever it was, then he’d be able to skip the horrible dungeon of doom. He ignored the slight pinprick of guilt—it wasn’t like he’d be able to make a difference there, anyway.

“But that’s like, really far away,” David said. “And the boat runs on magic, doesn’t it?”

Julian’s face fell, and Etin felt the chance sliding from his grasp. And he’d been so close…!

His salvation came from the most unexpected place.

“Vathaz,” the dragon matriarch said, her eyes glimmering oddly, “I believe you’ve been cooped up here for long enough. Why don’t you escort little Etin to this trial?”