Tim rode Murphy into the dark Fivel tunnels leading to Silo 19, thankful these were tall enough to fit a horse and rider, or cart and mule.

“Was that a donkey joke, again? Murphy asked.

“I would never.” Tim scratched behind Murphy’s ear, cleaning off some new batter and placing it on his lips like sweet peanut butter. The oil helped the dry, furry elements of Chris’s Marble Madness ganja, which he couldn’t smoke, so was forced to eat like broccoli. The Healing spells sucked Tim dry, and his eardrums cringed with every cave bird’s screech, so the mix of Murphy cookies and ganja was helping boost his regen and healing.

Tonda leapt up and taught a handful of the bats to shut up. Still, those hiding in dark canopies issued shrill warnings he couldn’t escape. Too many to waste arrows on, even if it would give his eardrums a break. Tim rebuffed their taunts with a warrior’s focus on his posture to inspire opened cultivation channels for his aura-minted breaths. He exhaled rough waters through the back of his throat and inhaled the ocean tide through nasally breaths delayed enough to harvest as much aura as possible from his brain.

The dimensional gas burned with the reaction to his newly spirited aura atoms, fizzing through his nostrils and throat while his body fought to purify the intake. Each inhalation sucked thicker and thicker aura, like one of those malts from childhood, when his parents were alive, and Chris was just a little snot.

He no longer had the advantage of safety and thus kept Danger Sense permeating the tunnels lit solely by their torches and his aura light. No rest for the weary.

His tap on Chris’s staff lit Jogey’s eyes with white fire, surprising him with the flickering light.

White Fire spell evolved from Aura Light, Light Burn, Dragon Heads, and Chris’s flammable vines. Throwable damage up to ten feet with AOE of two inches plus splash damage.

“Nice!” Tim said, his hand retracted and aching from the heat it took. “White Fiya!” Tim said under his breath, a bit for the bats and some for himself. He didn’t want to draw too much attention.

One downside to the low level is it feels like your hand is the fire. Immunity will improve with use and gloves, potentially.

“Can’t wait…”

“So, you’re White Fuego?” Kari asked, nodding with admiration.

“I used my Aura Light to help our fight in Chiltonton. Now my friends there call me White Fuego. If every time I hear it, I’m reminded of those who live, I’ll carry it gladly.”

“He’s quite the corny, White Knight, isn’t he?” Chris asked Kari, dipping his hood to cast shadow on his mock sneer.

“I’m not lying,” Tim said.

Chris chuckled. “See what I mean?” His eyes generated a swirl of torched ember flecks flicking in time with those in white fire on Jogey’s. Chris squinted and locked his gaze on the twisted crook of wood carrying the hovering ball of fire without being consumed.

“Does that make you Green Ranger?” Tim asked.

He flicked his eye back at Tim and winked, smiling. “Just kidding. Thank you. I gained the same spell, and yes, it is green out of my hands, because I’m not racist.”

Tim snorted. “But you might love the trees a little too much…”

Kari eyeballed the two in an impatient glare. “I just meant, White Fuego is the hot name on the lips of our enemies, too.” She grinned self satisfyingly. “We’re already in a tough spot with low ammo; our retreat’s blocked by ricken; and our way ahead was already dog piss before White Fuego showed up like fresh meat to the trap. White meet Black. As glad as I am to catch up, it’s gonna be more difficult to sneak into the tomb with how the demons and ricken will swarm to your light. Try to keep it down if possible. Until we have to fight.”

Tim tipped his imaginary crown. He hated that they couldn’t go back to Silo 18 to check on their friends, including Frahnk, but Lank already warned them to reach the tomb before Hist sent another warlock to stop them. If the one they hunted made it back to regen, it would be two warlocks to avoid before the tomb.

“White Fuego is the polar opposite of Hist and his minions,” Kari continued. “The aura you purify in your cultivation is the epitome of food and nourishment to those stricken with Hist’s blend of dimensional power.”

Tim sensed that when he swiped the aura from the warlock’s lost blood from the floor. It resembled a stronger version of the signature aura he absorbed from the void powered prison guard at Chiltonton, Holas. He tested his Poison Resistance against it, with spikes of pain and strange fatigue stretching numbness to his shoulder. He backed off until he was in better shape.

“Venom and Crystal, they call the opposing forms of black and white aura,” she said.

“Frahnk’s unit’s venom essence was neutralized by the demons and ricken,” Indi said, giving Kari all his heartthrob attention and a smooth tone flowing effervescently in his aura burning form.

Tim felt bad for him perishing and endured the extra sharpness on his earache to let him have some well-earned Kari time.

“They thought their other advantages would tip the playing field in their favor,” Tim informed him politely, “including my copy of Lank’s Ledger.”

Lank slowed up at their lead, a low hanging bough of gray stone narrowing his path downward on a slope. He glared at Tim. “Been meanin’ to talk to you about that,” he said and flexed the individual fingers in his glove to a fist.

“Call us even for shooting at my jexin,” Tim said, sensing a current of sarcasm on the former sheriff’s spirit. And remorse.

Lank shed the act and raised hands to a prayerful bow. “Please forgive my bullying and injustices, not least of which being the potential murder of your familiar. I was messing with you. Kari told me long ago what you accomplished before parting into a fold in space.”

Tim shrugged and smiled at Kari. “I figured if the two of you were working together it likely crossed your lips what happened. Did you recruit him to the cause?”

“I was always part of the cause,” Lank defended. “I just learned a tough lesson trying it without, you know.”

“He’s still learning,” Kari said and knocked a love tap on his elbow. “The word is help.”

“Right,” Lank admitted, in order from Kari to Tim. “I added to the ledger after the version you copied. Rooster laid even more traps. I can only imagine what’s new since I’ve been here last.”

Tim’s Danger Sense and focused attention on the dark spaces triggered an internal alert. “Hold up.” Lank stopped at a ledge overlooking a deep chasm visible through a descending slant in the ceiling.

Walking through a flat clearing about a hundred yards below were figures using Venom to guide and protect their path. His enhanced Ranger sight allowed him to make out at least two bearing the essence of artisans. Smaller figures walking on all fours or sliding along in inhuman graces, joined their torch bearing company.

I could get a closer look, Dryfu offered.

Not yet. But thank you.

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“What’d you see?” Lank whispered.

Tim carefully lowered his stomach and crawled closer to the opening.

“I can’t believe they’re risking an open trek into Silo 19 borderlands,” Lank said. “They don’t look stupid. Maybe they know about the warlock being injured. Kwan is one of the rift guardians.”

Tim kept the taste of the warlock’s aura on the tip of his tongue and the nip of his nose, but they hadn’t come across his scent yet. Sometimes the skill buffeted against an unseen blanket, muffling his attempts to spread the Sense to pick up a trail. If the warlock had a higher tier Evade skill of some kind, he could be waiting in the wings somewhere, ready to pounce.

Lank’s eyes bore the weight of a heavy decision. “That’s the way to his fortress. My notes show an accessway to Poia’s Tomb through there, which, if the warlock is wounded or dead, could still be our best shot in. I bet they knew…”

“I say we fire on the count of three and increase our odds further,” Lin said.

“Not yet, Lin,” Lank said. “We need that ammo for the tomb, if we can.”

“If we won’t take them out from here,” Tim started, “I could use my inherent Evade to get past them. I’m not a high enough level to protect the group on the move, but I know how to make traps. I could even cultivate some breadcrumbs to lead them after me while you flank them. Do you know of any good bottlenecks in the borderlands?”

Lank’s eyes lit at that idea, and he grinned.

A memory from Surion’s past came to mind, where he’d sent runners on the same path to Silo 18. It was rarely used because many ricken congregated near a hot spring of dimensional gas heated water. Death to Tim if he fell in, but luxury to them.

Tim gestured to Rayv, who nodded and illumined with color, appearing to the group from thin air. Aura spent from his form with the scent of burnt pinecones and cedar. Tim found it more and more precious, the honor given to spend it for his cause.

“Rayv?” Lank asked.

This fine young man perished in the Padstoligan rebellion.”

His eyes locked on the apparition as though he’d seen a ghost.

You’re stupid.

Apprecie’.

“I know Rayv,” Lank said. “When he was a boy. Bit of a trouble maker,” Lank said with a coy smile. “His father is a great man. Uh, Wi Uha, right? Did he survive?”

Rayv nodded solemnly, a gentle smile of gratitude breaking through his official demeanor. “He is collecting the blood of our lost for another offering to our cause.”

“That’s weird,” Lank whispered, returning his attention to the artisans. Tim’s Danger Sense kept tabs on their essence, and so far they were unaware of the threat watching them from the rafters.

“I have a mission for you,” Tim whispered to Rayv. As one of his wraith familiars, he didn’t have to whisper, but did so for his group’s awareness. “Take Surion’s way back to Silo 18. Help our people. If any are well enough to follow, find us through Chris’s vine.”

As a wood sorcerer, Chris was often sewing unseen seams in the air with whisps of green tracerlight fading and replacing itself at the tips of his fingers. He made a sweeping gesture toward the moss growing around his boots. It seeped from cracks in the stone on a regular occurrence behind them.

“Got it,” Rayv said.

Tim reached for Rayv’s temple and morphed his hand into Aura form. It trembled, and he fought the overworked nerves to squeeze c-mana into Spirit Memories. He shared the way into the abandoned bazaars and mining camps beyond the river, how Surion remembered.

Rayv took off with Indi in tow.

The surge of MP to send his familiar with sent a sharp pain through Tim’s ears. All active spells vanished from his control.

Dryfu flew past Tim’s face and back while he squirmed in pain. Concern flattened Dryfu’s face and he looked at Tim like a disappointed, yet loving father. “Your ears are bleeding with venom resin.”

Tim strained to hear.

“You need a break. We might not be able to go any deeper.”

Don’t be ridiculous.

An orb emerged before his face, hovering in the space a few feet in front of Tim. Black as the night, and hard as the rock around them; Magic spawned the amassing blob into a tornado of dust and fangs before Tim could say, What the?

“Demon!”

Tim cast Protection and charged White Fire.

The dust form solidified in a glass across glass shard hardening of aura as it raised a claw to strike.

“Kanite shasa!” The apparition raked a blur of icy claws across Tim’s cheek. Shockwaves of pain torched the crags of severed nerves across his face.

The ghost disappeared before Dryfu’s Tornado could retaliate. His after cloud left them with a cackle nearly as soon as he appeared.

A hand grabbed the back of Tim’s vest and yanked him away from the clearing.

Whooshes of fantastic spell tracer lines shot into the ceiling and walls around them, muting Lank’s warnings. Cracks bolted across the roof, stretching impossibly far to escape as the center buckled under its girth and untold tonnage above.

Chris caught Kari’s hand and helped her with the aching Lank. Lin’s rifle boomed, launching a retort on a blue freight train. The magi-round exploded near their enemy’s fire, spraying more lights to the tear and pain hidden sight Tim wrestled with. Kari pushed him back into Murphy and said, “Get.”

Another great crack echoed from deep in the ceiling over them.

Tim sent concern into Murphy’s connection and a response thought created a billowing aura shield pressing up against the cave in. Insurmountable sections of mountain weight buckled and dropped.

Lin’s escape ended in a severed hand and the rifle. The rest of his body disappeared under the avalanche of rock and blinding dust.

Tim’s Protection spell flattened under the onslaught, dying as sure as the man it failed to protect. A stabbing pain lanced through his spine as he arched up to stop the retreating spell. He flexed his back and spent c-mana to the bone to keep the shield until everyone else made it back up. They congregated at a low ceiling pinnacle in the labyrinthine passageways through smoothly eroded rock.

They ascended to a more spacious area where the air currents dispersed the dust enough to let Tim open his eyes fully. A fissure in the dungeon grew wider as it meandered upward along unstable ledges and sheer drop-offs high enough to provide a lethal ending should one fall. While they climbed, Chris stuffed fluffy green and purple buds into a travel pipe shaped like a croc with a treasured jewel for a snout. Enchantment for healing brimmed through the thick glass, clean as the day it was born. It stretched the perfect length for his hand to conceal the embers once lit.

Chris handed it with a single dose packed and a war-ready gaze brewing a storm. “You want I go back down and kill somethin?” Christ said in a clipped, Dracula accent.

Tim wasn’t in the mood. “I’m sorry,” he said to Kari and Lank.

She shook her head. A tear welled and she wiped it with a streak of dirt across her cheek. “Not your fault.”

“The borderlands are infested with demons.” Lank said. “Now one has a taste for your pure aura, it’ll be back. Better clean that up,” he added, turning his face in shame. “It’s pussing out all over your face.”

Tim was fighting the itch with the throbbing pain from using c-mana or even basic Healing. And it was getting worse. He blew into his wraith whistle, just in case, and let it drop back on its chain necklace. The density of rock and Venom made that as hopeless as hurling a message in a bottle at a muddy riverbed, but he tried anyway whenever he could.

“I can make a paste,” Chris said. “But I’m obligated to hit you in the head with my staff after. Sorry. Strange rules. I didn’t make ‘em.”

“Whatever you’re doing, it’s not working,” Tim said, as though he’d ever admit otherwise. Their love was unique in that way.

“You know it is; your face is extra ugly fire, no offense.”

“None taken. You’re still uglier.”

“False.” Chris chuckled.

“See, you know I’m right.” Pain in his cheeks forced Tim to suppress his smile.

“My point,” Chris said, “is the meds are helping. You’re still smiling.”

The pain jabbed through Tim’s cheeks and around to the back of his eye sockets.

Little weasel.

Tim pressed into Murphy to quell the fire by a few degrees. His bad jokes were bad enough without this. “What do we know about this northwest passage? What else should we expect?”

“Do you know much about why people call this Silo 19? What happened when it was the only silo and we’d just found the rift stone?”

Tim shook his head. Chris too.

“All twenty-one of the silos shared the same basic open shaft with long halls that branched out like city streets. Mine carts and weighted pullies produced a transportation flow around the outer rim, like escalators at the malls.

“Silo 19 was actually the first silo, until it was taken over and they had to reassess their whole dungeon mining system.

“A month into opening it to pillar citizens, the rift spewed enough ricken to kill most of the silo’s population within days. They tried fighting back, only to feed the fire of ricken haunting halls they once called home.

“Those who escaped started a new Silo 1 as their new home base, as far as they could go while also maintaining proximity to valuable ore.”

What remained of Silo 19 was a high-risk high-reward treasure hunt for the most seasoned miners. The abso stone continues to absorb the dimensional gas and fortify their dominance over this region. Not even the artisans had a protected tunnel like they did to get here. Ricken returned in waves of ten to twenty, sent from the dimensional heart with new life and a mission to recruit.”

Lank wiped sweat from his brow and took a breathier. “Know this, priest. Whichever our path, it will be the worst for you.”

You’re telling me, Tim thought. Then caught the concern and unspoken gesture of camaraderie in the alarm. “Thanks. I’m aware. I’m still here.”

Lank grunted agreement. “Good. We’ll try this way first. I think there’s some tunnels above us.” He took out a pickaxe with a blue enchantment to the blade. It looked carved by the expertise of a thousand-year-old dwarf.

Dwarves here are more the ivory tower with tall libraries and higher sense of entitlement.

Dually noted. Tim took out the pickaxe Wilqo gifted him last night. Some of the blue essence derived from a similar origin, though Lank’s held a mishmash of blessings and worn character in its furnishings.

Lank swung his pickaxe like that rock owed him for his friend’s death.

Tim took second in line and went to work, glad to have every one of them with him to take on what lay on the other side.