Topher's eyebrows rose. Shit, that's even faster than me. It took me months to hit Level 11. "Not bad," he commented, feeling a guilty thrill of vindication as it was Kelfir's turn to stare in disbelief. "Still convinced you suck?"

"Christopher," Kelfir cut in sharply, "what is the meaning of this? Increasing one's Level requires dedicated, consistent combat against challenging foes, and each Level requires more victories than the one before; it is well-known!" He looked back and forth between the two, disbelieving. "Achieving the 11th Level requires months, possibly even years of high-risk adventuring; it cannot be possible that my son has achieved it in minutes."

Topher blinked, then scowled. "Hey, what the fuck? You never complained about me Leveling up so fast. What's different now?"

"You are an Otherworlder," Varissian supplied, dismissing his Status and looking back to them both; Topher was shocked to see a disapproving expression on his face, as well. "The rules as we understand them do not apply to you, but I am a different matter." He furrowed his brows and rested his chin in his hand as he walked, looking exactly like Kelfir; the older elf frowned, but did not interject. "Elves in particular are the slowest of the races to Level; my father is correct. This should have taken me much longer." He glanced at the surrounding darkness. "Alternatively, it could be an effect of the Crypt of Gorduin -- a distortion of the Status, perhaps."

"Hey, no, stop, shut up," Topher objected. "This isn't a new thing -- Zanasha, Hana, and Rudo all said they Leveled a lot faster when I was around. They said it had something to do with 'party XP', whatever that means."

Kelfir paused, then nodded cautiously. "If what you say is true, it may be possible; the mechanics of party XP are cryptic at best, and have not been closely studied." He turned back to Varissian. "Still, if it is true, it is a welcome boon; with ten Levels of additional HP, you are considerably safer from incidental injury. Let that not, however, incline you to recklessness."

"Worry not," Varissian rejoined sourly. "I am all-too-keenly aware of my relative fragility."

The conversation lapsed into silence after that; they stalked cautiously through the darkness for what felt like hours, but the endless stone vastness seemed identical in every direction. Topher silently worried that he'd gotten them lost, but there was nothing he could do about it; rather than worrying the others, he opted to keep his anxieties to himself and simply bulled ahead, hoping for the best. Then, after what seemed like forever, he glimpsed a light off to one side; trusting his gut, he swerved towards it, summoning a dagger from his Trajectile Bracelet just in case.

In rapid order, the light drew nearer; within a few minutes, Topher could see that it was an eerie blue flame, seated in a torch atop a triangular doorway of carved stone. "That's weird. How could a torch still be burning down here?"

As they drew closer, Kelfir gestured for caution; "That is an Everlasting Flame spell -- not unusual in dungeons, but the torch itself is not of dwarven make..." He stepped closer, peering at it inquisitively, then nodded to himself. "Twinewood. We are on the right path."

Topher looked around at Varissian, who was also nodding; he felt like when someone was talking in a foreign language around him. "Sure, twinewood, whatever the fuck that is."

Kelfir glanced at him, then chuckled again. "Apologies. It is a specific sort of wood grown from elven trees, planted to grow together in a spiral shape. Its presence here is likely the result of Archmage Venvaris' passing." He edged towards the door, making careful passes with his hands; his Wyrd darted into the doorway, then back out, and he relaxed. "No further traps or wards. Perhaps he intended to return here, before whatever fate befell him below."

Tentatively, he made his way through the doorway; Topher and Varissian followed, looking around expectantly. But the interior was significantly less grandiose than the outside; the doorway led only into a small vestibule before another steep downwards staircase. Topher looked back where they'd come from with a sigh. "This might be a good place to rest; we can at least secure both entrances, and the space is small enough that we won't get separated easily."

Kelfir nodded; he gestured towards the staircase, and a Wall of Force shimmered into visibility across its entry. "Would you be so kind as to cover the other door?"

"Sure, if I knew how," Topher complained. "I know Wall of Force, but mine only lasts a few minutes."

Kelfir paused, then ran a hand over his face; Topher was surprised to see that he looked embarrassed. "Of course. Forgive me, Christopher; I oft forget that you are not actually an Archmagus." He spread his hands, and a Minor Illusion formed between them; delicate filigree of runic sequences filled the space, describing a topological extrusion. "Are you familiar with the Temjyan family of matrices?"

Topher squinted at it. "No, but it looks similar to Arzash... rotated around Byshk and translated across Cairei, right?" He pondered for a moment, then summoned his own Minor Illusion; furrowing his brow in thought, he visualized a progression of states from what he knew to what he thought would produce Kelfir's result. "Check my work?"

Kelfir watched for a moment, then nodded. "Mostly correct. You have transposed Vil and Vord in the third progression, but otherwise sufficient."

Topher nodded, thought for a moment, then summoned his Stylus; spinning it a few times, he pointed it at the other doorway and chanted "Zoff Xat Solmi Moj, Yttr Xegar Tanok." Instantly, a shimmering plane of staticky grayness flickered into existence across the doorway, then dimmed to near-invisibility. "That's cool. Thanks, Kelfir."

Varissian, who had been watching all of this in silence, finally spoke up. "How did you..." Then, looking self-conscious, he broke off and shook his head. "Why do we rest so soon? It has only been a half-dozen hours at most since we entered the dungeon."

"Because," Topher replied, pulling his Magic Bag off his belt, "you're Level 11 now, and that means you get to do homework." After digging around for a second, he pulled out Horf Gorbzooble's Beginner Mage Spells. "As much as I appreciated this -- and believe me, it saved my life several times -- I think you might need it more than I do at the moment." He opened the book to the first page, which displayed the steps for casting Mage Shield. "I don't suppose you ever actually read this before you gave it to me?"

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Varissian looked sidelong at Topher; his gaze and expression communicated the sheer disdain and loathing for the very idea quite powerfully, and Topher chuckled in response. "Thought not. Well, you're gonna need some of these spells if you want to not die in the dungeon, so it's time to Scullion up; you can get back to leveling up your Elven Superiority Skill later."

Varissian sighed. "Indignity after indignity."

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Topher spent the next six hours doing his level best not to lose his temper with the younger elf; Varissian fought him every step of the way on everything, refusing to follow any of Topher's shortcuts or benefit from any of his experience. To everyone's distress, he only managed to master a small number of new spells -- Frost Ray, Mage Shield, Shocking Grasp, and Missile Swarm -- and struggled tremendously with any spell which used high or grand runes. Worse yet, he was completely unable to cast any spell with conditional parameters -- such as Mending, Minor Illusion, or even Mage Hand -- and Kelfir's expression of thunderous disapproval at these facts seemed to fill him with despair. Still, he never complained, though his frustration and unwillingness were writ plainly on his face; and, as their stamina began to flag, even Kelfir had to be the first to admit defeat.

"I must rest," he sighed, summoning beds from his golden Wyrd; they took the form of bunk beds built against the walls, and he took the top bunk on the northern wall. "The two of you may continue; awaken me when you are finished, and I shall take the next watch. Christopher, may I ask you for a Remove Fatigue spell at that time?"

"Huh? Sure thing." Topher nodded, and the older elf turned over to face the wall; within a few moments, he was breathing deeply and easily. Topher shook his head. "Wish I could fall asleep that fast."

"I am not likely to sleep at all," returned Varissian sourly; he looked down with apathy at the pages before him, where he had made several attempts at tracing a Lesser Yashfii runic circle. "I fear these nonsensical runes will be burned into my eyes for the rest of my brief existence."

"They're only nonsensical when you don't understand," sighed Topher, already exhausted of trying to explain the relationships between the runes to the elf. "If you'd just look --"

"I am quite fatigued of looking," returned Varissian venomously. Wearily, he slammed Horf Gorbzooble's Beginner Mage Spells shut and hurled it to the ground, then stared at it as though it had murdered his family. "Formatted for children and simpletons, Christopher. And still I am incapable."

"Buddy," exploded Topher, finally losing his patience entirely, "do you not fucking understand how good you have it?!" He fought to keep his voice low so that Kelfir could sleep, but it took almost everything he had. "You learned four new spells in a day -- those took me weeks! And you're still complaining!"

Varissian clenched his hands into fists, then made strangling motions at the book on the ground. "It taunts me. Your lessons taunt me. It is so near, and yet..." Abruptly, his strength gave out; the elf collapsed into a sitting position, resting his head on his hands. "And your notes are worse. The runes, at least, I understand, but your strange sorcery of numerals is an old wound that has yet to heal."

"Oh." Topher felt the anger drain out of him in a rush; he, too, sat down heavily as the meaning of Varissian's words penetrated his skull. "Your old teacher tried to teach you some of this, too, huh?"

"On occasion." Varissian's face was hidden by his hands, but Topher could glimpse the lines of suffering in it regardless. "Usually with blunt objects."

Topher sighed. "Varissian, how much math do you actually know?"

"Sums." The elf leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, his eyes full of pain. "Nothing more than what was necessary to manage mine own finances."

"Hmm. Maybe let's start with that." Topher summoned an Illusion of a chalkboard. "Arithmetic is the only real math you need, honestly; if you can add, you can multiply, and if you can multiply, you can divide." As he mentioned each operation, he showed how they built upon each other using the illusory chalkboard; but he stopped when he saw the elf's eyes glaze over. "Never mind. Look, it takes years -- decades -- to learn this stuff for people like us, who actually have to practice and remember shit and don't have fucking meat computers between our ears." He glanced at Kelfir resentfully. "And if you had a father who wasn't a deadbeat, he would have taught it to you when you were a kid, rather than expecting you to derive n-dimensional geometry from first principles. So maybe chill the fuck out."

Varissian heaved in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Some many years hence, when I approach the third century, I may see the wisdom in your words. But I cannot afford to spend a decade learning children's facts and figures, Christopher; I must be useful now."

Topher winced, then nodded. "Okay. Well, let's start with what you have that other mages don't, then." He summoned a Mage Light, deliberately not visualizing Lesser Yashfii and letting it float in place. "If I cast this spell without the visualization, it doesn't move -- but yours does. Why?"

"I suspect," sighed Varissian, "my Unique Skill. It may be that Swan Sorcery allows my manifestations to move under their own power; I have never questioned it before, but after hearing your tales, it seems the simplest explanation."

"Maybe." Topher pursed his lips. "What's Kelfir's Unique Skill, anyway?"

"Empyrean Arts," Varissian replied immediately. "It aligns his magery with the celestial realms; like my own, however, it is not useful beyond the realm of spellcasting." He looked at Kelfir's slumbering form. "I once harbored hopes that my own Unique Skill would one day be able to bring pride to my father. You do me no great service by reviving such a hope, only to dash it again."

"Motherfucker," hissed Topher, "the biggest problem you have is your goddamn attitude." He picked up Beginner Mage Spells again and thrust it into Varissian's hands forcefully. "You're taking this back." Angrily, he dug in his Magic Bag again, and pulled out Rexro's Omnibus Occultia and hurled it at Varissian as well. "And this too. I copied it all into my Ledger months ago, so I don't fucking need them now. But you do, and you're gonna study wizardry until it fucking kills you, because you are a mage."

"I am a Scullion," retorted Varissian hollowly. "A kitchen drudge. Even a Clerk towers above me in the Class rankings, Christopher." He stared down at the two heavy tomes, eyes dull. "Why do you believe in me?"

"Because," said Topher curtly, "nobody ever believed in me. So I know what it looks like when somebody like you..." -- he thumped the elf hard on the chest -- "...spends time wallowing in their own bullshit instead of grabbing every possible opportunity."

"How?" Varissian looked up; Topher was thrilled to see the tiniest, dimmest spark of rebellion in his eyes, though it was drowning in passivity even as he watched. "I am weak," he spat.

"Be weak!" Topher clenched his fist triumphantly. "Be weak, Varissian! Weakness comes before strength, like one comes before two!"

Instantly, he could see that he'd made the connection he'd been fighting for ever since he'd glimpsed the elf's potential; Varissian shot bolt upright, the books tumbling back to the ground again as he stood. "Weakness before strength," he breathed, electrified. "One before two."

"Damn right. Elg Solmi Suu Inush." Topher patted the elf on the shoulder, letting the casting of Remove Fatigue pass through the gesture. "Now you take watch. Let Kelfir sleep; you keep studying." Without further argument, he climbed into the bunk across from Kelfir and closed his eyes; sleep came almost before he hit the pillow.