Dazzling heaps of treasure glittered before Robin’s eyes as he stared into the inner sanctum of Ruprecht’s dungeon. It was a treasure trove! Literally.

Chests overflowed with gold and silver. Weapons and artefacts were scattered throughout the piles of treasure or displayed openly on plinths. Jewels bloomed like flowers from this bed of gold.

It was a display of wealth that would shame a small dragon.

It was a good thing Rerebos wasn’t here or he would no doubt be gleefully pilfering as much as his little wings could carry, and then some. If he didn’t die of joy or envy first.

The party shuffled into the room, caution all but forgotten before this display of obscene wealth.

‘This isn’t real,’ Jhess muttered. ‘It can’t be real.’

It fit pretty well with the snippets of description that had gotten out after the remnants of the first party to find this place returned to Noviel, but Robin agreed. This was way too much, way too good to be true. There had to be a trick.

Yes. Trick. Robin blinked, remembering where they were.

‘I wouldn’t touch anything just yet,’ he called out. ‘I’m sure half of it is trapped and the other half is mimics.’

Your proportions are wrong, but the general idea is sound.

‘Who said that?’ Jhess’s daggers were in her hands in a second.

‘You heard that?’ Robin asked before he could stop himself.

‘I did as well,’ Drev said. ‘So it’s not a hallucination.’

Are you sure? Hallucinations can be shared, you know.

Khavren drew his sword with a steely hiss. Wulfram’s hammer was in his hands. Savra remained unarmed but she was scrutinising the nearby piles of treasure carefully.

Robin hoped she’d see something and say something, for once.

‘Show yourself, fiend!’ Khavren boomed.

‘He already is,’ Robin interjected, hoping to head this off at the pass. ‘I’m fairly certain we’re speaking with the dungeon itself.’

Oh you are, are you?

The amusement in Ruprecht’s tone was clear. To Robin, anyway. The rest of the party just looked around uneasily.

Coins jingled and jangled and Robin spun around, looking to see who had touched the treasure.

He couldn’t see anyone touching anything. So either it was Jhess and she was very good at being a rogue, or something else was in here with them.

‘Be wary!’ Khavren roared. ‘There are bound to be more foul shapeshifters within these walls.’

Foul? Really?

Ruprecht sounded offended. That hardly boded well for negotiating a peaceful resolution here. Not that Robin had been holding out much hope they’d be able to manage that one.

Khavren was in the party after all.

The knight took a wild swing at a pile of gold coins. His blade bit deep, and purple ichor spurted into the air. An inhuman screeching went up and the pile slithered away, sending several small coins bounding away in its wake.

Robin had no idea if it dislodged real coins or it shed parts of its body as it went as a defence mechanism, like a lizard dropping its tail to escape a predator.

He could imagine stranger things.

If you wish to walk out of this cavern alive I suggest you sheathe your sword. Now.

‘I will not be ordered about by a rock,’ Khavren spat.

The dungeon rumbled threateningly around them.

‘Now, now, now,’ Robin called out, ‘let’s all calm down, shall we? No one is here to do anyone else harm. We’d just like to take some treasure and be on our merry way. I’m sure there’s something we can trade you that would make it worth your while. Information, perhaps.’

Khavren didn’t sheathe his sword, but he didn’t go charging off into the room swinging wildly at other piles of treasure either, so Robin took that as a win.

Information, you say? I suppose there might be a few things you might know that interest me, bard, but I’m not sure there is any treasure here to satisfy you and your friends. In my experience, most adventurers are incredibly rapacious.

‘We’re not greedy!’Jhess called. ‘Just let us take as much gold and jewels as we can carry. That’s pretty reasonable. You can always make more, right?’

What? You’re not tempted by any of the artefacts on display?

Robin glanced around at the plinths. Several held wands or scroll cases, many held swords or other weapons. Most held works of art or jewellery or…he blinked.

There, in the very centre of the room, on a plinth just slightly higher than all of the rest, floated an exquisite jewel. It was clear and fiery as a diamond, and looked to have at least eight sides.

It was the exact one Zahn had asked him to retrieve.

That meant that the Guildmagister wanted him to bring back the dungeon core for him. Considering everything he’d been told about the relationship that the various adventuring guilds took great care to foster with living dungeons, that fact was…troubling, to say the least.

Suddenly, the dangers of the undercity seemed rather pleasant compared to the tangled web he was facing back in Noviel. Something very strange was going on.

Not that it helped him much to realise it now. In fact, this only made things more complicated. Robin was certain the dungeon wouldn’t agree to let itself be carried up and out of its stronghold, into the city above, and be handed over to a powerful being of uncertain motivation.

Robin blinked. Jhess was carefully pulling a crown down from the nearest plinth and examining the jewels in it with a loupe. She turned it, catching the facets on the magelight Savra had conjured. The whole thing sparkled and gleamed.

‘It looks real enough to me,’ the rogue was saying.

It is. That doesn’t mean it can’t be turned into a trap, though. Jewel fragments do a real number on your fleshy types. Slice right through you at high speeds if you can get enough explosive yield packed into the enchantment.

Why was the dungeon discussing trap-making with Jhess? What had he missed? And who was keeping an eye on Khavren?

The knight did not seem amused at the current topic of conversation.

It was certainly some kind of exchange of information. Jhess was rabbiting on about points of vulnerability for most bipedal, biological creatures, and something about tripwires. Savra, likewise, was talking to the air, as was Drev.

Wulfram was his usual stoic self, though Robin noticed his hammer was clenched firmly in his hands. If the warrior-cum-porter was nervous, then Robin wanted to be on his toes.

‘I assume you can hear me and carry on multiple conversations simultaneously,’ he murmured to the air in English.

I can. I thought it would be easier this way.

The answer came likewise in English. Robin dearly wanted to begin their game of questions asking how Ruprecht was able to speak that language, but as a show of good faith, he decided it would be better to let the dungeon ask first. They were technically the invaders here.

‘If you have questions, ask the first one and let us begin the game,’ Robin said, still keeping his voice quiet.

It wouldn’t do to draw too much attention from the rest of the party.

How—no, that’s obvious. If you were to offer me one piece of evidence as to what world you came from, what would you say to me?

Robin chewed on that. It was clear the dungeon was already convinced he came from another world, and that had something to do with them both speaking English. But was it the same other world? In an infinity of multiverses a lot of places could speak English. Was there even any way to truly know if they came from the same world?

Did it matter?

What evidence could he offer that would answer the question and—aha! Right. Worth a shot, at least.

Robin began to sing of starting fires and the denial of such actions, a musical list of famous historical figures and events. It wasn’t his favourite, by any means, but it was useful.

If he and Ruprecht were from the same or very similar universes, the song should be a good option. It was well known, crazy earwormy, and packed in a lot of hints as to the history of the universe Robin came from. If Ruprecht was from the same one or a very similar one, the song should match. Otherwise, some odd names might shift.

Of course this depended on Ruprecht knowing the song, but Robin didn’t have any better ideas at present.

Robin continued until he wrapped up the song, then paused, waiting for a response. It took longer than he thought. He glanced over the others as he waited for Ruprecht to say something.

Jhess and Savra were still talking, Drev was demonstrating some small magics, Wulfram had relaxed, slightly, and Khavren was growing increasingly red in the face, stoically saying not a thing.

I know that song. I remember some of those lyrics, though by no means all. It’s not one I listened to much when I was alive.

Robin’s eye had been drawn to the floating jewel at the centre of the cavern, several strides away. Was the voice really housed in that receptacle? He frowned. Something about the dimensions of this room were bothering him. It was hard to see with all the glittering treasure strewn about, however.

Then, the meaning of Ruprecht’s words caught up to him.

‘Wait. You died? Is that how you got here?’

I believe so. I have…a few sources of information. They indicate that is one way living dungeons come into being.

Robin wished his [Bardic Lore] had a bit more on living dungeons. He had no way of knowing if this was common knowledge, or at least something a few experts were aware of within the guild. Hard to tell the value of a piece of information when you’re not sure how rare or not it is.

Your turn to ask a question, I believe.

‘What’s the biggest recent event that you can remember before you…came here?’ Robin fidgeted and found he couldn’t look at the floating crystal on its pedestal for a moment.

Fires. Massive, massive fires consuming millions of acres in Australia.

That was one of the big things Robin could remember, too. They had to be from very close worlds, if not from the same one. What were the odds?

How did you get here? You’re obviously still alive, so it can’t be the same way I did.

‘A ritual gone very wrong, or very right, I suppose. I don’t remember much. I was a bit drunk and high at the time.’ Robin rubbed his chin. ‘Though it’s possible someone or something here summoned me. I expect I wouldn’t know the difference. Not with my current level of understanding of the magic of this world.’

Before Ruprecht could ask another question, however, their game was interrupted.

‘What did you say to me, foul thing?’ Khavren was practically purple with rage. His sword was in his hand and he had levelled a hate-filled gaze at the core floating on the pillar at the centre of the cavern.

Oh this was not going to end well.