“I don’t have any arrows left.” Tyrna should have prepared more, should have set out for a war and not a hunt. A few more arrows, healing balms, there was so much she could have brought, if she had known.

“Do you have anything made of wood? Anything you can spare?” Mhurr asked.

Draig hummed and hawed for a moment, before reluctantly handing over his staff. “Here.”

The mage fumbled his spellwork on the first try, golden letters sparking and falling apart as he wove them around his hands. The next attempt held, the runic designs collapsing together into a rotating wheel, and as she watched the wooden stave began to writhe like a snake, slowly breaking apart into a dozen wooden arrows.

Most of them were warped or bent, but one was perfect. She took it, split the end with her knife, and threaded in the feather she’d taken from the terror birds above.

One arrow. One shot.

Ahead of them, the darkness was a solid thing, a sea of ink. Strange movements at the corners of her eyes threatened to come rushing out, but never did. Phantasmal serpents writhed in that dark. The scuttling of spiders was suggested by black forms that dissolved as Draig stepped forward with the lantern, shooing the murk away.

Grey fields, and white trees. The old man sent a ghostly rabbit forward, searching the way for traps, and soon enough it found one-

There was a pitfall hidden beneath the endless flower fields. It looked as if the blossoms had devoured the rabbit, opening up to swallow it whole; it was gone.

They circled around, the bard drawing a long, thin rapier from her side to test the earth. They found a glass bridge, the light of the lantern smearing across its pale surface. It was a beautiful span of soft green, numerous columns descending from the arch like the dripping of a half-melted candle, a welcome sight in the colorless expanse of the flowers.

Their footsteps rang as they crossed.

Ahead, the earth was littered with boulders that shifted slightly, that couldn’t quite hide their breathing. The group edged away, skirting the lurking monsters.

Flowers brushed at Tyrna’s legs constantly. She took one step forward -

- and there were butterflies. They burst up from below, filling the air in a fluttering spiral, their wings aglow, beautiful, scaled in colors of luminous purple and midnight blue, eerie beetle-green and palest white, scatterings of dark rainbow filling the blackness that had become so oppressive. The lights flickered and played, swooped and turned, wings open and closing as the butterflies sailed gently around her and Tyrna stood, hypnotized, unable to move, to even think of moving.

“Tyrna?”

Mhurr pulled on her arm, and she stepped back suddenly. It was that one little step that saved her life. A long, pale spike of bone slammed through the earth where she had been standing, spearing a butterfly in half. She looked in horror at the colorful wings twitching their last.

That could have been her.

Somewhere out there, in the gloom that swum with phantoms, there was a real enemy. An archer.

As she watched, the silk thread trailing behind the harpoon pulled taut. The spear’s barbed head ripped free of the dark earth and the weapon slid away into the shadows.

“Draig!” Her voice was shocking in the silence - until then, the loudest noise had been her breathing, lifting and falling in ragged gasps as the closeness of her brush with death made her whole body tremble. “Take Mhurr. I have something to do.”

Thrusting the blind man into her comrade’s arms, she let them go ahead.

Alone, surrounded by the spectres of spiders and serpents, Tyrna stood in absolute stillness, listening, waiting. The Dungeon’s attention was turned to her, its malevolence present like a great eye bearing down. She could hear - she could hear it speaking.

KILL HER. She could feel the force of its hatred for her, a paranoid need to see her destroyed. Coming boiling up through the earth, bitterly present in the air, making the phantoms in the dark dance and leer.

NOW.

“Now.” She whispered, and felt the Dungeon’s shock as she stepped aside. A bone harpoon pierced through the darkness, impaling the ground where she had stood. Her arrow lifted to match the arc of the silk line trailing behind the spear.

Tyrna let the shot fly, and saw a shuddering jerk run through the silk line as her arrow struck its mark on the other end.

This time, the harpoon wasn’t pulled back. No living being remained on the other end of that thread. Taking the knife from her boot, she sawed through the silk and lifted the harpoon, brandishing it like a spear as she hurried to catch up to her companions. Trying to catch up to that bobbing, swaying blot of lantern light.

Ahead, a clear, crystalline note rang out as they stepped foot on the bridge.

All around her, the boulders shuddered and came to life, rising up eight-legged and terrible. Tyrna ran faster, something sharp ripping across her legs; she turned back and saw blood on the flowers where they brushed her. She didn’t look down.

It was better not to know.

Ahead, her companions were running, trying to clear the bridge as living stones rushed to block them; they ran desperately, Mhurr stumbling and clinging onto Draig’s hand as they tried to get off the narrow bridge before they were trapped aboard it.

They made it, just, a stone leg crashing down inches from Draig. She had no such luxury. By the time she reached the bridge, the far end was already blockaded.

With her heart beating hard in her chest, drumming out the seconds she had left to live, Tyrna leapt onto the bridge’s balustrades and jumped again, aiming to clear the hidden gap beneath.

And she missed. Just.

The toe of Tyrna’s boots scraped the earth, but it crumbled away, and her foot plunged down, her body tearing through the flowers into the dark below…

She caught the earth with her fingernails, clawing, fighting to stay, to not go tumbling into the waiting abyss. The bone spear fell, and she dragged her way up, panting, her body starting to numb to adrenaline after what felt like years of being poisoned by the stuff, spending every moment on the border of life and death. Her muscles were stiff, cramping.

If this didn’t end soon, she would. She would curl up and die of exhaustion. Or she would simply make a mistake, one mistake-

Shaking her head, fighting it clear of the confusion and sour thoughts, Tyrna rushed on. Chasing her comrades, looking for the next bridge, the next island, the next challenge.

When she found them-

When she reached the two of them-

There were only two.

“Mhurr?” She asked, and Draig, the bard girl, both stared at her with sad eyes.

“Gone.”

They moved together over the glass bridge, lantern held high.

In the darkness, a vast form shifted. It was draconic, an enormous, rock-scaled lizard. Dry, dark dirt formed its underbelly, the cracks between its craggy armor. Tusks of flint extended from its mouth, jagged spines of obsidian following the ridge of its spine.

It shifted, and metal clanked. Huge chains attached it to two enormous trees.

“On three, we run.” They were past the point of fighting, but if they ran, one of them might make it. They were close. She could feel fear in her enemy’s heart. The presence of the Dungeon that had followed her to this point, the way she sense its moods and thoughts rippling through the air, they were all tinged with panic. This-

This was the final hurdle.

“No, no. It’s an elemental. I can do this. I can bind it.” The bard said, holding up her hand. “You two go. I’ll be safe.”

She lifted her violin to her chin, turning the strings. As she stepped forward the goliath lizard shifted, reaching for her with a tremendous paw, and then-

Then she began to play.

It was beautiful.

I came to realize I had never really heard music before.

I had seen the worst these humans were capable of, but still, still I could recognize the beauty in that music. The rosined bow drew rich, stirring noises from the strings, straining long notes that dove and rose and stirred fiery thoughts as her fingers nimbly moved across the pegs, tuning.

And then she really began to play, and a phantom wind surrounded her, sweeping the flowers to sway their heads and bounce, a mock-dance to the burning, weeping sounds that filled the air.

The claws of the earth-lizard paused, half-curled around her body. The creature lifted its head towards the air, seeing something I could not, lost in some fantasy. It swayed slightly, insensate to the two adventurers creeping past.

The song was old. I knew that much just from hearing it, from feeling the resonation in the air in tune with the saw of her bow across the violin. In the background, ghostly instruments joined, echoes of past performances. There was a history soaked in tears to this song.

It was then I noticed Break-Song, creeping towards her, his flute clutched in his hand.

Maybe it was purposeful sabotage. Maybe he simply wanted to join that wonderful song. Either way, he lifted his pipe to his lips and played a single, discordant note.

And the spell was broken.

NO!

I tried to stop the lizard, but it was too late.

The claws crushed her and the violin. They squeezed until her form vanished beneath the stone talons and blood dripped out.

With a violent snarl, the earth-lizard turned, lashing its tail out towards the two who were running now, fleeing full-tilt. The motion ripped the flowers from the earth and sprayed clods of black dirt in all direction.

They were coming for me. They were climbing the walls, climbing up the engraving of the vast tree, towards the open mouth of the enormous face with its wild hair and staring eyes.

And in one of those eyes, a cold green gem glimmered.

Me.

They were so damn close.

Argent and Aurum stood together, ready to fight. Ready to defend me to the bitter last. The serpent rose towards the ceiling, his green-gold scales glimmering, his scythe-like mantis claws ripping the air with twitching readiness for blood. Aurum was a gleam of moonlight, holding the Mane Dagger in her jaws.

They climbed over the lip, bloodied and exhausted, their eyes inscrutable. Exhaustion and hope, desperation, anger. All those things and something more. Something human, that I’d never glimpsed in any of my creatures.

This girl - she almost seemed to be able to read my thoughts.

I wanted to believe in Aurum. I wanted him to crush the life out of them.

But I was afraid of losing him. I was afraid of these two, who’d overcome every challenge, one way or the other. Aurum was strong, but mortal. One slip up - one perfect shot through the eye - and he would fall like Cabochon had fallen.

Argent stepped forward, laying the dagger before them.

We stood on the brink of mutual annihilation. It was time to bargain.

Tyrna didn’t have the will to fight the old man. She saw the greed in him, the gleeful want, and it was stronger than any emotion she could muster. What she had left was spite, burning in the pit of her stomach.

Spite that told her to bet it all, to fight the vast serpent that stood before her - to live or die uncompromising.

“We have to bargain.” Draig said, grasping her shoulder.

But that wasn’t true, was it? He wanted to bargain. He wanted power and riches, wanted what the Dungeon had to offer.

She wanted to reclaim the lives it had taken.

She wanted vengeance.

“No, we have to-”

He slapped her. The pain stung, but not as bad as his words.

“What about Henri, hmm? What about Caiorre? Injured, too weak to fight, no way back. What about me, hmm? Save your moral crusade for when you’re alone.”

She had no response. She sat, knelt, on the cold stone as he stepped nervously into the great snake’s shadow, lifted the blade, and cut himself.

The rat seized the dagger in her jaws, and scuttled past Tyrna, climbing the walls.

So that was where the core was hiding. Tyrna thought.

And someday, someday she promised she was put that knowledge to use.

But for today - for the sake of the others - she would bargain.

You will let us go, peacefully and without harm.

YOU SHALL NOT HARM ME OR MY CREATURES ON YOUR WAY.

You will grant me Attunement-

IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR BOOK-

Your most powerful Attunement.

AND THE GIRL-

She will also be Attuned, in exchange for that bow of hers.

For once I found myself outmatched. A sea of ghosts surrounded the old man, and their wills armored his, reinforced his words. He had the force of a stampede behind every clause.

My comrades will be healed and attuned, of course-

IF THEY MEET MY TERMS-

Those being?

SERVE ME FOR SIX MONTHS.

During which you cannot harm them, or force them to come to harm.

DONE.

Done.

The contract space broke apart, and I felt the pull, the drain, on my strength, spiraling into them. The old man leaned in to whisper to his comrade, and she reluctantly, slowly laid down her bow. I didn’t hear what was said, in my weakened state.

But I knew what I would say.

TELL YOUR COMRADE THE SWORDSMAN HE WAS POISONED. HE DOES NOT HAVE LONG TO LIVE.

I spelled the words in purest Mana-fire, blazing before them. The woman’s face turned pale and her fist clenched.

“Of course, of course.” The old man bobbed his head, grinning like a fool. He had gotten everything he ever dreamed of, and clearly, his comrade’s plight didn’t bother him much.

But this would.

One prize I had won from Overflow remained unused- a crown that allowed me to demand a single truthful answer.

DID YOU LEAVE YOUR BLIND COMPANION TO DIE?

“I-” He opened his mouth and found he couldn’t lie. Against his will, compelled, his mouth formed the words. “I did.”

And then, released, he began to babble. To try to save himself. “It was the only way! Those spiders would have, would have killed us, I had to, had to make a distraction!”

He turned to the huntress with fear in his eyes, and she met him with a furious, broken howl; lunging up, she tackled him to the floor. Her fists came raining down across his face as he tried to shield himself, screamed, tried to bargain, tried to beg. Nothing saved him. She bent over him like a wildcat bends over its prey to rip the throat out. She dug her fingers like claws into his scrawny neck.

She held him until the life was gone, his eyes bugging out, his tongue sticking past his teeth. A ludicrous deathmask. His legs kicked under her and went still.

And she was left panting, exhausted, crying.

I had the last word.

GO.

Henri was conscious when she returned. Her dull expression gave nothing away; they never even asked how Draig or the others had died.

But she knew she had killed them all.

“Six months. Serve the Dungeon for six months and it will heal your wounds, Attune you. You should take the offer.” She gave them the excuse, with that final line. Gave them her blessing not to be seen as weak for accepting.

They deserved to walk away having won something.

“Not me, no. I have my own arrangements up in the light.” Caiorre was the first to speak, letting his bravado wash over the grim scene. Blood ran from the wound in his gut and his face seemed more lined than it had in the light of the Nameless Cafe.

“Caiorre- it said you were poisoned. That you’re going to die soon.”

His expression darkened for a minute. He blinked once, twice, and lifted his hand to touch his face. Then that old, cocky bastard she knew asserted himself. He found it in him to grin. “Then I definitely can’t be wasting six months in this hole.”

“I won’t either. I came down here to- to help people, as stupid as that sounds now. I thought I could concoct new cures. Make the world a little better. I won’t turn back now, and I’m certainly not going to, going to kill anyone on the Dungeon’s behalf.” The alchemist was next to speak.

“I-” Henri was awake. He lay on the steps, drenched from head to toe in his own blood, Nathaniel’s bandages and ointments doing their best to stem the flow from his many wound. “I’m going to lose the arm, aren’t I? If I don’t take this deal. I’m going to-” His throat sealed with a dense, wet hiccup of noise, and it wasn’t for a long second before he could speak.

“I think I have to.” Was all he said.

“No shame in that, lad.” Caiorre reached out, taking his hand.

Nathanial clasped the other, a smile on his face as he shook it. “None at all. I can’t image what you’ll see, down here.”

Tyrna said nothing. She was overcome.

Somehow, in one day, these three had become the closest friends she’d ever known. And now they were going their separate ways.

It seemed impossible to her that they were leaving.

Some part of her would always remain here, in the dark, in the terrified and desperate struggle. Petrified in that eternal moment. It would be the part of her that dreamed, that clutched her mind in darkened hours. She would be returning the next time she lay her head on a pillow, and the next.

But maybe some good would come, too. Maybe Nathaniel would help people. Maybe Caiorre’s final days would be glorious. Maybe Henri would teach the Dungeon something, in his long stay beneath the earth.

Maybe.