Albo squinted at the darkness, pushing his torch forward.

The little streetrat hadn't gone into the mountain, a-shaking and pale, but he'd spun quite a story of dragon scales; enough that Albo, Oña, and his mysterious drinking partner named Feliu had all ventured into the stony peaks. Calarata was free of Leóro's laws and regulations and that meant gold flowed freely, but it, ah, also meant that everyone who wanted gold flowed just as freely, and thus gold was rather scarce to be found.

So any mention of treasure was enough to set his heart racing.

One tight squeeze into the mountain with his rather impressive gut and the world opened back up, sprawling caverns filled with bats and moss and other skulking critters. Oña snorted and unsheathed her falcata, the one-sided sword gleaming in the torchlight. "Even if the goblin-hordes are long dead now, keep your guard up. I'm not dragging either of you back."

"Charming as always," Albo muttered, but he did pull out his knives—one an old coral blade, narrow and biting, and the other a dagger, not in the proper navaja style but deadly nonetheless. "Scared of bats, are you?"

"I wouldn't be so sure the goblins are gone," Feliu said rather cheerfully, cheeks still flushed red with ale. He accepted the offered torch but didn't pull out a weapon of his own. "Leóro's been hiring adventurers for years now to go into the mountain and cull their numbers."

Albo gripped his daggers a bit tighter. Goblins weren't necessarily dangerous, normally considered the weakest of the sentient monstrous races, but their shamans were well-prepared to pick apart adventurers and their brutes' blood-rush was only stopped by death.

In their mountainous homes, they could be undefeatable.

"Children's tales," Oña said, but even she glanced around at the moss covered walls.

They picked their way through the old cave system but it was surprisingly well formed—tall enough they didn't have to stoop over, wide enough for room to stretch. Though stalagmites formed scattered blades on the ground, there were large enough creatures living in the stone rooms to carve trails through the minefield, though watching their step was a necessity.

Feliu held out his hand, palm up, and a faint yellow glow built between his fingers. He closed his eyes, frowning. "To our left."

Albo was rather experienced enough to be suspicious of whether the adventurer was leading them to a trap, but, well. Dragon scales.

Dragon scales would buy his way up to first mate on the Diving Darling, maybe even contending with the damn captain. Bastard wouldn't keep assigning him to menial cleaning jobs if he started flashing draconian energy. Albo could guess Oña's thoughts ran a similar course—same for Feliu and whatever rouge guild he was a part of. Only high magic creatures—and those dungeon-born, he supposed—produced elemental mana items. Particularly high ranked adventurers, lesser Golds and up, would go through them like candy, absorbing the mana needed for their immense spells and strengthening tactics. Thus there was always a shortage—selling any was a surefire way for riches.

He glanced at Oña; friends they were not, but being crewmates built at least some sort of truce. If Feliu wanted to get out of the cave alive, he'd lead them to the scales.

The magic user's frown deepened, palm still glowing faintly as he led them through another fork in the cave system, clambering over a water-carved step. "It's definitely draconic, but something's changed about it," he said, pursing his lips. "I don't know how else it could have gotten so deep underground. Maybe there's–"

He turned left again and disappeared through an opening.

Albo muttered a curse and followed—the cave opened up, an ovular hole chiseled through a wall to emerge into a massive cavern. Easily hundreds of feet long and a third of that wide, ceiling sloping and covered in stalactites like a fanged maw, it loomed before them in the massive way their previous caverns just hadn't managed. Water beaded on the walls and splashed over the endless fields of whitecap mushrooms, alongside a strange, net-like variant he hadn't seen before, handfuls of cave spiders scuttling over webs on numerous pillars and outcroppings. It was far from silent—beyond the buzz of insect clouds, some underground river rumbled overhead, thundering through the stone like it was about to escape.

Pretty, in the way an untamed jungle was. Even with flecks of bioluminescence and Feliu's torch he couldn't see all the way to the back, but already the mana was thick and strong. Plenty of life in the den.

And maybe something more.

Feliu's eyes reflected gold. "It's in here." His hands lost their previous glow and turned a soft white—a base mage then, one who hadn't sworn to a specific element. Even then an incredible help.

Oña hefted her falcata. "Save the bartering for once we're out," she said, glancing around. "Grab everything now."

"Aye aye," Albo muttered, but followed after her.

Endless stalagmites littered the floor before them, dangerous even without the slope and tripping hazard of the water-slick algae—he picked his way through the rock outcroppings, daggers raised. Feliu whispered some archaic word and wriggled his fingers in one of the bullshit maneuvers mages knew, pale light blooming from his palm—combined with the torch, the rest of the cavern crawled into view. A pond at one end, a cluster of stone pillars to one side and a raised plateau of mushrooms to the other.

Albo frowned. He'd called it an untamed jungle but this felt too organized, each section neatly separated from each other. Maybe the goblins really still lived in the mountain–

Oña cursed, swatting at her leg. An utterly massive cave spider flopped to the ground and scuttled deeper into the cave, dragging three twisted legs behind it—where the hells had that come from? She made a halfhearted stomp in its direction, glaring at the two pinpricks beading up with amber venom on her exposed calf. "Motherfucker, that hurts– I thought they were supposed to be useless against humans?"

"We've never ruled out you weren't half orc."

"Not the time," she snapped back. "Mage. Where are these scales? I want to get out of here."

Feliu blinked, gold flickering through his eyes from his tracking ability. "Further in," he said, lowering his hands. The pale glow dissipated from his fingers as he switched back to only using the torch, peering towards the back–

He frowned.

Feliu flicked his hands and resummoned the light spell, white blooming between his fingers. He stabbed the torch into a clump of mushrooms and spread the glow to both hands, frown deepening as they both gleamed. "That's odd," he muttered. "I'm still full of mana. Do either of you have any spells to test?"

Albo quite cleverly didn't look at him, glancing back around at the cave; of course he didn't. He wasn't even ranked at Bronze, a combination from being unwilling to be tested at a guild and his own lack of strength. If he had any magical abilities he certainly wouldn't have brought two others to the potential for dragon scales.

Oña shook her head. "Nothing here."

"I'm, ah, fresh out of mana," Albo said.

Feliu shut off and recast his tracking spell, brows furrowed. "I'm being replenished as soon as I use it. Are there any ley lines–"

Light.

Albo howled, hands jerking to cover his face—an explosion of pure white seared through his eyes, digging daggers into his skull. Oña and Feliu cried out, stumbling away from each other; his boots skittered over algae and sent him fumbling back, hands blindly outstretched for balance.

Feliu managed a warning croak.

Albo furiously rubbed at his eyes, white flooding his vision in pulsing, growing splotches—he managed to fight past his blindness to see an enormous serpent, underbelly still glimmering with light, land on Feliu's shoulders with a sickening crunch.

He went down.

Oña bellowed, falcata swinging furiously—the snake hugged tight to the mage and curled around his chest, Feliu stunned for just long enough it wrapped twice around him. He let out a choked gasp and clawed desperately at its scales, mana sparking and popping from his fingers. It rumbled and constricted tighter.

Albo stumbled back, daggers shaking. Feliu howled and thrashed, beating at the serpent—the daze finally disappeared from Oña's eyes, grip tightening on her falcata. Painfully slowly, her gaze fell on the mage.

"Hold on," she growled, stepping forward– or tried to. Her legs seized and twitched, stumbling down to her knees. "I–"

Something unfroze in his brain and he managed to reach out to her, catching her by the shoulders as she fell forward. Her eyes were still unfocused, confusion sprawled over her face, falcata slipping from limp fingers.

And most damningly, from the two puncture wounds on her leg, a massive web of amber veins spread under her skin.

Poison.

Albo stumbled back, Oña collapsing to her stomach—Feliu's movements slowed, going from screams to breaths to wheezes. White still flashed over his eyes but he could see the gleam of numerous other spiders and serpents closing in on the two dying, dozens of them. They were surrounded.

He staggered away, lashing out with his coral knife. The monsters paused to stare at him, pitch black eyes reflecting the flicker of the torch. They watched him flee.

Dead. They were–

The torch gleamed, lighting up the far back of the cave; a far back where a pillar sat, carved of silver-veined limestone. Something glowed beyond, the water rippling below, but on the top sat a gem, marbled red and black.

Albo's stomach dropped to his knees.

There was no way for dragon scales to pick themselves up and wander merrily deep underground—but he'd been willing to ignore that in the off-chance he could find some. No. The only way draconic energy would find itself from a corpse into a different location would be if something brought it there; or if it wasn't dead.

Like if the dragon had turned itself into a dungeon.

The scarlet jewel gleamed merrily.

Albo stumbled forward, followed by hundreds of hungry eyes—the heart, the core, seemed to pulse with mana now that he focused on it, sending out waves of pure magic. It explained how the cave was so full of life this far back in the mountain, the organization of the outcroppings and stalagmites, the size and ferocity of the creatures. The monsters.

Something shifted in the darkness to the side.

It yawned, emerging from the shadows like a mountain itself, lumbering and massive; it padded forward, shaggy fur rustling in an unfelt breeze, pale eyes lazily zeroing in on his face. It barely fit in between the pillars it walked through.

The bear—the fucking cave bear—rumbled at him, rising to its back legs. Even as young as it was, it met his eyes with ease, lips peeled back to reveal ivory fangs.

Albo's knives fell from limp hands.

The bear watched him.

A heartbeat passed and Albo laughed, curling up his fists. His heart beat like a thunderstorm in his chest. "You bastard," he said, stepping forward. Its ears flicked to face him. "Waited for me, didn't ya? Knew I was the strongest?"

That was a lie. Maybe Oña or Feliu could have stood a chance against this thing—but it didn't know that. Didn't need to know that.

Albo was a liar, and by the gods, he would die as one.