Logan was happy to be in a desk and not loitering like a hobo in a toolshed. But just seeing Professor Nekhbet made Logan sleepy. The classroom’s windows showed a bright blue sky outside the central tower of the school, where the classrooms were.

Inga’s crush was a balding vulture man in rumpled class robes. He was as disheveled as Professor Rockheart was put together. A red waddle hung off a mustard yellow beak. He was feathery, paunchy, and completely unattractive. But apparently beauty really was in the eye of the beholder, because Inga was smitten with her would-be bird beau.

Professor Nekhbet’s beady eyes gazed at his classrooms over the reading glasses perched at the end of his bill. “Yes, welcome, students. Please. Come in. I am very happy to see many of you again.” He spoke in a monotone drone. “Others, I have high hopes you have changed. Perhaps that change happened over the summer. Perhaps it will happen over the next couple of weeks. However, I hope it happened over the summer.”

“Too busy getting my drink on to change, Professor!” Marko threw a hand over his back—up top—as he and Steve took a seat in the back.

Inga hurried to the desk, front row and center, sitting right below the bird monster’s lectern. Treacle and Logan sat behind her.

“Inga,” Logan whispered.

She turned.

“I’m sorry about the teasing,” he said, offering her a thin, apologetic smile.

She returned the smile. “It’s fine. I’m just so happy to be here in this this class. Now, let’s focus. Wouldn’t want to miss a thing!” Inga quickly pulled out her DCG and a small army of pens—all in a variety of colors, since her notes were color-coded. Then, when all was ready, she leaned back and sighed, eyes glued on Nekhbet, who was shuffling through some dusty papers, coughing a bit, eyes watering. He had a handkerchief which he would dab at his vulture face.

Ed the Rot Troll sat off to the side. The guy was fragrant. Most people might not have liked that particular stench, but Logan didn’t hate it, which he had very mixed feelings about. Being a mushroom was weird, and it only got weirder. There were other returning students from the previous year, like Alphonse the spice mummy: wizened face, golden headdress, all wrapped in bandages yellowed from age. Yellsa the lady ice dragon sat in a half-frozen desk, cooling off the room. Her hair was snowy white, her scales silver, and every so often, she licked her lips with a long red tongue, forked of course.

Professor Nekhbet cleared his throat like a crow preparing to sing opera. “Yes, today, this class, today. This is The History of Arborea and the Four Clans. If you are not signed up for this class, it would do you well to leave now. You can talk with the registrar.” He blinked, gazed down at his notes, and then lifted his head. “Where was I? Oh, yes, we will also be discussing the Five Sacred Guardians. A word of warning. My instruction will be as much about the legends as it will be about the history. For the origins of this realm are ancient, shrouded in mysteries, nearly lost to time.”

His gaze dropped to his notes, which he shuffled again.

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and suppressed a groan. This was going to be about as fun as a safety brief before a 72.

The bird monster regarded the students who were already fighting to stay awake. “Now, class, who can tell me something interesting about the subject? I’m sure you have not come here as blank slates, tabula rasas, so to speak. Anyone?”

Inga’s hand shot up.

Professor Nekhbet nodded. “Yes, Miss Thora Therian.”

Inga had to work to keep from full-on squeeing. Logan wasn’t sure if she was happy to be called upon, or if she was a little overwhelmed by her beloved professor uttering her name. Either way, she glowed as she rattled off her answer.

“The Shadowcroft Academy is not only the oldest dungeon academy in existence, but it is the only school that was built on its own separate extra-planar dimension. All the other schools exist on real planets, attached to the Tree of Souls. These are dungeon strongholds, ruthlessly defended against villainous dungeoneers. For example, Nightfall University is on Bharoosh, at a nexus of powerful energy. I’ve heard wonderful stories of the Onyx Ravine, deep in the rocks of that far-flung world, where diamonds glimmer in the rock ceilings like stars in a stony dark sky.”

Professor raised a feathered talon. “Quite poetic, Miss Thora Therian. Quite. But let’s not get carried away with the lyrical language. Already, we are stepping into the darkness of myth, and it is only our precise language that can light the way. You are correct, however, in all you have said. As for Nightfall University, it is an adequate school, I grant you, and I have taught a few courses there on the cutlery of Eritreus as well as dining etiquette in its myriad forms. I am very happy to be teaching such a class this year, right here at Shadowcroft.”

His voice was dry, slow, like a tax audit before a root canal.

Inga barely stifled a cry of joy when he mentioned her elective, which left Logan scratching his head. These people were really into butter knives and cutlery. Nekhbet had apparently written a book on the subject, which Logan couldn’t even begin to wrap his head around. How could anyone write a book on curtly and table settings? That was pamphlet material at best.

Professor Nekhbet cleared his throat and shuffled through his papers for the umpteenth time.

Logan glanced behind him.

Steve sat as if taking notes, pen on Marko’s grimoire. Marko, himself, had fallen asleep. He was sprawled out, hooves splayed, head back, tongue lolling. Marko must’ve been out half the night because he’d never answered Logan directly.

Though Steve was in the right position, it was unlikely the dummy would write anything that would be useful. Not that Marko was liable to do any better even if he had been awake.

“Let me take you back to another time,” Professor Nekhbet continued, oblivious to the passed-out satyr, “and perhaps I shall allow myself just a modicum of drama.” He winked at Inga and her face nearly exploded in a burst of pink. “For you see, we know little about the origins of Arborea, and yet, we will go through every theory. I will start with the one I enjoy the most, the Golden Serpent and the Seed of the Universe. The Golden Serpent was the ancient, unknowable guardian of the Tree of Souls.

“As I am sure you remember from last year, Ashvattha grew from a single seed, buried in the soil of all possible realities, and as the universe grew, it became entangled in the branches of that ancient entity. Ashvattha is alive, you see, and it can protect itself in ways we cannot comprehend. However, the Golden Serpent seems to have been the very first dungeon, on the very first world, when the universe was new and had barely begun to expand. On that world, a raider came, perhaps not to chop down the tree, but to remove a limb, if you will.”

Professor Nekhbet stopped talking. Somehow, he was less boring when he wasn’t talking. He turned from his lectern, seized a cup of water off his desk, and poured half of it down his craw. He had trouble swallowing and made several rather disgusting sounds, before shivering his feathers.

“For it was the Golden Serpent that saw the danger of the dungeoneers, who would kill the Tree of Souls for their own profit. And so, the Golden Serpent found four other souls who were willing to sacrifice their mortal lives in order to protect the tree. A truly noble calling. These four disciples of the great Golden Serpent became the four celestial ancestors. You know them as the clans—the Azure Dragon, the Vermillion Phoenix, the Crystal Tiger, and the Onyx Tortoise.

“These four cores grew in power under the tutelage of the grand serpent until they found acolytes of their own. There were no schools, then. Not as there are now.” He shook his great vulture head, waddle waggling. “Their classrooms were the forests, deserts, mountaintops, and serene beaches. There, they taught other selfless souls the ancient ways of protecting the nodes from raiders. Eventually, the Golden Serpent, already an Immortal Crown cultivator, passed from the universe, or, some say, he created a universe of his own, expanding his dungeon not just to encompass worlds, but entire galaxies.”

Despite the professor’s droning voice, Logan felt captured by the idea that these mystical creatures had ever existed at all. How old were they? A million years? A billion? Did time even have meaning to an Immortal?

The Shadowcroft Academy was ten thousand years old. How old was Arborea?

Logan raised his hand.

Professor Nekhbet nodded at him. “Yes, Mr. Murray.”

“So how old is Arborea?” he asked.

The professor smiled, which might be the first time Logan had seen the bird man show any kind of emotion. It was like a creaky door opening and for the barest moment, Logan saw what must have captivated Inga. But then Nekhbet realized he was smiling and put an end to that madness immediately.

“Yes, this material is intoxicating, is it not?” He said, voice constrained. “I hope your cores are strong enough to handle the dramatics of our realm’s history. Arborea is more than ten thousand years old. Some say it was built by the Four Celestial Ancestors on the very day they slew William the Scales—a villain of the highest order. Others disagree.” Nekhbet coughed. “But I am getting ahead of myself.”

For a second, the class seemed like it might be interesting. Even Marko was awake.

But then Nekhbet started up his dry drone again. “There are some schools of history that claim the Four Celestial Ancestors were fiction. I believe, however, that there is ample evidence to firmly assure you they were real dungeon cores. The evidence suggests they were all Crown, or even Immortal Crown cultivators, with powers unmatched in the universe. Now, I mentioned Willian the Scales, and some posit that Arborea was built to be a trap for the arcane raider. An arena, if you will.

“Others believe that Arborea was crafted to be a safe place to train,” he continued in earnest, “a sanctuary for the would-be defenders. A world where vulnerable cores could be nurtured into hero dungeons, away from the evil forces that threatened the Tree. At its heart, the controversy centers around the Threshing Dungeon. The sanctuary theory would say that the Threshing Dungeon was created at the same time that Shadowcroft Castle was built. However, that is not the case. The first Reaping Dungeons and the first Threshing Dungeons were created later, once the castle was finished and the school founded, by Shadowcroft himself.”

That brought up another host of questions for Logan. Namely, how old was Shadowcroft? Did the headmaster not know the history? It seemed he’d been there at the beginning, so why didn’t he bother to clarify things himself. And what exactly was his relationship with the Four Celestial Ancestors? Was it possible he was one of their early acolytes or had the headmaster simply stumbled upon the extra-dimensional realm?

Logan raised his hand again.

Nekhbet frowned. “Well now, this is all highly irregular. This is a lecture class, Mr. Murray, and I cannot hold with new-fangled ideas concerning pedagogical methodology. Why, back-and-forth discussions or lively debates might seem pleasing, but I can assure you that left unchecked they can soon lead to anarchy. Please, all your questions will be answered in time. And I’m sure Miss Thora Therian can help you find more information in the Codex Athenaeum if the passion continues to burn within you.”

“I think there might be a shot you can take for burning passion,” Marko offered before high-fiving Steve.

Inga turned around, glared at Marko, smiled at Logan, and then swiveled back around, her antennae going crazy.

Logan wasn’t sure how to read that. Perhaps she was simply glad Logan was actually engaged in the class. Or, again, it might be that her crush had acknowledged her existence.

“As you know,” Nekhbet continued, “the Reaping Dungeons were created later to recruit the best and the brightest souls for our school, instead of just letting fate and happenstance create guardians. Protecting the Tree of Souls is too important to simply allow chance to choose dungeon cores.”

Marko couldn’t hold back. “Okay, either way, if Arborea was an arena world, or if it was created as a sanctuary, what in the name of good-wine-everywhere happened to the Celestial Ancestors?”

A look of fear flashed in Professor Nekhbet’s beady eyes. He sputtered and his reading glasses went clattering onto the lectern. “Mr. Laskarelis, please, such outbursts help no one. We will discuss that in time.”

It took a bit for the vulture to calm himself before he could continue. “I think we’re all a bit worked up. So, let’s talk about the relationship between sand, soil, and stone. For you see, Arborea had to be created using the building blocks of worlds. Grasses, bushes, trees—all had to be engineered. Let’s ponder earth worms, for a moment, shall we?”

Then, like magic, the bubble popped and the class became a lesson in tedium.

By the time it was over, even Steve seemed to be asleep.

Lunch required a great deal of coffee to wake them all up after that snooze-fest. And the class had started out so promising! Well, the story of Arborea would unfold in time.

Was it wrong for Logan to be looking forward to a pummeling in their Core Calisthenics II class? Probably. But he was interested in seeing what the pain endurance and soul torture techniques would entail.

Logan and his friends walked into the Akros Calisthenics, but Rockheart was nowhere to be seen. Instead, two other cohorts—a collection of second year dungeons—were milling about in the Iceblade grass.

At the center of the group was a serpent-tailed snake man with scales that were silver in the shadows, but shimmered with prismatic fire in the light. The naga’s torso was that of a heavily muscled man, with bulging biceps, half covered by a leather vest. A long mane of golden hair fell hallway down his back. Scales marked the side of his face, but not enough to stop him from having a long goatee with beads woven into the hair. He had a wicked, barbed spear, gripped in calloused hands that looked strong enough to crush boulders.

He turned bright blue eyes on Logan and his cohort as they approached. This massive naga was obviously not another student, though Logan could never recall seeing the man around the school before. A visiting professor maybe?

“Welcome, Logan and company,” the naga said in an unexpectedly soft and soothing voice. “Very good. I believe we can start. I am Professor Moonbow Rainsap. I have the honor of teaching you to improve your core this year.”

“Yes!” Marko did the whole fist and pull-down sign of victory—very Napoleon Dynamite.

Treacle eased some hay out of pocket and chomped it down.

Inga frowned and folded her arms, clearly confused by the abrupt change in the class schedule. She was no one who liked surprises where academe was concerned. Rockheart was supposed to by their instructor, not this Moonbow Rainsap guy.

Logan also had some deep reservations. Rockheart was a hard case, no doubt about that—he had tried to kill Logan and his friends more than once last year—but he also had a way of bringing out the best in his victims. Logan glanced at the other members of the other two cohorts. One was the leftovers of the Franklin Four, which, rumor had it, was now called the New Franklin Four.

Franklin himself was a Toad King, a bog frog type of warrior who stood with a staff, blinking at them with bulging yellow eyes. He was dressed in Vermillion Phoenix robes. Two of his old cohort—the iron golem and the spider girl–hadn’t survived the Winnowing the year before. The Pyro Ifrit known as a Wishcaster, had made the cut it seemed. The other two members of the New Franklin Four was a nervous looking vampire—purple hair slicked back, spidery black veins like jagged lightning bolts beneath his pale skin—and a beastly fly woman. She looked like all she wanted in the world was some manure and a good two hours to enjoy it.

The other cohort were known as the Dreaded Delta Talons—an odd name, since only one of them had claws, and that was a classic lizard man with gleaming steel talons. He was joined by a skeleton with rubies for eyes, a pig-headed warrior with a big hammer, and a baby-looking monster who had huge eyes, a tiny nose, and a wide toothless mouth. It was funny, but Logan knew the baby-headed monster was actually a Crib Demon, small, but deceptively powerful. Logan had learned about a lot of the more eclectic Guardian Forms from Immelda Menagerie Inkboon’s definitive work on the subject—The Eternal Monsters of Our Infinite Selves: Dungeon Cores, Magical Creatures, and the Many Protectors of the Tree of Souls.

That was the title of the first volume. There were eighteen volumes in all.

Logan was stupendously happy not to be stuck with the First Cohort. It would be nice to have some new competition to go head to head against. Logan knew he still wasn’t a match for Chadrigoth, but he had a fighting chance against many of the other guardians in his year. However, after another glance around, he was mortified to realize that his cohort was actually the strongest team present.

“Why isn’t Rockheart teaching the class?” Logan asked, with a flash of annoyance. Not only did they not have the Rector Prime, but now they were going to by punching down. How would he level without tough opponents?

The naga bowed. “For one, as the rector prime, Professor Rockheart is very busy with… well, with issues in the Xiru Forest.” He spread his hands in apology as he spoke. “For another? While the rector prime was saddened that he had to drop this class, he made it clear that the Terrible Twelfth are more than capable of helping me teach this class. You four have shown great talent.”

Logan realized that both the Dreaded Delta Talons and the New Franklin Four were looking at them with admiration in their eyes. Somehow, against all odds, the Terrible Twelfth had risen in the ranks and were now one of the most powerful cohorts in the second-year class. Instead of being reviled, they were now admired. That would definitely take a little getting used to.

An uncomfortable quiet settled over the group. Professor Rainsap wasn’t saying anything, just staring at Logan and his friends with a placid smile on his face.

Steve creaked his head to look at Marko, and then he dropped his chin.

Marko gulped. “You’re right, Steve, this is kinda weird.” He then threw a happy little salute at the skeleton. “Hey, Ruby, like the gems. Are they new?”

The skeleton giggled and dropped her gaze. The voice was female. “Yeah, Marko. Thanks for noticing.”

Before Logan could really consider the fact that the ruby-eyed skeleton was named Ruby, Professor Rainsap bowed again. “Yes, I am glad you will all be friends. I think we’ll start today by cultivating, in a group.”

“On the Iceblade grass?” Treacle asked, miserable. “And let me guess, harpies will descend from the sky to eat our livers.”

Marko laughed. “Nope. For one, Ruby doesn’t have a liver. For another? Harpies are about revenge, and we’ve never done anyone any harm. Make love, not war.”

The professor slammed his spear into the ground.

Logan figured the naga would be pissed, ready to release some hellfire to quell the talkative group, but nope. He slithered around them across the dirt of the running track. “Yes, you all are fine dungeon cores. This will be a very good class for us all, I think. A word of caution. My class is going to be a tad more introspective than what you may be used to. However, I’m sure it will be very enlightening. Please, everyone, take find a place among the stone bleachers and sit. Create a space where you are alone, for solitude is important, but you should also find a seat where you feel connected to your friends. Because it is our connections with each other that is truly the sweetest of the fruits that fall from the Tree of Souls.”

Marko smacked Steve’s back. “Yep. Friendship, Steve-O. We’ll sit near Logan.”

As they marched up the steps, Inga made a face. “What is this fruit business, hmmm? And I don’t trust this rainbow sap person. I’m fairly certain this is all some sort of ruse. Surely the doomhounds, or the hellhounds, or even the pit-hounds will be out here any minute.”

Pit-hounds?

Marko rolled his eyes. “Moonbow Rainsap is his name, and teaching core calisthenics is his game. I’ve got a feeling we’re in good hands.”

Marko’s declaration made Logan even more wary. The satyr was a terrible judge of character.

They all took seats on the stone bleachers, sitting silently, while the naga stood on his coiled tail with his arms crossed. Rainsap’s voice was loud, yet gentle. “Now, all of you, please listen to my voice as you cultivate. This class is about pain endurance and soul torture. As you cycle the energy of this scared place, meditate on the words pain and torture. How do they make you feel? What are your feelings about your feelings?”

Logan squinted and cocked his head to one side. How did he feel about his feelings? What was that even supposed to mean? He found himself missing the razor-sharp grass and the threat of impending destruction from one of Rockheart’s monsters. He was having trouble cultivating because not only was he so comfortable, the hippie-dippy snake guy wouldn’t stop talking. How were the Terrible Twelfth going to level up without the hardship, the disembowelments, or the threat of death?

This was weak sauce, and Logan wasn’t happy about it.

Then it got worse.

Professor Rainsap nodded. “Excellent, my little pieces of light. We cultivate to improve ourselves. To improve our classes, as we climb from rank to rank. Each class has ten rankings, just like each Aldaleeran mouse has a litter of ten mouselings. The miracle of life is that the Tree takes the uninitiated, E-Class Deep Root Cultivators, and guides them. The Tree knows who will forever remain E-Class, and who will become heroic infant dungeons, the C-Class Iron Trunk Cultivators. From there, each improvement feels impossible, but as it has been said, even a blind man can walk through rain.”

Logan was tempted to walk right out of the arena. Who was this guy? And what was that about the blind man walking through rain? That made even less sense than the bit about feeling about feelings.

“And so,” Professor Rainsap continued, “the Tree knows that with some work, the C-Class Iron Trunk Cultivator become the B-Class Azure Branch. If the soul is determined, there is no reason that the Azure Branch cannot ascend to the pinnacle—an A-Class Jade Leaf. But why is the Jade-Leaf the pinnacle, I can hear you asking yourselves? Because my special motes of light, that is the pinnacle you can reach through effort and knot theory. You would be lucky to be a Jade Leaf Cultivator, Rank 1, and for most that is good enough. However, to transcend past that lofty height? To transcend yourself? Why, it would be easier for a deaf man to perform plastic surgery on an ugly elf queen.”

Logan suppressed a groan. This guy was the worst. Just gibberish and nonsense. And all of this was basic stuff anyway. He’d learned about the classes in his DCG, or Dungeon Core Grimoire. Ten ranks per class, starting at ten and moving to one, at which point a cultivator ascended to the next class.

Professor Rainsap sighed. “I know Logan Murray has employed the Boundless Wheel to great effect, and I’m sure, after your first year, you know the normal practices… Heavenly Root, Ancient Void Flame, Ashen Sun in Ascension, Wise Moonlight Chain, and Lost Branch Path. That is fine for achieving Jade Leaf. However, to unlock the mysteries of the universe, we must move into the mystery. The unknowable.

“It takes more than effort and self-discipline to achieve the S classes. It takes a mystical experience, a spiritual awakening. Revelation. We ready the field and wait for the man who cannot speak to sow the tongues of dragons. Whole worlds will grow on such unorthodox farms, and the lucky souls cross from A-Class to S-Class Heartwood Cultivators, then to SS Class, Crown Cultivators—the very crown of the Tree of Souls—and then onward still to SSS-Class, Immortal Crown. Veritable gods who create realities and are the ultimate champions of life.”

Professor Rainsap paused.

Logan wanted to grumble, but metaphorically bit his tongue and kept quiet.

The snake man continued after a long beat. “You must till the field, my students. You must ready the house. For no one knows when the master of the universe will return. We must keep ourselves ready for success. And that takes a strong, patient mind. And that, my friends, is all we have time for today.”

Logan’s eyes flipped open. He watched the snake man slide over to pluck his spear out of the dirt. He went slipping away across the Iceblade grass like it was an skating rink and he was an Olympic tobogganist.

Ruby the skeleton chuckled. “Gosh. That was ninety minutes of cultivating. I hardly felt it.”

Marko stretched like a cat in sunshine. “I hear ya, Rube. That felt good. I got some solid, solid sleep. Anyone catch what our serpentine friend was going on about?”

Inga sat, eyes closed, antennae pulled in, wings draped around her. She seemed at perfect peace. “That was lovely.”

Treacle gulped up cud and started chewing. “I even forgot that I was hungry. Maybe this year won’t be the endless march of tedium I thought it would be.”

Logan got to his feet. “What? Are you all are crazy. This class is a complete waste of our time. Our morning sessions are more productive than that. If this is how he intends to run all of his classes, we might have to add on an evening training session just to keep pace with everyone else.”

Marko let out a yelp and then dramatically collapsed on his back. Steve stood over him uncertainly.

The satyr lifted a weak hand. “Kill me, Steve. Please. Put me out of my misery.”

“Me first,” Treacle insisted in a melancholy voice.

Logan could ignore their kvetching. Really, he wanted to talk to Rockheart. What was so important in the Xiru Forest that it had pulled the rector prime from teaching his favorite class? Why was the Cruelwood Dungeon closed?

What had really killed that professor over the summer?