Rain strikes noisily against the stones, the sound of thousands of small strikes coming to Fresh’s ears to remind her that such a thing could exist.

- Rain.

She stares out of the window, wondering how it could possibly be raining?

The shield is still up.

But she realizes that the rain is coming from inside of it. Lifting her eyes, she follows the trunk of the tree, awash in the glowing, warm lights of the city below, until her eyes land on the silhouettes of the many casters, sitting high up atop the branches.

One of them lifts an arm and a powerful crack of lightning shoots out. Thunder splits the air. The ice-casters seem to be done making snow and ‘winter’ and have now moved on to other things. New casters have taken their place, water-casters and apparently one or two people capable of manipulating lightning and fog. Fresh imagines that must be very powerful and potent magic.

But, for better or for worse, they just seem to be using it to fill the night that hangs over the city with the calming ambiance of a heavy storm. She closes the shutters on their windows and listens as a magical wind howls through the streets. Standing there with closed eyes, she can’t even tell that any of it is fake. It sounds just like a real storm, coming after the break of winter. The warm waters of the clean sky of a new year, coming to wash away the snow and the grime and the cold.

The white burial shroud that had covered the world has now laid there long enough for everything beneath it to decompose. Now, it is time to remove the cloth and to let things return to as they once have been.

It seems that winter is desired to be over. The cold is still here as is the hunger and the distress. But the winter, having never truly been able to form here, has now been declared, by the people at least, as being over. Whatever might be outside of the barrier, Fresh can’t say. Perhaps the casters high up on the tree are able to look out through the shield, out through towards what lies on the other side of it.

But they speak of nothing, no words reach the streets from what they might witness up there.

She could fly out there, up there herself. She could get on her broom and whisk herself up to a high branch on the other side of the tree where nobody can see her and just take a look herself at what’s going on.

Thunder cracks anew and Fresh turns her head, looking over her shoulder as Jubilee shuffles upstairs, looking around themselves somewhat nervously.

Nah… she’s needed here.

Fresh goes upstairs after her friend and the four of them spend a warm, dry, quiet evening together. An evening as good and as whole as many of those that had come before it, both on days like this one and on days unlike this one.

Winter isn’t actually over yet. It’s bitterly cold outside, enough to bite the skin. But there seems to be an attempt at play to make people forget that fact.

For tonight, Fresh is willing to play along.

The next day comes.

Fresh sits behind the counter of their store as a man comes inside. She recognizes him as the cloaked man, the one who belongs to the trio party of an orc and one other person.

“Welcome!” she greets him. “How’s it going?”

He nods, heading to the shelf and picking up a new bottle of vitamins, having burnt through their thirty day supply in just ten days, given the number of people taking them in his group.

“Good, just trying to get deeper into the dungeon,” he says. Fresh notices that he looks a little more gaunt than before.

“Mm!” nods Fresh. “Is your friend feeling better again?”

He places the bottle down onto the counter, digging around through his pockets for his money. “Yeah, the medicine helped a lot,” he explains. “Thank you.” Fresh smiles. She’s glad to hear that.

The man keeps digging around, apparently not able to find his money pouch.

“Ah, hold on…” he says. Fresh shrugs. He’s the only customer, so it’s not a big deal. She looks around the store. The rain is keeping people inside of their homes and those without them out of the way. In an odd moment of clarity, she can’t help but wonder if that isn’t by design. Her gaze returns from the window to the man who is still digging around in his coat.

She frowns and just pushes the bottle of vitamins over his way with a finger.

“It’s fine,” she reassures. “You can just have this one.”

He stares at her for a moment, his hand still stuck in his pocket. She nudges the bottle his way. “It’s okay. Just don’t tell anyone, alright?” she asks, making a shushing motion.

The man blinks and then nods, taking the bottle. “…Thank you.”

“Yeah, stay dry,” she says, waving to him as he leaves. After he walks out of the door and into the rain, Fresh lets out a sigh.

“You’re never going to stop, are you?” asks Jubilee, who she had completely forgotten being there. Fresh yelps, twitching together at the sound of their voice in fear. She turns her head to look their way. Jubilee stands by the till with crossed arms. “Sorry, Jubilee,” she says, turning back to look around the once again empty store. “You know how it is.”

“Unfortunately,” sighs Jubilee. “Whatever. Who even gives a fuck anymore?” they ask. “It’s the least we can do.”

Fresh nods, staring at her friend for a moment. It is indeed, the least they can do. Given the current state of the world and the direction that it’s going in, financial security feels like it’s becoming less of a problem by the day. So what if they give away one bottle of vitamins to a repeat customer? Pragmatically, it’ll keep him coming back to them in the future, because of his good experience. Realistically…

She stares out through the open door, at the rain pouring down outside.

- Realistically, this is all heading in one specific direction, sale or no sale.

Fresh walks around the counter to the front door, leaning outside to the guard standing in the rain. “Hey, Muldrich?” she asks. “Do you want to stand inside at least?” she offers. “You must be getting soaked.”

“No, thank you,” replies Muldrich, as always. Fresh sighs, but nods, accepting the man’s choices as she heads back inside to where it is dry, safe and warm.

“Is this far enough?” asks Basil.

“Maybe another few steps,” warns Fresh. The priestess frowns, stepping back and pulls Jubilee and Shamrock with herself. The four of them are down in the dungeon together. “It’s super dangerous, guys. I don’t want you to get near it.”

“Why don’t we just fucking go up three floors?” asks Jubilee.

“Because I want to see it,” replies Basil. “I want to be here, in case something goes wrong.”

Jubilee rolls their eyes. “Aren’t you a woman of faith?” they ask. “Have some faith. It’ll be fine.”

Hovering on her broom, Fresh looks at her friends who are on the staircase between this floor and the last one. Happy that they’re far enough away, she flies out into the dungeon room; floor forty-seven.

The nest of harpies stir, a dozen feathery heads popping out of the giant construction, made up out of gnarled root-wood and leaves, the moment that she enters into the floor. Fresh grasps the cursed dagger in her hand.

For single enemies, she can just use her ‘malediction’ ability. It’s good enough. The slow ticking of the damage is no issue with the dagger in her hand. However, for a room like this, she has her area-affecting spell, ‘abomination’.

(Fresh) uses: [Abomination]

Purple strings shoot out of her fingers, straight into the chests of the quickly rising harpies, their angry screeches filling the room in an instant. They all go quiet. Their bodies fly apart from each other, tearing through the nest as they smash against each other or the rock of the ceiling, their bones breaking before they fall back to their nest, hanging over it, deflated, dripping, empty.

A combat menu doesn’t even have the chance to appear.

[ You got {199/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {207/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {215/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {223/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {231/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {239/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {247/1100} Experience ! ]

[ You got {255/1100} Experience ! ]

“Fuck me,” says Jubilee beneath their breath. “That’s grim.”

“Undeniable power,” says Shamrock, stepping down into the cleared room. “Perchta is now as she was before.”

Basil looks around the stained room, staring at the grotesque, deflated carcasses of the mangled harpies. The priestess looks for a moment more and then turns her gaze up towards Fresh and nods.

Fresh nods back, flying to the next floor.