The path ahead tightened into a narrow hallway, its floor angled gently downward so that every step took them deeper underground. A noticeable chill gathered in the air around them; the smell of wet earth pressed in from all directions.

Dahlia stepped carefully over a skeleton stretched out along one side of the tunnel. Bits of shriveled, worm-eaten flesh still clung to it in places, and the bones of its left leg were splintered and largely missing. It looked as if whoever it was had dragged themselves from the previous chamber. 

A soft gasp from behind. “Oh, gods. Would a warning be too much to ask? I nearly stepped in him.”

“What, you squeamish?”

Dahlia could practically feel a dirty look from the goblin on the back of her neck. “Human corpses are rife with disease, Dahlia. You’re welcome to collect as many as you like, but leave me out of it.”

A warm glow bleeding from around the corner up ahead caught Dahlia’s eye, and the pair redoubled their pace to catch up with Mycah’s party. Rounding the bend, they were greeted with the sight of the big man’s wide shoulders – the passage was too thin to admit them at any more than single file – and a doorway framing Arlum’s upraised staff just ahead of him. They were too late. 

Nil surged forward, elbowing Dahlia in the hip in her haste. “Wait! Just a moment, don’t-”

This time it was the sound of shrieking metal that assaulted their ears, amplified to painful intensity by the claustrophobic confines of the tunnel. Arlum yelped and stumbled back, though from this angle Dahlia could not see what had startled him. She glanced in Nil’s direction; the goblin slowly opened one eye, looked around, and breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Whoah, hey!” Mycah said. “You alright there, Arl?”

“Fine, I’m fine.” Came the response. “Surprised me a little is all. It should be safe to proceed.”

Mycah looked over his shoulder. “Ahah, there you are. Just in time, our peerless arcanist has cleared the way for us yet again.” He tilted his head toward the chamber. “Take a look, this one’s a real doozy.”

Dahlia’s first thought as the party filed into the room was that they had stumbled onto some sort of subterranean garden. The light from their torches gleamed on dozens upon dozens of curving protrusions that resembled the leaves – or thorns, perhaps – of some massive plant, crawling over every surface of the cylindrical chamber. It took her eyes a moment to parse the confusing tangle of reflections. 

The room was circular, with a single round pillar stretching from floor to ceiling in the center. From nearly every surface – the walls, the floor, the center column itself – sprouted mechanical shafts ending in pinwheels of viciously curving blades. Similar wheels poked up from concentric rows of circular slots in the floor, suggesting they were meant to orbit the middle pillar while the trap was functional. Scattered about the chamber were several more corpses in various stages of decomposition; none were wholly intact. “This. Is. So. Cool!” Dahlia said, spinning in a circle to take in the entire space. She reached out and pushed against one of the blades with a fingertip, setting the wheel into a lazy rotation. “How do you figure anybody was supposed to get through here, though?”

“Well they weren’t, for one thing.” Philbey said. The halfling had already begun picking his way through the tangle, angling his small body this way and that to squeeze between the blades. “For another, these things wouldn’t normally pop out all at the same time like this. You’re meant to get a little ways in, maybe start to think nothing’s gonna happen, then bam, two or three of these lovely little flowers sprout to clip your legs off.”

Dahlia whistled. “Nasty work.”

“Those old mages were a nasty bunch.” Philbey said, nodding. “Y’see, they built places like this to hide their treasures, sure, but if that was all they wanted – oop, almost got me with that one – if that was all they wanted, a big vault would probably have done the trick. Nah, if you ask me, they did this for fun. Treasure hunters were supposed to find this place, maybe make it past the first or second chamber, but never make it out. One of a thousand ways those old bastards got their jollies.”

“Phil here is our resident historian.” Mycah said. He was doing his best to contort his muscular frame to slip between the shafts, with notably lesser success – after what seemed like every few steps he grunted with annoyance, pulling his sword free to hack at one of the rods or simply reaching out to bend it out of the way with his bare hands. A number of superficial cuts already decorated his arms and shoulders. Niven slunk along behind him perfectly unscathed, a bored look on her face. “Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“There is no time wasted in the pursuit of knowledge.” Nil said haughtily. 

Philbey craned his neck to grin at her. “My thoughts exactly, miss Jezel.”

Slowly and carefully, the group continued to maneuver their way along the perimeter of the chamber. Encased neck to ankle in heavy plate as she was, Dahlia had little need to twist herself into any new shapes; she simply shouldered her way forward, letting the blades scrape across her pauldrons ineffectually. For her part Nil saw fit to stay close behind her, using the emberling as a bulwark against the jungle of metal claws. They were close enough now for Philbey’s torchlight to fall upon the chamber exit. 

A soft grunt escaped Arlum. 

Philbey turned at the sound in time to see the mage weave on his feet. “Hey, big guy. You feelin’ alright? Arlum? Oh shit-”

Arlum’s legs crumpled under him and he pitched forward. Long before he could hit the ground, his shoulder came into contact with one of the bladed wheels – there was a terrible ripping sound as the mage’s body came to a shuddering halt. A metal fang had emerged from the back of his shoulder, now slick with blood. 

“Shit, shit, somebody grab him!” Philbey shouted, trying to pivot too quickly and earning a gash across his upper chest for the trouble. “Agh. Arlum! Can you hear me, man?”

Acting quickly, Mycah reached out and took a handful of Arlum’s robe before the mage could slide any further onto the impaling barb. With an awkward, frenzied effort, he and Philbey managed to hoist the mage’s limp form from the shaft. 

“Arlum! Wake up, damn you!” Philbey slapped him, hard. “Arlum!”

The mage’s body shifted, his head lifting just a little before swaying drunkenly to one side. He muttered something slurred and unintelligible then sucked in a breath, right hand gripping at his injured shoulder. 

“Hey, big guy, look at me.” Philbey said, snapping his fingers in front of Arlum’s face. “Feet on the ground, yeah? Can you walk?”

Arlum tried to nod. Slowly, he managed to pull his wobbling legs underneath him and support a bit of his own weight; Mycah groaned with frustration but kept his hold. Together, he and Philbey strained to half-carry Arlum toward the exit, grunting and swearing all the way. 

The three men burst through the last stretch and collapsed in a heap, gasping. Niven emerged next, moving with no particular urgency – as opposed to Dahlia, who nearly tripped over herself in her haste to reach the injured mage’s side. 

“What happened?!” Dahlia said. “Is he okay?!”

Nil drew up behind her, considerably calmer. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Just some bullshit.” Mycah dragged himself free of his fellows and dusted himself off. He did not look pleased. “He said this wasn’t gonna happen again, Philbey.”

“And I said you’ve been pushing him too hard.” Philbey said, digging his heel against the floor in an attempt to wrestle Arlum into a sitting position against the wall. Dahlia moved quickly to help, and together they were able to prop him up just outside the chamber door. 

“We’re two rooms in, Phil!” Mycah said. “What good is a key that can’t open two doors?”

The halfling responded with a dark look, but said nothing. 

“Nevermind.” Mycah grumbled. “Niv, we’re scouting ahead. Philbey, get the mage on his feet and catch up. And don’t let these two try and run off.”

Philbey sputtered, looking from Nil to Dahlia. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Just scream,” Niven said, shrugging as she turned to follow Mycah down the tunnel. “We’ll hear you.”

A pained groan escaped Arlum. He rolled his head up against the wall, eyes opening with what seemed like monumental effort. “It’s alright, I am alright,” He wheezed, sounding very much the opposite. “Just need to…catch my breath for a moment.”

“Yeah, no, definitely not.” Dahlia said. She took hold of Arlum’s uninjured shoulder and began pulling the sleeve of his robe down and away from the wound. “Jezel, I need your knife.”

Nil sighed and fished a dagger out from under her skirt, slapping the hilt into Dahlia’s palm. “Fine.”

With uncharacteristic seriousness and precision, Dahlia worked the dagger’s point into the bloody hole in Arlum’s undershirt. She cut the sleeve free in a few quick motions, pulled it from his arm and proceeded to tear it into several long cloth strips. Before long, Dahlia had created a tight weave of bandages around the mage’s shoulder. 

Arlum hissed with pain as she cinched the last strip into place. He blinked blearily for a few seconds before his gaze focused.

“Gods, that stings.” He groaned. “What…agh, what happened?”

Philbey breathed a sigh of relief. “You went out on us, tallman. All the way out. Fell right into one of those…knife-spinner things.”

“Dammit.” Arlum knocked the back of his skull against the wall in frustration. “Damn it all.”

“I thought you had this under control.”

Arlum drew up one knee and leaned forward, hanging his head. “So did I, old friend. Or…rather, I hoped I did. I suppose I was wrong.” He lifted his head, looking around miserably. “There’s something different about this place, it’s like…like the air here is sick. None of you can feel that?”

Philbey looked from Dahlia to Nil, failing to notice the hint of strain on the goblin’s face. He shook his head. “I dunno, Arl. Feels cold, but all these places do.”

A powerful shiver ran through Arlum’s body, and he chuckled darkly. “Perhaps I am simply going insane at last.”

“You mentioned something like this happening before.” Nil said. “Are you ill?”

Arlum shook his head. “Not in the way you might be imagining. It’s like Mycah said – I am not particularly talented in the arcane arts. Double the effort for half the results.” He coughed. “No, probably worse. But whatever is wrong with this place, it’s…I don’t know. Taking more out of me than usual, I suppose.”

Taking hold of his staff, Arlum grunted and heaved himself to his feet. “I am alright now. Let’s catch up to the others and get this over with.”

“Now hold on just a moment,” Nil said, “I’m no expert in the arcane but it seems obvious that your magic is contributing to this…” she waved a hand at his general person, “…malady of yours. You can’t mean to go on like this in your condition.”

He leaned on his staff, smiling wearily. “I appreciate your concern, miss Jezel, but I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple. Now come on, let’s catch up before Niven starts getting impatient, shall we?”

With that, the mage squared his shoulders and made off down the dark passageway – Philbey threw a concerned look over his shoulder and followed. 

Dahlia leaned conspicuously toward her traveling companion. “Shouldn’t we tell him? About the thing?”

“Absolutely not!” Nil hissed in response, “And stop doing that. What are you, a child? If we warn them, any of them directly, we risk exposing ourselves, which is not an option.” 

“But wouldn’t that, y’know, keep him from casting any more spells?” Dahlia began to twiddle her thumbs as they walked. “Keep reality from collapsing, save all our lives, so on and so forth…”

“Their lives, maybe. You and I would suffer a much different fate.” Nil said. “Assuming they did not kill us outright, which is the much simpler option, you would be looking forward to a lifetime of sitting in a cozy little locked room, staring at walls.” She gave Dahlia a sidelong glance. “Which would make your ambitions considerably more difficult to achieve.”

The emberling blinked. “Wait. What about you?”

Nil remained silent for a moment, her expression growing pensive. “I would not allow them to capture me alive.” She said quietly. Then her usual, irritated mien snapped back into place and she shot Dahlia a glare. “Now will you please stop running your mouth?”

Dahlia looked ahead, watching as Arlum and Philbey’s torches bobbed through the darkness. “Do you think Arlum is gonna be alright?”

Nil sighed. “He’s a Guild mage, Dahlia. Of course he isn’t going to be alright.”

“No, I mean-”

“I know exactly what you mean.” The goblin snapped. “He’s been forced to draw power too often for too long, I’d wager without ample time to regain his strength from one stint to the next. Couple that with his lack of skill, and the overall strain is becoming too much for his body to handle. Eventually he will simply collapse and fail to rise again.”

Dahlia bit her lip. “I just…there has to be something we can do…”

“I am thinking, all right?” Nil said, squeezing the bridge of her nose in frustration. “Every plan I can think of leads to failure or discovery. If I could just afford a single spell…”

Two more torches floated out of the distant shadows, joining with the others. 

“Gods, we’re out of time again.” Nil quickened her pace. “Come on, I’ll just…I’ll have to think of something.”

“…Hard to be sure,” Mycah was saying as they drew closer. “Just long and empty. Whoever our architect was, he did a better job than most hiding his traps.” 

The big man looked up at Nil and Dahlia’s approach. “Ah, and we’re all here. Say, miss Dahlia, Philbey tells me you were the one who patched our man up. Pretty good work.”

Dahlia froze. “I did?”

An awkward silence. 

“…Yes, you did.” Arlum finally said. “I realize now that I never thanked you, so. Um, thank you.”

“Listen, Mycah, was it?” Nil said, stepping forward before Dahlia could begin to shrink into her armor like a turtle. “We need to talk about what happened back there. There’s obviously something wrong with your mage.”

“Damn right there is.” Mycah gave a slightly forced chuckle and clapped a hand on Arlum’s good shoulder, nearly causing him to crumple again. “Clumsy as all hell, on top of everything else.”

“What? No, he…he was dead on his feet back there, you all saw it. This man can’t be traipsing about in musty dungeons, he needs a physician.”

Mycah put his tongue in one cheek, nodding slowly. “Huh. That true, Arl? You feelin’ under the weather?”

“What?” Arlum stood up a little straighter, avoiding eye contact with Nil. “No, no, I…I tripped, like you said. I am perfectly capable of continuing the delve.”

Nil balked. “Now, hold on just a moment-”

“Hey, little lady. Listen for a second.” Mycah let go of Arlum and went to one knee – even then, he had to stoop to look Nil in the eye. “You don’t want to be here. I get it. But my crew and me, we’ve been in and out of a dozen godforsaken shitholes just like this one. Now, I’m sure when it comes to…reading the stars, or whatever it is, you probably know everything there is to know.” The big man reached out to put his hand on Nil’s shoulder, the width of his palm encompassing a good portion of her upper arm. His easy smile brimmed with quiet threat. “But I know this job, and I know my crew. So how about we both just stick to what we know, huh?”

Somehow, the scene had grown even quieter than the natural silence of a stone tomb a hundred feet underground. Dahlia watched, not quite daring to breathe, as Nil’s tiny hands balled into fists; she watched Arlum and Philbey look away pointedly, saw the look of icy self-satisfaction form on Niven’s face. 

“Get your hands off of me.” Nil said through clenched teeth. 

Mycah’s smile widened to a lazy grin as he pulled his hand away. “Glad we all understand each other. Alright people,” he said, coming to his feet, “let’s not waste any more time. Arlum, if you would kindly take point.”

“Of course,” Arlum said, nodding solemnly. He turned and started toward the end of the hall, where another empty doorway awaited them. 

Dahlia appeared at the mage’s side so suddenly that he visibly jumped. “Heyyyy buddy! How’s that patch-job holding up?”

“Oh, ah,” Arlum began, looking a bit befuddled, “well, it was only a moment ago, but…quite well, I suppose.” He gave the offending shoulder a gentle roll and winced. “My apologies for the trouble. I really can be rather…clumsy sometimes.”

“Oh, let me tell you, you’ve got no idea who you’re talking to. Can barely walk ten feet without trippin’. Half the reason I wear this.” She rapped a knuckle against her breastplate. “Helps make sure I break the stuff I fall on, ‘stead of the other way around.”

The look of exhaustion on the mage’s face lessened for a moment – he almost cracked a smile. “Wisdom I could learn from, perhaps. Though I’m not sure I could manage under the weight.”

“Ehhh, you get used to it.” Dahlia said casually, “Eventually. Though I suppose it might be a daunting task for a frail human such as yourself.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Arlum said, chuckling.

Behind them, Mycah exchanged an uncertain look with Niven and shrugged. The door to the next chamber was only a handful of paces ahead. 

“That spell of yours is a cool trick, though.” Dahlia went on. “How’s it work?”

The beginnings of a smile on Arlum’s face abruptly disappeared. “Oh, I…I’m sorry, but it is strictly prohibited for mages to speak of our affliction in detail with civilians.”

“Your what?” Dahlia said, raising an eyebrow. “Affliction?”

“Well, yes.” Arlum said matter-of-factly. “It is a curse, after all.”

“Oh. Huh. Guess I never thought about it that way.” Dahlia’s eyes flicked to the doorway, just a few paces away now. “Well I guess if that’s the way you’re gonna be about it, I’ll-”

Dahlia tripped. One moment she was walking along, speaking energetically with Arlum – the next, her tail had managed to weave itself between her ankles and send her sprawling straight through the open door and into the chamber beyond. A collective gasp rose from the rest of the group. 

Dahlia rolled to a stop much further into the chamber than seemed possible for the speed she had been walking, as if the emberling had purposefully launched herself across the threshold (which was, after all, precisely what had happened). She groaned and pushed herself up on one elbow, turning to watch as Nil and Mycah dashed to the doorway, shouldering aside a stunned-looking Arlum in the process. 

“What in the Hells is wrong with you, girl?!” Mycah shouted. 

“Dahlia!” Nil was saying, simultaneously, “Are you insane?! Get out of there!”

The chamber Dahlia now found herself in was thinner than the others but significantly longer, as if the architect had simply decided to build a larger version of the hallway leading to it. Unlike the other chambers, there was no indication that anyone had died within; no dark stains, no bones, nothing at all to break up the featureless expanse of stone disappearing into a shadowy pool in the distance, where the torchlight could not reach. Nothing fell from the ceiling or sprang from the walls to eviscerate her; nothing happened at all, in fact. 

“Miss Dahlia, please,” Arlum called out, “you are in terrible danger, please come back this way.”

Dahlia stood and dusted herself off. “Nah, see, there’s nothing!” She said, beaming as she spread her arms in a wide arc over her head. “It’s empty! A fakeout! Some thousand-year-old skeleton is having a little fun with us. Here, look!”

Heedless of the shouting and pleading behind her, the emberling turned and took a step toward the far end of the chamber. And another. And another. 

On the fourth step, the ground went out from beneath Dahlia’s feet. A gasp escaped her as she pitched forward, feet suddenly pushing through empty air until she smashed chest-first into a stone shelf; the edge caught her just under the breastplate, knocking the air from her lungs and nearly bouncing her body backwards and into open air. Dahlia slapped both arms down across the thin strip of floor, instinctively scrabbling for purchase as the weight of her armor began to drag her away from the edge. 

Nil’s vantage point painted a much clearer picture. As Dahlia had taken her last step, the floor on either side of the chamber had fallen away on unseen hinges, dropping to lay flush against the walls. Only a fraction of the floor remained in place; a winding path, only as wide as a man’s shoulders, had been left to snake randomly to and fro across what was now essentially an enormous pit. Far below, metal spikes gleamed in the darkness. 

Without any conscious decision, Nil found herself moving. She sprinted down the treacherously narrow path as fast as her stubby legs would carry her, dropping at Dahlia’s side to clasp one of the emberling’s wrists with both hands. 

It wasn’t enough. Nil was too small, and Dahlia too heavy – even if the witch had possessed the strength to pull her up, which she did not, the difference in weight would pull both of them over the edge in a few moments. Nil’s mind raced, searching for a plan; there was nothing to brace herself against, nothing in her hat that would have been of any use. All she had was the sliver of floor at her feet and the yawning emptiness on either side. 

Someone skidded to a halt beside her and fell to their knees, nearly bowling Nil over in the process. She looked up to find Philbey at her side, already grasping Dahlia’s other gauntlet and hauling back from the edge with all his strength. Together, they began to make slow, painful progress in pulling Dahlia back from over the brink – until at last she was able to heave one leg up and over the path and drag herself to safety. 

The trio collapsed against each other in a gasping pile, staring up at the ceiling. Then Dahlia began to giggle. Softly at first, then rising into a hearty, breathless laugh that broke through the chilly silence of the dungeon and echoed gently from the depths below. Philbey was laughing now, too, and before she realized it Nil had joined in. They laid like that for a good twenty seconds or so, letting the adrenaline of survival steadily bleed away. 

Dahlia pushed herself up and looked to the entrance, where Mycah stood with his hand firmly gripping Arlum’s shoulder, holding the mage in place. “You all alright out there?” He called out. 

Reality settled back into place for Nil and she quickly picked herself up, dusting her dress off with as much dignity as she could muster. “No thanks to you.” She shot back. 

“Ah, come on now little lady, that’s a bit unkind.” Mycah said, smiling that lazy, infuriating smile of his. “Got my man right there with you, don’t ya? No sense in all of us charging out there and all shovin’ each other over the edge.”

“Bloody smug bastard.” Philbey muttered, grunting as Dahlia helped him to his feet.

“Now,” Mycah went on, “since you’ve already saved Arlum the trouble, why don’t the two of you walk the rest of the way for us? Just to make sure this place doesn’t have any more nasty little surprises waiting for us.”

“You-!” Nil took a step towards him – then stopped. Barely visible in the flickering torchlight behind Mycah, Niven stood with her bow in hand. 

Mycah made a small ‘come here’ gesture. “Phil, you come on back this way, yeah? Let the girls take it from here.”

With an apologetic look, Philbey turned and trudged back toward his compatriots.

“Get moving.” Niven called out. Mycah’s tone was a friendly suggestion – hers was a command. “Reach the opposite side alive, and we shall follow.”

Nil and Dahlia looked to the far end of the chamber, where the treacherous, winding path disappeared into a wall of shadow. With a world-weary sigh, Nil squared her shoulders and began walking. 

Dahlia crept along carefully behind her, pausing every now and then to peer into the empty drop on either side and shudder. “I think these guys are starting to sour on us.” She said. 

“Really. Whatever could have given you that impression?”

“I dunno, just a feeling.” Dahlia said, missing the goblin’s sarcasm entirely. “You think they might try something?”

“Well, they have us hundreds of feet underground in what is essentially an elongated tomb hidden in the countryside.” Nil said. “If this fine bunch decides we’re more trouble than we’re worth, it would likely be a very long time before anyone even stumbled across our bodies.”

Dahlia gave a low whistle and nudged a pebble from the edge of the path with her toe. It plunged into the darkness, rattling against something far below. “Think we’ll have to fight our way out?”

“We certainly may have to try. If it comes to that, the elf will be the greatest threat. We’ll need to take her down first. Until then, keep vigilant.” Nil stepped carefully as the path nearly reached the left wall, turned, and doubled back toward the right. “We need to be ready to act first.”

Dahlia kept her eyes firmly on her feet – the further they went, the harder it got to see the path. That, and looking left or right was making her woozy. “Hey, so, about what happened back there…”

“Dahlia,” the goblin said without looking back, “if you’re about to thank me for saving your life, please don’t.”

“Thank you?” Dahlia chuckled nervously. “Haha, of course not, that would be…no, I was going to say, uh…” She cleared her throat. “…Uh, nothing. I was going to say nothing.”

Nil sighed. “Again, keeping you alive matters only insofar as it gets me closer to the Opus.” She threw a withering look over her shoulder. “So, in the future, if you would please avoid solving problems by hurling yourself into almost certain death, that would be lovely.”

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ about.” Dahlia said, pursing her lips. “I tripped. Happens all the time.”

The goblin shook her head. “No, you didn’t, and now that crew of idiots is even more suspicious of us than they were before.”

Dahlia made a frustrated sound, scratching at the side of her head. “It was the best I could think of, alright? Didn’t hear you come up with a better plan.”

“No, I suppose not.” Nil said, chuckling dryly. “But then, I do try to avoid plans that involve outright suicide.”

“Ha! Some dusty old trap was never going to be the end of the great and terrible Dahlia Scratch. Probably. After all, there is no obstacle that can stand between Dahlia and her sinister destiny! No beast that cannot be slain! No hero that can hope to stand in her…oh.”

Nil took a few steps more before realizing the emberling had stopped behind her. She turned, irritation flaring. “What is it now?!”

“I, uh. Can’t see my feet.”

Nil opened her mouth to respond, blinked, and looked around. Her eyes had adjusted without her realizing it; they were now well outside of Mycah’s torchlight. Rolling her eyes, Nil reached out and grabbed Dahlia by the hand. 

“Just follow along, and step carefully.” She said impatiently. “Left turn coming up.”

“O-oh, okay.” Said Dahlia. “Thanks.”

Moving as a unit, the duo managed to navigate the remainder of the chamber, stepping through a door identical to the entrance and onto solid ground once more. Dahlia reached out blindly until her hand found the comforting solidity of the nearest wall and collapsed against it, breathing a sigh of relief. 

“Afraid of heights, are you?” Nil said casually. 

Dahlia let the back of her head rest against the cool stone. “As a rule, Dahlia Scratch fears nothing. Just a bit of a close one there, that’s all.”

She heard the goblin make a small, amused sound and shuffle toward the doorway. “We have crossed safely!” Nil shouted across the gap. “Watch your step!”

No response came, but a few seconds later Arlum emerged from the far end of the chamber and began making his way toward them, followed immediately by Mycah and the others. Oddly, even as his party navigated the winding path Mycah kept his hand firmly on Arlum’s shoulder, and as they drew closer it became apparent why; the mage was almost swooning on his feet now, weaving from side to side every few steps to the extent that Mycah was forced to keep a hand on the man just to stop him pitching over the edge and into the darkness below. By the time Mycah’s group rejoined with Nil and Dahlia, a sheen of sweat was visible over Arlum’s gaunt features. 

Noticing the look of worry on Dahlia’s face, Mycah shoved the beleaguered mage to the front. “Let’s keep moving.” The big man said tersely. He was still smiling, but it no longer reached his eyes. “Since you were kind enough to clear that chamber for us, Dahlia, I’ll have you lead the way.” His gaze tracked to Nil. “Both of you.”

Arlum walked like a man deep in the grip of some terrible disease, leaning on his staff with every step to keep from staggering. His breath came shallow and ragged, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced than ever before. Dahlia kept stealing glances at him out of the corner of her eye; when she caught Nil’s attention, the goblin grimaced and looked away. 

“So Arlum,” she said at last, “you, uh…feeling alright? You wanna maybe take a break for a minute or two?”

“Not happening.” Mycah said from behind them. 

“It’s this place.” Arlum said in a weak voice, shaking his head. “I wasn’t sure before, but the deeper we go, the…the more wrong everything feels. It is…draining.”

Niven scoffed. “mages and their superstitions. It’s just another crypt, like we’ve delved many times before.” 

“You know what?” Mycah said, “I don’t care. Arlum? Shut up. Everybody else, keep walking. I want to be done with this place.”

Up until this point, the dungeon had been utterly without ornamentation – bare stone walls and empty chambers, decorated only by the degradation of time and the bodies of those who had died plunging its depths. Only in this hall did that begin to change. The longer they walked, the more the walls on either side filled with small carvings. Shallow and scattered at first, these carvings steadily grew deeper, denser and more complex, depicting all manner of creatures, individuals and structures. Nil recognized what seemed to be representations of several pre-Collapse historical events among them, as well as many more scenes featuring a particular figure wearing a large, rounded hat of some kind – the wizard responsible for creating the subterranean halls in which they now stood, if she had to guess. 

The decorations coalesced as the hall came to an end until both walls were filled floor to ceiling with artwork that curled and flowed into a final, central frame – a doorway, not rectangular and empty like the others but curved at the top and carved with the largest and most detailed depiction yet of the figure with the round hat. If Nil had any doubts about the individual’s identity, they were put to rest. 

“Guessing we have this fellow to thank for today.” Mycah grunted. “Arlum, open it.”

Nodding, Arlum planted his staff and reached out with a trembling hand. The door slid open at the first brush of his fingertips, pulling up, into the ceiling and out of sight. The circular room beyond was much smaller than any of the previous chambers and possessed no exit door. What it did have was yet more carvings, spreading across the entirety of its walls from floor to domed ceiling, and a single pedestal sprouting from the center of the room. It had been carved into the design of the chamber itself, rising seamlessly out of the same surrounding stone. Perched atop this pedestal was what looked like a cloche of gold and painted glass – something inside glowed faintly, revealing that the little glass dome was also adorned with scenes that often depicted the dungeon’s architect. 

Arlum walked inside, followed soon after by Dahlia and, cautiously, Nil. The others lingered at the doorway, craning their necks to take in the sprawling art but stopping short of walking inside. 

Dahlia whistled. “Whoever this was, they really went for it, huh?”

“The Collapse mages were known for having rather overinflated opinions of themselves.” Nil said, arms clasped behind her back. She turned slowly, taking in the entire display. “Not terribly surprising.”

“You’ve got that right.” Philbey said. Evidently satisfied that the small room was free of traps, he had pushed past Mycah to get a good view of the chamber for himself. “We’ve probably stumbled half a dozen little shrines like this. Seen one or two dungeons that had this kind of decoration all the way through.”

Dahlia bent closer to the wall, running her fingers along the grooves of a section that appeared to show the architect subduing a great, slavering beast. “Some old wizard carved all this himself?”

Philbey laughed. “Doubt it. Historically speaking, he probably formed this place all in one go with some massive spell, or…”

“Or had it excavated through slave labor.” Nil finished for him. The goblin had gone from studying the walls to inspecting the pedestal itself. “Much more common. Historically speaking.”

“I guess you know your stuff.” Philbey said, chuckling a bit more awkwardly. “Well, it isn’t as if they’re remembered for how much everyone loved them, is it.”

“No indeed.” Nil said, smiling slightly. The goblin had gone down on her haunches and was peering closely at the space on the pedestal just below its glass-domed pinnacle. She beckoned the others closer. “Here, look at this.”

Philbey and Dahlia moved in curiously. Spanning the pedestal’s circumference were several rows of further carvings, images carved into regularly-sized frames in a series of eight stacking rings. Nil tried one of the rings with the tip of her finger; with a bit of effort, she could turn it on its base like a dial.

“Gods,” Nil said with exasperation, “it’s a bloody puzzle box. 

“Oh yeah,” Philbey said, grinning a little, “we see these all the time. Only thing those old wizards loved more than bottomless pits and bladed pendulums is puzzles, if you ask me.”

Nil sighed. “Of course they did.”

After a few more moments of study, Nil turned a scrutinizing gaze on the mural surrounding them. Suddenly she was scurrying here and there all about the room, from the wall to the pedestal and back again, an avid look growing in her eyes. 

“What’cha up to there, partner?” Dahlia asked. “Got something figured out?”

Nil returned to the puzzle, clicked one of the rings two spaces to the right, and returned to her studies. “It’s a story.” She said distractedly. “The mage’s story, to be specific. Our long-dead, narcissistic friend wants us to reconstruct the narrative of his life. Or the one he created for himself, at the very least. All of this,” the goblin made a circular gesture, “is our guide. And, well, a bit of misdirection.”

Dahlia and Philbey traded a glance. 

“You see these two pieces here?” Nil walked up to what appeared to be a random part of the wall, indicating an adjoining pair of scenes. She pointed to the right, then the left. “This event, for the purpose of the narrative, took place. This one is a blatant fabrication. See?”

Philbey took a moment to look back and forth between the two carvings. “Uh…”

Nil made an impatient gesture. “Just take my word for it. The point is that I can open this, I just need to…”

The goblin began walking toward the doorway and stopped short – Mycah and Niven stood blocking the way, and made no indication of letting her pass. 

“And where are you headed, exactly?” Mycah said. 

“Just past you, if you’d be so kind.” Nil said. When Mycah still did not move she made a frustrated little sound, putting two fingers to her forehead. “The carvings, on the walls outside? They’re part of the solution here. I need the full picture.”

Mycah rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “Yeah…that’s well and good, but I think we’ll take care of this the way we usually do. Arlum?”

Finding himself summoned, Arlum shuffled across the threshold and set his staff before the pedestal. He was breathing heavily, gripping the staff in trembling, white-knuckled hands. 

“Just a moment,” Nil said quickly. Sweat prickled on the back of her neck. “The way you usually do? What does that mean?”

It was Philbey who answered; the halfling had been watching Arlum with trepidation since the mage had walked into the room. “Well, uh, in our experience, these things tend to pop open about as easy as the traps do. Not always, mind you, maybe…eight out of ten times?”

“But…” Philbey inched a little closer to Arlum. “Big man, you really aren’t looking so good. You sure about this?”

“I am ready to do what is required.” Arlum said grimly. His feverish eyes did not leave the pedestal. 

“No, wait, listen.” Nil tried to keep the rising desperation from her voice. They were deep in the effect of the Thinning now, and it was playing hell with her nerves. “I can solve this, just…just look at him, he’s barely upright. You’re obviously pushing him too hard, if you gave me just a few minutes-”

Mycah held up a hand. “Your assistance is appreciated, Jezel, and unnecessary. I don’t think any of us are interested in mucking about down here waiting to see if your little theory holds water.” He nodded to the mage, dismissing her. “Arlum, please.”

“Hey boss, I think maybe we ought to give her a shot at it.”

Mycah pulled a strong breath through his nose, eyes narrowing with irritation as he turned to regard Philbey. 

“Listen,” the halfling continued, “I dunno what’s going on, but I think Arlum is hitting his limit. All I’m saying is, maybe we at least let her give it a try?”

A drawn-out metallic rasp broke the tomblike silence as Mycah pulled the sword from his scabbard, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. The big man was no longer smiling; his eyes had become pits of shadow, tiny motes of reflected torchlight glittering within. 

“You want to know what I think, Phil?” Mycah said in a dangerous tone. “I think it’s been one hell of a long day, and I am very tired of all these little…hiccups.” The point of his sword floated gently through the air until it leveled at Nil’s face. “And I am especially tired of being second-guessed when I make a decision, so I am going to say this politely, one more time. Jezel, step away from the relic. Arlum, open it. Now.”

Arlum dropped his head in a single nod, as if he had fallen asleep on his feet. An instant later, creeping blueish runes began to glow along the length of his staff. The mage’s brow creased, a soft shiver running through his body even as sweat dripped from the tip of his nose. A gentle clattering sound arose from somewhere within the pedestal. 

“No, wait!” Nil cried. Desperately, she spun and leapt toward Arlum, hands reaching out to wrest the staff from his hands. “You don’t understand, you’ll-”

Reality thrummed around them, a drum skin stretched from one end of the universe to the other scraped under a colossal thumbnail. All sound fell away; Nil’s voice, the rattling of unseen mechanisms, even the imperceptible hum of the planet beneath their feet, replaced by an impossibly pure silence. The party’s torches did not gutter, but dimmed all the same, their light fading to nothing even as the flames seemed to intensify. Absolute blackness swept in around them, and for an instant Dahlia felt the utter lack of input from her every sense – not only had sight and sound fled, but suddenly she tasted nothing, smelled nothing, could not feel the weight of the armor on her skin or of her feet on the ground. She felt no fear or confusion. Even gravity had simply ceased to exist, leaving her floating in a nothingness that had always been and would always be. 

Maybe this is what it would be like, she thought, to have never been born. 

The world came screaming back like the fist of a god smashing down on Dahlia’s head. She staggered against the wall, dropping to one knee and instinctively jamming the heels of her palms against her ears. Everything was suddenly too much – the sputtering torchlight had become painfully bright, the sound of shifting bodies and breathing a deafening cacophony. Dahlia’s skin itched viciously everywhere her clothes touched her; the clasps and buckles holding her armor in place bordered on unbearable to endure. 

When she could at last open her eyes without searing pain, Dahlia found the others in much a similar state. Mycah was slumped against one side of the doorframe, trying to drag himself to his feet as Niven dry-heaved on all fours behind him, clutching at her throat. Philbey sat with his legs splayed bonelessly beneath him, tears running down his cheeks as he looked to and fro, as if he had forgotten where he was. She caught Nil’s eye; the goblin was on her knees, hyperventilating with one hand clutched to her chest. 

Something was wrong with the floor.

At first, Dahlia had been too disoriented even to notice. Then she put a hand to the ground, ready to make a wobbling attempt to regain her footing, and noticed distantly the way the stone gave under her palm. Stone, the far-off logical part of her mind gently reminded her, typically did not give. She looked down at her hand. 

Dahlia blinked deliberately, trying to decipher what she was seeing through the dream-haze wrapping her brain like cotton. She flexed her fingers, watching as they sunk into the malleable, reddish mass pulsating under her palm. Slowly, she swept her gaze further along the floor. 

The moist, fleshy membrane spread out from under her hand in an irregular shape until the edges met stone. Whatever the stuff was, it was not growing on the floor – it was in the floor. Dahlia could slide her fingers along the edges and feel the transition from soft meat to the hard ridge of rock. The texture reminded her of the flesh on the inside of her cheek. 

It was also spreading. 

“Oh, no.” Nil said. 

Dahlia looked up to see Arlum standing straight up, his pose so stiff his spine had begun to curve backward. The mage’s head was tilted back, eyes staring sightlessly at the ceiling. Every muscle in his body had gone rigid; she could see the tendons standing out along his neck like steel cables, hands wrapping tightly enough around his staff to render his fingers pale and bloodless. Arlum’s jaw worked silently, only a guttural gasping and clicking arising from somewhere deep in his throat. 

“Hey, Arl,” Philbey said, tottering to his feet. He reached for the sleeve of Arlum’s robe. “Hey, big man. You alright…?”

“Don’t touch him!” 

The halfling flinched, looking Nil’s way with questioning eyes.  

“Look at his feet.” She snapped. 

They looked. Sure enough, a large patch of the floor under Arlum had undergone the fleshy transformation, and appeared to be swallowing him; the mage had already sunk in just past his ankles and was still descending, as if standing in quicksand. Tendrils of meat could be seen just below the edge of his robe, snaking around Arlum’s legs and burrowing into his skin like parasitic worms. 

“We need to leave, now.” Nil said. The flesh was spreading faster now, growing like a fungus across the back of the room. Where two patches met, they merged – large sections of the walls and floor were already deforming and sinking into themselves, no longer held taut by the surrounding stone. 

“We can’t just leave him like this!” Philbey cried. “What in the Hells is going on?!”

The goblin reached out and grabbed Philbey roughly by the collar, dragging his face down toward hers. “You can, or you’ll die.” She hissed. “Look at him! What do you think you’re going to do?”

Philbey’s head lolled bonelessly to one side, staring at Arlum with painfully wide eyes. The mage was already submerged to the waist in the floor; something could be seen squirming under the skin just below his jaw. Philbey’s shoulders slumped. 

“Fine.” Nil yanked on the halfling’s collar, spinning him around and shoving him roughly toward the door. “You two. Up.”

Niven and Mycah still sat in an awkward heap just beyond the doorway, eyes large and glazed with shock. At Nil’s commanding tone the elf looked up, seeming to come back to herself for a moment. “What’s happening?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Nil said. She pointed a claw at one of the larger splotches of flesh, which was creeping toward them by an inch every few seconds. “What matters is that we need to leave.”

Moving as if only mostly awake, Niven dragged herself to her feet and managed to coax Mycah into following suit. The big human was still mumbling to himself as he rose, eyes flicking around at random. Niven snapped her fingers in his face, causing him to flinch and stare at her for a moment but little else. 

Dahlia watched as the meat spread to consume a full third of the small chamber, large patches seeping into one another until one side of the room was nothing but sagging meat shot through with bluish, undulating veins. It began to collapse in on itself, convulsing. Quickly, she turned and grabbed Philbey firmly by the shoulder, half-dragging him into the outer hall with her. 

“Move, everyone!” Nil said, “We’re moving now. Faster, please!” 

As if to emphasize the witch’s statement, Arlum’s jaw stretched open and issued a terrible howl. It was a massive, alien sound, far too powerful to have been created by a pair of human lungs, and an instant later the flesh-rot spilled through the doorway and into the hall as if chasing after them. The group needed no further encouragement to break into a run.