In this seemingly endless expanse, there are countless forks and crossroads, but Tars stood at one that appeared perfectly ordinary—save for the large rock before him and the man sitting upon it, a man to whom Tars wouldn't even flinch if he were being cursed at.

  "Owning a Wonder is the dream of many," the half-man said.

  The little kobold smacked his lips. Using the few remaining hairs on his head to think, he knew the half-man was speaking the absolute truth.

  But this thing was troublesome. Using his mental energy, he was still reading the short stories etched onto the die. One former owner's tale was particularly tragic: this individual had used the die many times, luckily never rolling a five or a six. He had enjoyed smooth sailing with the Wonder, only to be lured into a trap and imprisoned until death in a pit lined with molten gold. Throughout his captivity, he was forced to roll the die at regular intervals according to the whims of his captors.

  Endless imprisonment and torture followed. The immense vitality he had accidentally gained through a trade with a demon prevented him from dying easily. Eventually, he chose to gamble on a trade with a Stink Demon, transforming himself into a monster in a desperate bid to use that borrowed strength to revolt. He failed and died a miserable death, no longer resembling a human, yet the die recorded that he had "succeeded"—because he had finally attained the mercy of death.

  Feeling the texture of the die in his hand, Tars felt he might never be bored again.

  The stories upon the tiny object seemed inexhaustible—each a heart-pounding life, long or short. Viewing them as the current master, he felt a chill. Yes, he had decided to accept this gift. As long as he didn't use it recklessly, as long as he was careful and reserved it only for absolute life-or-death crises, it should be fine. But as he thought this, he smacked his lips again and almost wanted to laugh; in every story, every previous owner had said the exact same thing.

  "You truly are an interesting little kobold."

  The half-man had been watching in silence, seemingly enjoying the drama of Tars's internal struggle.

  "That is only part of the gift," the half-man continued. "The creation process of the complete gift requires your personal participation. Simultaneously, you will be doing something for me."

  Tars's eyes lit up.

  The moment he had been waiting for had finally arrived. He liked getting benefits for free, but he hated it when someone kept giving them without asking for anything in return; it made him uneasy, forcing his already overtaxed brain to waste energy worrying about the hidden cost.

  "You may complete the ownership ritual. Use it in moments of crisis; do not worry too much. In the first few instances, the die rarely brings misfortune. Even if you do trade with a demon, you won't die that quickly. It understands the human heart better than most," the half-man said.

  "Is it alive?"

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  "Yes, and no. It is a Wonder. Though it is a relatively common type among Wonders, it is still the only one of its kind in existence."

  The half-man's words put Tars somewhat at ease—not because of the vague explanation of the Wonder, but because he still had a use. As long as he was valuable, the half-man wouldn't let him wander into fatal danger so easily.

  A shard, even smaller than the Demon's Die and radiating a prismatic, shimmering light, drifted toward Tars.

  "This is the other component of the gift—a unique spatial fragment. Leave your Secret Mark upon it; only then can you touch it."

  Tars followed the instructions. It took several attempts on the flickering, shifting fragment before he managed to solidify his Secret Mark.

  He was decisive. Once the mark was set, he immediately kissed the faces of the die, completing the strange succession and becoming the new Master of the Die. Now, only he could roll this jester-like Demon's Die that had altered the fates of countless souls.

  "Very good. But now is not the time to cast it. Stow your die and take this fragment. It will guide you to find something. Bring it back, and we can begin the attempt to complete this unique gift."

  Hearing the half-man's words, Tars actually sensed a trace of anticipation beneath that flat, detached tone.

  Tars thought for a moment, pulled out the deep-green potion the half-man had given him, and drank it. Immediately, his wounds began to itch intensely. His throat followed suit, and he broke into an uncontrollable fit of coughing, eventually spitting out some blackened blood. He could feel new fur beginning to sprout across his body.

  Now this is a quality product, he thought.

  The spatial fragment, now bonded to him via the Secret Mark, seemed to have established a subtle connection with his senses. He reached out, and the prismatic shard actually drifted closer to him.

  "Go. Remember, bring it back," the half-man said.

  Tars nodded. The moment he grasped the fragment, a spiritual guidance surfaced in his mind; the target didn't seem far away. Feeling the prickling itch of healing over his entire body, his pace quickened.

  Following the internal compass, he navigated the tunnels. After several turns, he found himself on a familiar path. His expression remained neutral. The itching had subsided, replaced by a warm glow as the potion's powerful effects finished mending his injuries.

  Continuing the trek, the guidance led him straight into the Great Serpent's cave.

  The Big-Dumb-Humper wasn't at the entrance. Instead, the new king of the kobolds, King Bald-Tooth, was fast asleep inside. The king's belly, where the fur hadn't fully grown back, seemed to be catching a chill; even in his sleep, he pulled a grass skirt over his stomach. Tars walked in with a solemn air. After not seeing him for several days, Bald-Tooth seemed even more terrified of Tars; he practically levitated in fright upon waking.

  Tars gestured for him to be quiet. Following the guidance, he skirted the edge of the cavern and stopped before a pile of crushed bones.

  He looked at the familiar remains and the traces left upon them. The Grey-Neck Lord's nest? He doesn't want me to find that egg, does he?

  No, I already fed that to the little insect-person. The shard shouldn't guide me here for that.

  Rejecting Bald-Tooth's offer to help, he began to dig. Given the size of the previous serpent, the bone pile was staggeringly large. Blind digging would be exhausting, so he focused his senses on the fragment's pull.

  "What are you doing?" he suddenly snapped, turning his head.

  Bald-Tooth jumped, startled, and forced back a half-finished stream of urine.

  "Go guard the entrance. Don't come back until I've left," Tars ordered, turning back to the excavation.

  The guidance was right here.

  He paused, looking around again. Bald-Tooth was gone, and there wasn't a soul in sight. Yet, he felt a strange sensation of being watched. He had initially assumed it was Bald-Tooth.

  "An interesting little kobold. You appear to be a wizard apprentice. Do not be surprised, and certainly do not panic. It was you who awakened me. As a first meeting, I shall give you a small gift..."

  An emotionless, disembodied voice echoed in Tars's mind.

  But Tars's shock wasn't because someone had suddenly spoken to him.