Fire crackled aloud in the quiet hall. Thousands of shards glittered in the dark like a tidal wave. The dungeon wasn’t cold nor was it particularly hot. The scorching heat from Xylia’s Moonbeam had already dissipated—accelerated by Arlene’s magic.

  Yet bundles of firewood laid like a campfire as they all gathered around. Arlene called for a short rest yet they built it up like it was instinct.

  Arlene leaned against the now chilling wall as she observed the three adventurers cuddled up around the fire. It wasn’t a need for light source or warmth. Wattyson’s staff provided the latter while the floor’s temp didn’t constitute the warmth. Perhaps it really was instinct—the need to rely on something familiar.

  “We’ll leave in ten minutes.” Arlene told all of them as she took off to her companion—Wattyson. He was in the dark, standing near the epicentre where Rinea had struck the lion-slime’s core. He was staring at it like a dagger.

  A small tap to his shoulder. “What’s that got on your mind?” That struck carved core sat at his feet. Its inside still simmered from Rinea’s blade like they were metallic. “Curious how science works?”

  He scoffed, but did not emote. “We should take this and few others back—for Anire.”

  “Oh? I wasn’t aware you care to bring her souvenir.”

  “Then you’ve thought wrong.” He slid his slender fingers around the core as if it was a delicate china.

  “Then why?” She crossed her arms. What other reasons were there? Was it related to something dangerous—

  “So I don’t have to drink a lot of those potions to the point of bloatness.” He lugged the core, perfectly into the side pocket of her bag.

  She immediately took it out and put it inside the actual bag. “Ughh… just do what she asks. It’s good for you, too.”

  “How so?”

  She hesitated. There wasn’t anything beneficial to him. They were to her—to satiate her curiosity about her companion. How he was able to cast magic yet didn’t chant at all like she had to. They were mysteries gnawing at the back of her mind since without those—she felt she didn’t know him at all.

  Fumbling at not knowing what to say, she could only let out: “Please, trust me. It will.” Tugging his sleeve’s once before stepping back—returning to the ritual fire.

  The short mage downed her mana potions, and set it aside gently afterward. A slight touch somehow echoed a loud clink throughout the hall. She braced herself every time before the clink rang loudly.

  Her eyes squinted at those floors. Placing those emptied potions on a cloth instead, she then leaned in harder, brushing off the floor.

  Naciv was sitting nearby. “What are you doing?”

  She didn’t answer. Her forehead was mere inch from the floor now. She bonked her head once then twice—both gentle. “Huh.”

  “What?”

  Rinea while dressing her wounds, noticed what the shorty was doing and repeated what Naciv asked. “What are you doing?”

  The shorty didn’t answer. She knocked onto the floor once, twice then thrice. “This is glass.” She grabbed one of her wand—more hardened steel one, and stabbed them onto the floor. “This is hardened glass!”

  She sat back and crossed her arms, head held high—smug and proud. “Heh, I ‘ve really outdone myself with Moonbeam.”

  Naciv stood, then stomped. A sharp snap rang through with a crack beneath his foot now. “Huh… It really is glass. You’ve changed old dusty marble…. Into glass?”

  “Yep!”

  “You do realize marble don’t tur—“

  “My great power supported by the Sage hath double my output, capable of turning them into glass!”

  Xylia felt a small nudge on her back, she turned to find the Chosen One crouched behind her.

  “Good job, Xylia.” Arlene said with a smile. “You did well.”

  “Hehehe, thank you Aralynn the Chosen One!”

  “Arlene.”

  “Arlene the Chosen One!” Xylia got up and pointed to the skeptic. “And you! Praise me more, errand boy!”

  “I’m not an errand boy!”

  Xylia tilted higher, letting out a hearty laugh. Rinea was still dressing her wounds, but with a smirk now at Naciv, whom didn’t even want to look at her—keeping himself occupied with stocktaking his own supplies and equipment.

  “Rinea,” a sharp command woke her up, “What monsters should we expect further from Floor Twenty?”

  The horned girl shrugged. “At this point, I don’t really know.”

  “Don’t give me that. What did you encounter in your last dive from here onward?”

  Rinea gazed to Arlene before drifting her eyes away. “I…,” the voice dragged as she rubbed her own forehead like she was trying to remember, “In this floor, last time I and others didn’t encounter a slime… well like this. We faced slimes at Floor Fourteen, but the little blobby one.”

  Glancing around the room filled with glint cores, she sighed. “We should be facing minotaurs right now, but instead we got that lion-slime abomination.”

  “Then what did you face in Twenty-One?”

  “Nothing until Floor Thirty. I faced organized goblins, skeletons and cobranoid.” She gripped onto the dressing rag tighter. “I doubt we’ll be facing those now…”

  Naciv chimed in without turning. “What about the layout? Will they stay the same?”

  “Well since all the previous floors were the same three-lane layout. Highly likely.”

  Naciv dragged his hand across the jagged glass marble—the claw marks stretching across the entire floor with no ends. The rough texture stung him with a thousand papercuts, but his physiology healed him immediately.

  It was at this point he realised. All the previous floors were three-lane, but this one was just straight hall. Amidst the fighting earlier, they didn’t diverge into another route at all.

  “Then what do you make of this then?!” He slammed his fist, cracking bits of glass. “This isn’t three lanes!”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why do you not know anything?! You’re the most experienced here!”

  “Yet I don’t know!”

  Naciv tightened his fist, his teeth gritted. Rinea’s answers continued to frustrate him.

  “Enough.” Arlene stood between them. “This dungeon is changing, mutating and evolving into a different thing than the Guild expected.”

  She lent a palm to Rinea, a silent command for her to get up. “I expect you to guide us still. Inform us of whatever happened in your last dive and flag any oddities in your report to the Guild.”

  “And Naciv,” her eye sided to him, “Keep a cool head, will you? This dungeon is already draining the two of you as it is. I may be the strongest, but I won’t guarantee I can protect when you all are flustered.”

  Naciv’s fist remained tight before loosening with his shoulders. A long exhale of exhaustion as he kicked over the firewood—extinguishing them. He faced Arlene, not at her eyes, but at the headband—his sister’s.

  “Alright.” He answered, but his tone was heavy. Nostalgia and regret. “I’ll… stick to the rear with Wattyson.”

  Arlene nodded. It was better that than him nearing Rinea and possibly bickering to each other. “Then let’s continue.”

  Continuing the dungeon’s dive now, the group settled in a single line formation again. Xylia being at the front, carrying Wattyson’s staff like a spear. Arlene and Rinea walked near one another and few metres at the back were Naciv and Wattyson.

  The floor was indeed only one long corridors. There were few turns and change in elevations, but one hall nonetheless. The pristine glass walls and marble floors were the only persistent environment now.

  “I don’t like this,” Naciv muttered, walking with his hands in pocket, “That Rinea is a creep and a weirdo.”

  He shyly glanced to Wattyson. “Do you think… she’s the fanatic cultist of Gaia? Ana-S-Sir?”

  “What makes you think that?” Wattyson’s eyes were barely opened. He yawned as if this entire thing was boring him. “Are you saying that because she frustrated you?”

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  Naciv’s jaw dropped like the statement offended him. “What? No!” His head shook violently. “It’s just… She’s been eyeing at me the whole time we’ve been here.”

  “And?”

  “I…,” his voice hung low, “I felt the same thing when I’m faced with a higher rank of my kind; Fear.” He peeked to Wattyson briefly, affirming to himself it was the same feeling Anathema brought to his older kinds.

  Then again, Anathema was the result of his vampiric kind overfeeding and oppressing the mundane people. The ultimate hunter as result of his elders’ doing. If it was that same kind of fears that even he himself got goosebump of, it would likely be something more natural—a canis sapien; A werewolf.

  That would align with the claw marks on the floor. How it was dragged across as far the eyes could see like it was hurling a huge mass of something—likely foods.

  Wattyson replied monotonous. “You’re accusing Rinea being one of them? All the things that happened thus far don’t point in that direction.”

  “But I felt something like that! If an existence could make me,” he pointed to himself swiftly like a stab, “Then what else could explain her?!”

  “That you’re just not used to other people teasing you sadistically.”

  “I-What?! I’ve been alive for more than fifty years! These things doesn’t—“

  “It doesn’t matter. Your current evidence don’t suggest anything of substance. Keep a focus on her then, but do not forget.” Wattyson’s eyes turned to him, remaining ever partial. “Continue your other supposed duty as an adventurer, and do not implicate an innocent into your paranoia.”

  Naciv gulped. “Y-Yes, sir.”

  “Good.” He faced away, shutting his eyes. “Only talk to me if you have anything of substances to say. I’m not your friend to vent to.”

  The errand boy remained shut, but the fire inside burned bright. Thinking back, Rinea was the first to volunteer in joining him and Xylia when he was forced to recruit. It was Rinea who had pushed both of them to begin immediately—to meet up with Arlene and Wattyson into the dungeon.

  Her being vague all the time didn’t help. Why was she so quiet during all the walk? Why wasn’t she more shocked at how much the dungeon changed?What if it was all a ploy? A crude strategy to guide people into her hiding floor for her own personalized buffet?

  He took a deep breath and narrowed his eyes on her. Whatever came up, he would be sure to expose that fucking werido.

  Floor Twenty-Eight. Nothing.

  Arlene walked just in front of Rinea. She rubbed the hilt of her sword—the rough coarse texture kept her alert like they were ritual to her or just habit, while her eyes darted all over the same scenery like all the other Floor Twenty and above; shiny marble walls and worn floors.

  “So what did you face last time on this floor, Rinea?”

  The question aimed to assess her answer. Would she still be evasive or consistent?

  Rinea was, of course, confused. “I-I already told you, nothing till Floor Thirty, Arlene-leader.”

  “Hmm… Silly me.” Arlene chuckled. “Sorry. I’m just tensed right now. I probably forgot.”

  “It’s… It’s okay. I get it.”

  A sign to probe further. “Do you?” Arlene continued with a lighter tone.

  “Yeah. This entire dungeon’s been amassing bodycounts.” Rinea curled her lips, smiling nervously. “I just… don’t know what could happen, you know?”

  “Hmmm… but didn’t stay the same in all your previous dives?”

  “It did. Truthfully seeing how they were all the same built my confidences up, but now? Everything was so new. I felt lost. I’m really a bad guide, huh?”

  Arlene shook her head softly. “Nonsense. Being able to admit that shows you are trying genuinely.”

  The horned girl’s softened at the reassurance. Arlene noticed the way she walked like she was trying not to stumble. Her hands twiddled with one another. Nervousness?

  “How were all your previous dives?”

  Rinea chuckled or was she scoffing? Arlene couldn’t tell. “They were so-so. I dived with a lot of parties. Made it to Floor Ten, then Twenty, then most of parties meandered between Thirty to Thirty-Five.”

  Arlene titled her head. “Xylia was with you on one of your dive, yes?”

  “Yes. She was.” Her eyes drifted to the short mage. “We were together with the two others. We didn’t make it far past Thirty-Two.”

  “Xylia said it’s because of the ‘loverbirds’? And that you were frustrated?”

  “Of course I was!” Arlene noticed a small stomp from her. “Imagine having to fight through the dungeon then having to turn around because those two were horsing around?”

  “Wouldn’t that be a blessing in disguise though? You’ve heard of something lurking in Floor Forty.”

  “Yes of course! But I wanted to reach at most Floor Forty, to get data or a hint of whatever we’re facing.” She turned, clicking her tongue. “I feel for those who managed to escape from those floors, but they… they can’t even speak on what happened. Most of them were so delirious that they forgot everything once recovered.”

  Crossing her arms now, “I’ve grown so confidence about this dungeon that I was so sure to reach just that floor—it would’ve been enough for me. It never happened and my last dive we had to return by Floor Thirty-Five, because one of us were struck by a poison blade.”

  “Then shouldn’t you be happy now?” Arlene didn’t judge her for any of those. She was only concerned on pressing what her motive was. “You’re travelling with those who are capable. Why are you rattled at how much the dungeon changed?”

  “That’s…,” Rinea stammered, head lowered, “It’s because I… I knew so much about the dungeon back then I wanted to prove myself that I was a great adventurer. I studied the dungeon and guide other to succeed. Now…” She never finished.

  Arlene ceased. Pushing her any further would be pointless, especially after she shut herself like that. One thing for sure though, she was being evasive due to her insecurities. If it wasn’t, then she was a very good actor.

  “Keep your eyes sharp.” She commanded. “Like you said, this dungeon had changed a lot since your last dive. We don’t know what could come up.”

  She didn’t expect a reply back, but there was one. A small whisper; “Yes, Arlene-leader.”

  Floor Thirty.

  Arlene walked beside Xylia now, sword drawn. This was the floor Rinea encountered any kinds of monsters previously. The scenery was still the same rock.

  Xylia waved Wattyson’s staff high, ‘casting’ light to illuminate. It revealed nothing. However, there was sound—something new finally.

  Splashes faintly in the distant in long interval. Xylia leaned the staff against the wall while pointing her bundle of wands into the long hall—primed to shoot a fireball in case it was the slime again.

  Naciv and Rinea unsheathed their weapons at the ready. Arlene held her sword front while stepping slowly. She could just cast light now, but chose not to—thinking the few seconds that took would expose those behind to danger. The staff’s light was enough.

  The air in this floor felt tight, and condensed. It felt like they were stick to something. The humidity so dense it felt like a rainforest.

  The splash continued to echo. Again Arlene thought it to be the same slime monsters, but the long interval contradicted that. Previously it was numerous, now it was isolated and alone.

  “Watty!” She called out. “Come with me!”

  The light illuminated more as he stepped to her, bringing his staff with him. “What?”

  “I need you to hold your staff obviously.” She paced herself forward.

  It got louder and louder. Arlene stood at the ready to lunge at any time.

  The light illuminated the splash. It was liquid dripping down onto the worn marble. Water.

  “Great heaven! It’s water!” Xylia let out in a surprise. She still pointed and shot a small spark of fire at the droplet, evaporating it. “It really is water!”

  The rest sighed and sheathed their weapons. Already regathering themselves to continue.

  “Wait!” Xylia stood before the droplet now. “We are at...”

  Rinea answered. “It’s floor Thirty.”

  “Thirty. Very deep yes? How is there water here?”

  Naciv ran to underneath the drip. “That’s true. See that crack there? It must’ve been here for a long time.” He eyed Rinea, targeting her. “Do you know why?”

  “Why do you think I know?”

  “Well, you’re the expert here.”

  “Yes, but the dungeon is changing a lot. You know it too. I’m in the same boat as you are.” She turned to the crack. “For all we know, this floor probably shifted right under a water pocket. Remember, this dungeon is practically inside a mountain.”

  “So you never encounter this at all then? This water crack?”

  “And what if I did? It doesn’t affect me and adventurers in any dives. Why would I go poke it to see if it actually does?”

  “Oh great Helios, shut up!” Xylia interjected and shot a fireball at that crack.

  Explosion sounded the trumpet to water streaming down like a tsunami. The waves pushed them all away, losing the short progress on Floor Thirty.

  Arlene stabbed her sword into the ground as an anchor. Her free hand managed to grab Rinea who in turned held Naciv.

  To the front near the crack, she saw Wattyson holding onto the wall—was his hand sticky or something? In his free arm was the staff. Xylia was holding onto that staff like a lifeline while waving her bundle of wands, trying to chant any spells of cold.

  “FRO—“ she shouted before water kept splashing into her mouth. They were fresh water.

  “Arlene!” Wattyson called out. “Take the staff!” Without further hesitation, he let go of the staff and Xylia with it.

  “WAIT! SAGE!” Her voice hollowed out as she drifted further away by the Everstream.

  “HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO—“ Arlene stopped herself and turned to Naciv. “CATCH THE STAFF!”

  Naciv reached his arm out, but he didn’t have the range to grab. Rinea noticed and started swinging her arm.

  “What are you doing?!”

  “Shut it! Focus on taking her!”

  With each swing, his reach grew. As Xylia drifted closer, Rinea timed her swing with the staff, allowing Naciv to grab.

  “GOT IT!”

  Xylia felt like she just dislocated her shoulder, but right now she was saved. “Naciv! Can you cover my mouth so I can cast?”

  “HOW?!” His one hand was with Rinea and his free one with the staff.

  “CURSE THIS FLOWING WAT—“ She got splashed again. “CURSE MY SHORT HEIG—“ The only thing her giant wizard hat helped in this regard was prevent her eyes from getting splashed.

  Near the crack, Arlene focused on Wattyson who was walking against the strong current. His hands sticking onto the wall, but it felt like he was putting pressure into it. His arm reached out into the downstream—cold mist trickled upward, cutting off the flow in ice.

  The ice formed a huge bulge off the ceiling, withholding the tidal wave thrashing. The rest of the water continued to wave against the floor before drowning in itself, seeping into the worn floors entirely.

  Silence reigned then broke with a collapse—Xylia on the floor.

  “Does that answer your question, errand boy?” She grasped on the floor. “It’s a water pocket up there.”

  Naciv retorted. “Don’t be a smartass, Xylia. That doesn’t explain anything about Rinea.”

  Rinea chimed, her voice curt. “About what? Huh?”

  “Guys,” Arlene walked in between again. “Now’s not the time—“

  “About everything! Why are you so… dismissive about everything’s happening here? It’s like you’re—“

  “Be QUIET!”

  A loud voice sounded like a screech from the man that was quiet the entire trip. Naciv felt his heart sank for every steps Wattyson took to them.

  “This is going nowhere.” Wattyson spoke, but it felt like he didn’t speak at all. The very idea of him speaking to Naciv was ridiculous.

  “Rinea, you take the rear.”

  “I— yes, Sage.”

  “Naciv, you take point now.”

  “What? But—“

  “Did I stutter?”

  “No. Yes, sir.”

  The two adventurers walked away from each other, not wanting to face one another. They went far enough to not be in each other’s ears but stood waiting to continue diving.

  Arlene tugged at him. “Watty? You okay? Are you sure about this? You normally don’t care and leave it all to me.”

  Wattyson didn’t brush her off. “I’m fine.” He picked the staff and Xylia up who at this point was frozen, and put her on his back—a piggyback ride. “I’ll carry Xylia and stay right behind Naciv. You stay behind me, okay?”

  “Obviously.” She crossed her arms and glanced at the two drifting adventurers. “This is getting too heated. I don’t know if I can defend them when they are drifting to the point they won’t be able to protect each other.”

  There was Xylia too. Could she defend Xylia mid combat if those two were at each other’s throats? This was becoming increasingly problematic. However, Wattyson’s face softened when Xylia was on his back—like a father with his daughter. A question she needed to ask when they were out of this dungeon.

  “Separating them,” Wattyson spoke as he turned away from Arlene, “should slow that rift. All we could do now is hold them on a leash so they don’t crash out.”

  A Leash. What a crude word, but Arlene didn’t argue. It was… true. “Alright, we’ll do it your way. Let’s continue.”

  Wattyson nodded and began moving, clicking his staff and stepping to Naciv—nudged him by the ankle.

  Arlene positioned herself behind him. Glancing to Rinea, “Stay close okay? Report anything you see.”

  “Y-Yes, Arlene-leader.” Rinea’s voice was shaken like she just got scolded—even though she felt she didn’t do anything wrong.

  Arlene jabbed at Wattyson’s shoulder. “We can start now.”

  The group moved again in a fragile truce between the two adventurers. Onward to Floor Forty!