The founding of Harvest was not a peaceful affair.

  I’m starting to suspect that everything I know about humanity’s history has been altered, is outright wrong, or some combination of the two. Despite that, I trust the brutal accounts of the founders’ struggles to secure the continent; there’s physical proof. Places where great beasts and the great spells that felled them scarred the land. Time was they were considered something of holy spots, admirers of the founders and the saints among them journeying to the sites of humanity’s greatest triumphs to, I don’t know, bask in their lingering glory. That kind of thing died off well before my time, a needless waste of resources that couldn’t be justified as the worship of the saints became more casual.

  Still, standing on the rocky lip of this massive pit, I can see why people once made the journey. The land here feels ancient and heavy, like a battlefield that refuses to forget. Sparse grass clings to the uneven ground, bent by a chill wind that seems to rise from the pit itself. The air carries a damp, mineral smell, and beneath my boots the stone is cracked and gouged, as if clawed by something far too large to be real. Looking out over the pit, it’s humbling to think mortal hands did this. How did hunters, once capable of such feats, fall so far?

  “It’s pretty deep,” Alana says, crouched near the edge. Her hair is tied back into a small knot, and paired with her loose shirt and worn trousers, she looks rugged. Someone might mistake her for a cute man at a distance. The sword at her waist wouldn’t help. “There’s water at the bottom.”

  “It is surprising it is not filled to the brim, given the time that has passed,” Kierra muses. For some reason, she still has Anna in her arms, holding the girl with an ease that would suggest she’s a bundle of feathers rather than a growing girl.

  “Think they built ditches?”

  “More likely magic kept it clear,” I answer, rubbing my chin. “They probably sent a mage every few years to drain it, until someone decided to put it off.”

  Alana shakes her head. “You really think the worst of them.”

  “Them?”

  “Everyone. Eh, everyone except pretty women.”

  “At least I’m consistent.”

  Kierra’s laugh rings out, rich and warm, briefly pushing back the eerie stillness of the place. Alana rolls her eyes and rises, brushing dust from her knees. “I can still see the top of the memorial. What do we do about the water?”

  “Nothing. The cache isn’t underground.”

  “Really?”

  Her brow furrows. I don’t blame her. In the very center of the pit, a weathered stone spire rises from the water, carved with the names of those who gave their lives to slay the creature. It would be the perfect place for buried treasure—dramatic, theatrical, exactly what bedtime stories teach us to expect. Which is precisely what the first guildmasters counted on.

  “Come on. I see the stairs.”

  I lead the group along the side of the Pit and we descend carefully. The staircase is old, older than anything else in this part of the continent, carved directly into the stone. Dust clings to my boots as bits of rock crumble beneath each step. The walls are slick in places where rainwater has trickled down over centuries, leaving faint mineral stains that glimmer faintly

  Forty-eight is the magic number. Forty-eight steps down, I pause, turning to the wall. Gently, I place a palm on the rock and reach for my mana, feeling its flow. In the old hunter’s mind, a master caster would make the earth flow outward without leaving a single crack or chip to give away the hidden entrance. I don’t have the finesse for that.

  A simple spell, courtesy of Bell, loosens the stone in an area as tall as I am. I have to use it a few times to get the consistency I want, showing my awkwardness. Then I start scooping out the thick dirt, tossing it over my shoulder where it rains down on the water below with soft plops.

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  It doesn’t take long to reveal a well-made passage. “There we go!” I proclaim to my audience. “A bit of a hunt after all, eh?”

  “What a cute little mole,” Kierra coos.

  “Excellent burrowing technique, my lady,” Earl adds in his dry, unreadable way.

  Talia softly applauds.

  “You all…”

  “Let me go first,” Alana says. “I’ll light the way.”

  I move aside as tiny golden motes bloom into existence around her. They swirl like fireflies, joined by a larger glowing orb as Rolly flits excitedly among them. A truly magical sight that feels right for the discovery ahead of us. I’m almost sad the walk to the small cavern is so short, but the bounty inside stokes a rare anticipation that smothers the bittersweet feeling.

  “Stone?” Alana mutter in confusion as she takes in the sight of the five chests, two against either side wall and one on the opposite wall.

  “Less prone to degradation,” I answer as I wander to the lone chest. Her lights follow me, throwing dramatic shadows in my wake as I kneel before it. My hands trace the rough surface, finding a thin seam that tells its not a whole structure that requires magic to open, just brute strength. An opinion that changes as my prime form strains to move it; this isn’t normal stone. I doubt half a dozen warriors working together could shift it. Probably another job for whatever earth caster is supposed to be with us but my prime form is too ridiculous for common sense.

  The lights move closer, illuminating the contents. The smell of old books hits my nose, making me smile painfully; they don’t look well cared for. Another place where the traditionalists slacked. They threw their lives away for their precious legacy and yet, they can’t even care for it properly.

  I lift a book carefully. The cracked leather binding flakes under my fingers, and the pages are yellowed and brittle. Still, when I open it, they separate cleanly. “Let’s see… Logbook of the honorable scoundrel, Captain Jonathan Blake,” I read aloud. “Who takes up the sad and solemn task of securing humanity’s future. We have been abandoned by the Gods who would sunder the world in their anger. We cannot stand against them. Our only option is to flee and hope there is a corner of this fickle world safe from their disregard…”

  That’s…saints, I read one sentence and there’s already so much to unpack. I knew the old kingdoms worshipped gods, but I didn’t know that meant dragons. It puts their decision to flee in perspective; might go a long way to excusing what immediately seems to be cowardice. We’ll see; there’s a dozen books here for context.

  An excited yelp makes me turn. Anna is halfway into a chest, Kierra holding her in place. Once she starts squirming, my wife helps her upright, the girl tightly clutching a skull against her chest.

  Because of course she is. Leave it to them to find the remains.

  “What’s this?” I ask, walking over. I notice there’s something embedded in the front of the skull. A gem? No, no one would put a random jewel in a piece of bone. It has to be magical. And given its color…

  I hiss. That’s a celestial affinity stone. I’m this close to telling to drop it, but I relent, drawing on every ounce of control so I don’t scare the girl.

  “Here!” she says, presenting it to me like it’s the greatest thing in the world. Her smile loosens the knot of anxiety in my gut as I take it by its curled horns. The empty eye sockets seem to bore into me as I hold it up to my face. I turn it upside down. As expected. The inside of the skull is absolutely covered in engravings. This is an artifact.

  Once more, I resist the urge to toss it aside. Or smash it. I should probably smash it. Is it possible for an artifact to manipulate the future? Could this thing be affecting my fate right now?

  I put it back in the stone chest before I can do something regretful. “This is more than I thought.” Too much to catalogue before nightfall and too much to take back in our carriage, despite its size. “We’ll have to see if someone can spare a wagon. And some stuff to hold this all in.” I didn’t expect the guilds to use containers as heavy as mountains, though it’s a pretty good anti-theft measure.

  “I will run to the village and see if any are willing to part with one for a while.”

  “No, I’ll do that,” Alana offers instead. I flash her a grateful smile; she knows that I’m trying to give the siblings a break. “But what are we going to do if they don’t want to part with anything? A wagon is valuable for small families, proper ones anyway. So are crates and barrels.”

  “If we can locate an appropriate tree, I can make them,” Kierra proposes.

  Because of course she can.

  “I better get going.”

  I beckon her over with a finger and drop a kiss on her before she can react. Then I hand over a small coin purse, slapping it into her palm. “Have you ever wanted to play the part of the overbearing noble?”

  “No.”

  “Really? What did you want to be? Besides a James, with all the madness and recognition that comes with it.”

  She grins. “When we placed knights and titans, I liked playing the monster. Does that count?”

  “It’s cute, so sure.” I grab her by the shoulders and push her to the door. “Go, go.”

  “I’m going.”

  “Now,” I say, once she runs off. I motion for the siblings to come closer. “Why don’t you two pick out something you like? One item, whatever it is, it’s yours.”

  Anna squeals while Earl stares at me with wide eyes. “But…what should I pick?”

  “Easy. Something amusing.”