It took an hour before everyone was back outside. Stitch followed Weylan as he went from stall to stall, searching for a messenger service. It seemed word of Stitch’s arrival had spread further, since most merchants barely blinked at her appearance. The third finally directed him to a potion seller who also offered such services.

  “You want a message sent to Wildeguard Academy? I have some mirror scrolls that connect to one of the administrative staff. But that’s not cheap. Three gold buys you one sentence of five words or less.”

  Weylan pulled out a few silver pieces. At most, they were worth a little more than two gold. He looked down at his meager reserves, then up at the merchant with a pleading expression.

  Though the man seemed to pity the youth, he still shook his head. “Sorry, lad, but those scrolls cost a lot. What is written on one is mirrored on the other. Both have to be enchanted simultaneously, then one is transported to its destination. I also have to pay someone to place it somewhere it will be noticed when it starts glowing because they received a message. Three gold is a bargain price for a young adventurer. For nobles, my pricing starts at ten.”

  Stitch wordlessly opened her bag and pulled out a gold coin, flipping it next to Weylan’s silver. The merchant nodded, retrieved a scroll from an open cupboard filled with tiny square compartments, each holding a rolled parchment, then took up a silver feather and looked at Weylan expectantly. “So? What’s the message, and for whom?”

  “Send it to Ulmenglanz, a student at Wildeguard Academy. She’s to pass the message on to Selvara. The message is: Come to Meklang dungeon quick.”

  The merchant raised an eyebrow as he wrote. “Instructions beyond the recipient’s name usually cost extra, but you seem desperate.”

  The words on the scroll lit up in a red-orange glow. Weylan noticed the merchant kept it carefully rolled and partially covered, so he could not read any of the older notes that were still on it.

  “Can you recommend an affordable place to stay?” Weylan asked.

  The merchant chuckled. “Such refined language. Try the Silver Eagle. It’s clean and cheap. Don’t drink their ale, though. That stuff is horrible beyond compare.”

  “I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

  After they left, Stitch pulled him into a side alley and fixed him with a stern look. “What was that about? I thought you’d call for a professor, or maybe Darken and your priestess friends. What good will your raven do? You even told me she can cause problems in dungeons.”

  Weylan gulped. “Sorry. I probably should have warned you. There’s something you don’t know…”

  “One of your secrets? Again?” Her tone softened at the end, and she hugged him without warning. “What kind of life did you live that did that to you? I mean…” She silently mouthed the word “assassin”, then continued aloud. “Hoarderscales? The invasion of the Borderforest Kingdom? A secret mage patron?”

  He shifted awkwardly. “Well… there’s been a lot. And… some things I can’t tell you, because they aren’t my secrets. There’s even a contract involved. It…” His throat tightened, and the words refused to come. He trailed off and shrugged.

  Stitch studied him. “Is it a contract enforced by the Voice of the World?”

  He nodded.

  “Hasn’t anyone ever told you never to do that? Never accept a contract enforced by the Voice!”

  “It was a life-or-death situation. There wasn’t really a choice.”

  Stitch glanced toward the spawnpoint. “How will she even get here? Professors could arrange transportation, but your familiar?”

  “She has her ways. I hope. I’m not entirely sure it will work. Let’s get dinner and then return to the dungeon. If we’re lucky, she’ll be here in a few hours.”

  * * *

  A few hours later, the two were chatting amiably while sitting on a bank near the dungeon entrance when loud cawing echoed overhead. They turned to see a raven, presumably Selvara, flying toward them. She landed on Weylan’s shoulder and cocked her head expectantly.

  “Thank the gods you’re here. Something strange is happening in this dungeon. The boss from the fifth level just walked up into the first.”

  The raven swayed, then steadied herself. She hopped onto Weylan’s knee and stared directly into his eyes, as if judging his seriousness.

  “I know. That shouldn’t happen. And there have been inconsistencies in the level refresh…” He quickly summarized everything they had discovered.

  Selvara shuddered, her gaze fixed on the dungeon with mounting dread, visible even on a bird’s face.

  Stitch could no longer restrain herself back and addressed the raven directly. “Weylan told me he can’t share your secrets, but there’s no way you’re a normal familiar. You’re clearly fully intelligent.”

  Selvara met her gaze, then scanned the surroundings. The area was empty. No one seemed eager to enter the dungeon at the moment. Satisfied they couldn’t be overheard, Selvara chuckled, her fairy voice slipping through the raven’s beak.

  “Well, since you’re Weylan’s girlfriend, I suppose I should introduce myself…”

  Weylan and Stitch exchanged a panicked glance at the word “girlfriend”, but, then focused back on the raven.

  “So you’re a transformed human?” Stitch asked.

  “No. Not human.”

  “We don’t have much time until people come that might see or hear us, so,” Selvara said. “So I’ll keep this brief.”

  She shimmered and shifted into her winged humanoid fairy form. Black wings unfurled, revealing intricate golden maze patterns. She smiled warmly and waved.

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  “Hi. I’m Selvara. I’m a dungeon fairy. And a familiar.”

  Something at the way she said that triggered another suspicion in Stitch. “His familiar?”

  “Nope.” Selvara grinned.

  “How did you get here so fast?”

  “Dungeon fairies can enter the fairy realm through small portals only we can use. From there, we can open a gate to any dungeon we have permission to enter.”

  “How do you get permission? Is there fairy bureaucracy?”

  “It’s complicated. Right now, there’s something like a state of emergency… well… which is really secret. Let’s just say the High Fairy granted me permission very easily.”

  Weylan frowned at the dungeon. “Didn’t it react to your arrival?”

  “Strangely, no. I didn’t stay long, but it’s rare for a fairy not to be greeted immediately by the local fairy. I don’t know Gweldagren well. She’s one of the oldest fairies and rarely visits the fairy realm.”

  Stitch needed a moment to process that. “I’ve never heard of dungeon fairies. Do you live in dungeons? How does that work?”

  “Well… There are things I can’t tell you,” Selvara said apologetically. “And I’d really appreciate it if you kept everything about me secret.”

  Stitch grimaced. “I can’t promise that entirely. If my master asks me a direct question, I can’t lie or refuse to answer. Otherwise, I’ll guard your secrets as my own.”

  Weylan raised an eyebrow. “Does your master interrogate you regularly? Or asks you if you know any secrets that he maybe would want to know?”

  “No. He barely talks to me at all.” She paused, then her eyes widened. “Wait. When I told him I wanted to join a class, he asked if I’d found a friend, and I confirmed that. But after that, he didn’t ask a single direct question. I only realized it right now! He was very careful what he asked after that. Like, if I wanted to tell or ask him something or if he could help in any way…”

  Weylan whistled. “So, he didn’t want to force you to talk about your friends. That’s considerate. I’m starting to like him. Whoever he is.”

  Stitch shrugged. “I think he regrets leaving me in the library and mostly forgetting I exist.”

  Selvara shifted back into raven form. The spell already second nature for her. “Let’s go inside. I need to see what’s happening.”

  The guards at the entrance had doubled and were better armed than the day before. They also clearly had their attention on everything coming out of the dungeon. They warned them about unusual dungeon behavior, but allowed them through.

  They descended by elevator. Weylan placed a small bowl on the floor and poured more of the anti-fume potion into it for Selvara. She shot him an indignant look, but drank anyway.

  “I should be immune to dungeon environmental effects,” she muttered, “but I’m not going to risk anything until we know more.”

  The first level greeted them with silence. The vast cavern was empty. Even the equipment was gone, removed or absorbed by the dungeon. Only the distant clicking of metal spiders disturbed the quiet.

  Selvara returned to her fairy form and fluttered upward.

  “Gweldagren! It’s me, Selvara! I come with permission from the High Fairy. You may consider this an official inspection. I demand diplomatic immunity for my companions and myself. Please confirm.”

  She waited.

  Nothing happened.

  After nearly twenty minutes, she returned to Weylan’s shoulder. “That’s bad. Fairy protocol requires immediate compliance. Refusal alone can justify declaring a dungeon rogue.”

  Stitch glanced around uneasily. “Maybe she’s just on the other edge of the dungeon? Or can’t hear you?”

  “This is an ancient dungeon. Portals should be everywhere. Even if she couldn’t hear me, she should have been notified.” Selvara hesitated, then took flight again. “Let’s go deeper.”

  Weylan grimaced. “Are you sure that’s safe?”

  “No. But standing here won’t tell us anything.”

  He sighed. “For the record, this wasn’t me this time that suggested entering the mad dungeon.”

  “We don’t know if it’s rogue. Or mad. Or just… has a problem?”

  Stitch frowned. “You talk like the dungeon is alive.”

  Selvara covered her face. “I am terrible at keeping secrets.”

  Weylan patted her gently mid-flight. “You’re used to talking only to dungeons. Deception takes practice.”

  They pressed on. Metal spiders seemed to be all around them, none of them attacked.

  Weylan looked up when he heard something on the ceiling, but it was too dark that high up to see anything.

  Stitch glanced at the whip on Weylan’s belt. “By the way, why didn’t you pull that thieving spider down with your whip earlier?”

  He winced. “I completely forgot. That would have been badass.”

  Selvara clicked her beak. “You should spend less time with Darken. Your vocabulary is expanding in the wrong direction.”

  They reached the exit to the first floor, a massive mineshaft descending gently. Below lay deep canyons, crisscrossed with ladders and metal walkways. Heat shimmered in the air, drifting upward from the oil pools below. Weylan kept close to Stitch as the three navigated a narrow catwalk of bolted steel bars. The shadows around them quivered from the furnace-like glow of the cavern far beneath.

  Something massive moved in the smoke.

  Selvara hopped from Weylan’s shoulder, feathers bristling. The fairy’s shape blurred for an instant, wings shifting as faint fairy-light glimmered under the feathers.

  “Stop,” Selvara whispered. “He’s here.”

  The Rusting Philosopher emerged, towering beyond what should have been possible on this level. His furnace eyes glowed dimly. Metal plates ground against each other as he advanced.

  He froze when he saw them.

  A confused groan echoed from deep within his frame.

  “He looks scared,” Stitch whispered.

  “He is,” Selvara said, fluttering closer.

  She flew toward the titan, circling once around its head, then perching boldly on a twisted rebar horn. The boss stiffened in surprise, but did not strike.

  “Russilon, guardian of the fifth level. Hear me and stand down. You are among friends.”

  The giant construct stiffened again. Its eye-vents hissed, cooling. The metal plates trembled. Weylan held his breath.

  Stitch whispered, “He’s listening.”

  The boss slowly lowered his head. For a heartbeat, it seemed as if Selvara had soothed him.

  Then the titan recoiled violently, splitting the air with a roar that vibrated the lattice beneath their feet. He swiped blindly at the air, nearly striking the railing.

  Selvara fled back to Weylan. “Something’s wrong,” she said, voice shaking. “He doesn’t know me personally, but he should react to any dungeon-fairy.”

  The titan clutched his own head, confused, stomping on the metal walkway so hard the whole structure groaned. The monster bellowed, staggering sideways like a wounded animal.

  “He’s hurting,” Stitch said softly. “Or maybe confused. And he looks kind of… lost.”

  “Something is wrong here,” Selvara murmured. “Very wrong. That’s one of the oldest known dungeon bosses. He’s renowned for his intelligence and philosophical discourses. He may hide his brilliance from delvers, but from me?”

  Weylan frowned. “Maybe he got a hit to the head?”

  “No,” Selvara said. Her voice dropped. “Then the dungeon would have just respawned him. Unless…”

  The titan roared again, louder, thrashing at shadows like it expected an enemy to leap out from them.

  Selvara narrowed her eyes. Her feathers vibrated as she extended her senses through the metal around them. She touched the walls, the railings, the iron bars. For a dungeon-fairy, all dungeons carried traces of emotion in their structure. Some cold, some curious, some hungry.

  This one felt hollow and wounded.

  She shuddered. “The dungeon seems to be in pain.”

  “Dungeon killers?” Weylan asked quietly.

  She shook her head. “No physical wound would cause something like that. And I’d feel it if the heart had been destroyed. The dungeon would already start to rust and crumble around us. It’s emotional pain. Sadness, or rather utter despair.”

  Weylan looked up sharply. “You don’t think…”

  Selvara nodded. “I think they took it. And the dungeon doesn’t take it well. Not at all.”

  Before Stitch could ask what they meant, a small portal flared up above them and an angry dungeon fairy descended. Her hair was white and disheveled. Dried tear streaks marked a face mixing grief and anger. Her wings flared as the golden lines lit up.

  “Has Meklang been reduced to a curiosity for passersby?” she demanded, her voice sharp yet heavy with age. "Are coin paid tours now paraded through my halls, with a dungeon fairy prattling on about secrets best left buried?"

  She hovered there, radiating cold fury.

  “Give me but one sound reason," she said, each word measured and deliberate, “Why I should not end you where you stand.”

  Clattering and stomping sounded around them. Rising from trapdoors and rappelling down on chains from holes in the ceiling. A swarm of metal spiders blocked the exit up to the first level, some even started weaving nets of gleaming wire to close the opening. Rassilon wandered in through a side tunnel, seeming confused by all the other monsters. Even bigger monsters, their steps shaking the ground, could be heard in the distance.