I woke some time later to an absolutely mouth-watering smell and a near blinding headache.
Woke is a bit of an understatement. What I did was sit bolt upright, say something unintelligible, and drool. I frightened the poor iepurrans who were tending to me.
Three of them jumped back from me. One screamed. It wasn’t adorable at all. I may have screamed back in surprise. That was definitely not adorable.
“Ah, esteemed guest, you are back with us,” a voice said from somewhere to my side.
I turned a bleary-eyed gaze towards a white-furred iepurran with tall, thin ears, and spectacularly blue eyes. It wore the same white toga as most of the others, and held several skewers in its paws. Colourful vegetables caught my eye as the iepurran turned towards a small fire pit and set them to roasting over the naked flames.
“Food is nearly ready,” it said patiently. “There is water in that jug next to you.”
I reached out almost without thinking and my fingers grasped the tall neck of some earthen pot. I lifted it to my mouth and drank like a man just returned from the desert. I’m not entirely confident I was completely awake at that point, but the cool, fresh water brought me right around. And it got my stomach growling again.
“Patience, esteemed guest,” the iepurran said. I could hear the amusement in its voice as it sprinkled something over the skewers. “Food for guests must be prepared properly.”
I think it was a male iepurran. Its voice was really low and soft, impossible to really pin to a gender. It was cooking right in the small patch of garden several metres away from where the portal well was.
I finally took in the rest of the gathered group. There were three more, two of which were holding large leaves over my head, protecting me from the sun. They were gingerly waving the leaves, giving me a touch of breeze.
“I’m sorry,” I said, realising my sudden reaction had frightened them. “I just smelled something really good.” As if to agree, my stomach rumbled and growled like an excited puppy. “Shush you,” I said, patting my belly. For a moment I found it ridiculously weird that my beer belly was gone.
“May I?” the last iepurran asked. This one was covered in black fur and had a softer, more feminine voice.
I stared at it, not understanding what it meant until it reached for the jug. I had drained it.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” I said as I handed it over.
The iepurran rushed away towards the well, drew water and refilled the jug. Only then did I realise that I was sitting on the porch of the large manor-like house that I initially took for the town’s… uh, town hall? City centre? I had no idea what it was, but the tracks in the dust from the well to here suggested they’d had to drag me over.
“It is considered bad manners to bring a stranger into one of our homes if they do not express the desire for it,” the cook said without turning to me. “Your meal is ready.”
The two over me approached more as the skewers were brought to me on a shockingly green leaf.
“I… don’t know if I can eat this,” I said.
There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the food. But I didn’t recognise any of those vegetables. There were some kind of tubers cut into slices, something resembling a pepper, and several other roots that I couldn’t identify. One looked like a cross between a horse radish and a ginger root.
“Your biology is compatible with the iepurran diet,” Eternity’s voice spoke in my ear.
For the second time that day, I jumped at the noise. The Eternity blob appeared next to me, softly bobbing in the air.
“All dangerous compounds have been rendered inert by cooking over an open flame,” Eternity went on. “I have instructed them on what is appropriate for your diet.”
“And how would you know?” I asked, more than a little sullen. I was hungry and embarrassed for being startled again.
“Humans are uncommon on Oresstria #2111, but they do exist here. Their diets are known to me, even if not to your hosts. You may eat. It is safe to do so.”
The cook had put out his little fire pit and covered the embers with dust and rocks. It had set up here especially for me, so I felt at least obligated to taste.
“Thank you,” I said before taking the first bite.
And it was delicious! I couldn’t remember ever having something as tasty in my entire life, and definitely never veggies like these. Before I could help myself I wolfed down two of the four skewers, and only mildly slowed down on my third. By the end of the fourth, I was feeling pleasantly full, my hunger drawn back. I drank another jug of water.
“You don’t need to keep me shade,” I said to the two holding the leaves. “It’s not that warm out. Thank you, but you don’t need to do this.”
The two folded up their parasols and departed without a word, not even looking back. The cook and the water bringer had left as well, leaving me alone with Eternity and my thoughts. I had a perfect vantage point over the town centre and life was going on quite alertly there.
“Uh… what happened earlier?” I asked after just staring out at the groups of iepurrans going about their day. “Why am I here, Eternity? Did I do what I had to?”
Eternity took some time before replying.
“You have gained insight. It is a reward for your choice to intervene in a problem not your own. The escalation was unforeseen.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” I scowled at the mote. “Monkey boy, go down into the well. You will get something to understand the language. Do not fight a bear if you find one.”
“You are suspicious of me,” Eternity said, as emotionless as before.
“No shit! You led me to a bear.”
“It was unexpected.” It hesitated for a moment before adding, “I am not allowed to guide you.”
I picked my teeth with the point of a skewer. “By whom?”
“Myself. Guidance is forbidden.”
Hmm, that was interesting, from a philosophical point of view. Why would a powerful AI restrict itself from offering its wisdom? I could imagine a few scenarios, especially connected to what it had said earlier. “Purpose must be found,” it had said. I needed to pay attention to the exact way in which it phrased things.
“So… why am I here?” I asked as I used the tip of a skewer to clean my teeth.
“I cannot say.”
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“What can you say then?” On a full stomach I wasn’t as suspicious as before. Food generally does wonders for my disposition. “When I gained the insight point, I got a notification that restriction had been lifted. What restrictions?”
“I can now provide you with information about system functionality and dungeons. Gaining more insight will allow me more flexibility in how I assist you.”
“Assist me in what?”
“Finding purpose. I cannot state more.”
I snorted at that but considered the words and the circumstance. Eternity, provided it was actually an AI and not some jackass somewhere yanking my nose hairs, genuinely had not forced me into the village, nor into the well in the first place. All of it, I did of my own accord, even if for idiotic reasons. It hadn’t stopped, nor encouraged me, just gone along with my whims.
“What would’ve happened if I hadn’t come here?” I asked. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t done what I did down there?”
I didn’t consider I did much. Touched my sword to a weed. Not much of a dangerous act in itself, bear notwithstanding.
“The infection would have developed further until this area would have gained an elevated risk ranking,” was Eternity’s answer.
“And then?”
“I cannot say.”
Infection. Risk ranking. Those were key words in what it had just said. I pondered for a time. Some of the smaller iepurrans stopped and stared at me, studying me as I stood there alone. None asked me anything and they left after a while, speaking in squeaking voices amongst themselves.
“So… what was that place? The dungeon, I mean?” I asked, just to test what I could learn.
There was a lot to think on and absorb. From the skills I’d unlocked, to the whole levelling and stats system, what their purpose was, all the way to what my purpose was. I decided to take things slowly, at least while I digested the meal.
“A dungeon is a controlling node within a region,” Eternity said. It bobbed more excitedly now. “Many of them are unique and they help regulate the flow of mana through a given region, as a secondary function. When one becomes corrupted by external factors, it can start spreading the corruption within the land itself. Here, you first experienced this issue when passing by the dying tree. It has now been purged and will make a full recovery if tended properly.”
Hot damn, that was actually clear information. I latched onto the idea of mana existing and of a secondary function for the dungeons. Somehow I knew that if I asked for the primary function, I’d run my head against another I cannot say.
“What exactly was that thing that I destroyed?” I asked, trying to keep Eternity going.
“I cannot say,” came the inevitable stonewall
I groaned and clicked my tongue. “Okay. Why was there a bear down there?”
“Many dungeons have safeguard elements built-in, which means they will have guardians. In this case, the guardian [REDACTED] was likely corrupted, a sign of an advanced, virulent infection.”
“Did you really just say redacted out loud?” I asked, trying not to laugh. Secrecy was one thing, speech censorship was just stupid.
“I cannot say.”
I was about to suggest where it could shove its cannot say bit, but the door behind me opened and the red toga iepurran stepped out.
“May I invite you into my humble home?” it asked, bowing its head slightly.
I scrambled up to my feet and returned the bow, unsure if this was the correct thing to do or not. “Uh, sure. I would love to see your home.” Hey, when in Wonderland…
The iepurran turned without another word, went through the low door—when your head’s much lower than your total height, doors don’t need to be quite as tall as you apparently. Its ears brushed the frame. I had to stoop to get through.
I’d expected some picture book home for the iepurran, something like a hobbit’s home. Rustic and dark and smelling of earth and straw.
Instead, the inside of the home featured a lot of cloth covering many fine pieces of sculpted furniture. There were hardly any chairs or stools. There were, however, plants everywhere. I was greeted by no fewer than twenty pots of various weeds, flowers, vines and a lot of other assorted greenery that I had no way of identifying. The place was a jungle, and it smelled almost fresher than the outside air.
There was a lamp on the ceiling, casting a soft, warm light that was far too stable to be candlelight.
“I hope the food was adequate,” the iepurran said as it led me through the thickets of its home. The ceiling was low enough that I had to watch out not to bonk myself.
“It was delicious,” I said, still feeling pleasantly full. “Uh, sorry if this is impolite, but what do I call you?” So far none of the iepurrans had given their names and it was strange just thinking of them by the colour of their fur.
“This one is Eklil,” it answered.
“Nice meeting you, Eklil,” I said, happy to get a sense of normal. “I’m Klaus.”
“The pleasure is shared. I must thank you for your support with our problem. It had begun spreading to our crops. Your arrival was timed perfectly.”
Eklil led me to a tall table and pulled out a chair for me to sit. It was low and uncomfortable-looking, but I accepted it gladly. If Eternity couldn’t give me any information, then maybe the iepurrans could. After all, I was in their village and what happened today didn’t seem quite out of the ordinary for them.
While I sat and looked around at the wealth of green on display, Eklil prepared a drink for us. “It is customary for us to serve our guests tea when they first visit our small corner of the land. I am sorry we did not start with this, but your companion explained you had to go down into the dungeon before you could understand my words.”
The old iepurran set out two glass mugs in front of us, then poured a spectacularly-coloured tea from a steaming pot. It was a vibrant green, much more intense than matcha.
I looked behind him at where he’d prepared the tea and found no stove. Nor any other apparatus for burning stuff. How’d he heat the thing?
I even looked up and took a better look at the lamp. It held, within four glass jars, motes of light. They looked like fireflies, but much larger and much brighter.
“You are… new here,” Eklil said slowly as it eased itself onto a chair next to me. “You have questions.”
“More than you’d believe,” I said, still staring at the captive light. It wasn’t a light bulb. There were no wires. I had to resist the temptation to get up and reach for it to study.
Eklil slid my mug across the table. “First, tea, honoured guest Klaus. We are strangers now. Drink tea with me, and we will be acquainted. Join me for the evening tea, and we will be friends. Visit me again and drink with me, and you will be family.”
We drank at the same time.
Back home, I would make myself tea every other day. Normally the kind that you got in a tea bag. The taste normally had me wondering if they packaged whatever dust had fallen off the conveying line at the end of proper tea production.
This tasted nothing like that. It had a hint of green tea, but with a wonderful aroma of spices that I couldn’t begin to identify. It went down as smooth as a good whisky, and warmed me up from the belly outward. I had to stop myself from quaffing.
“This is amazing,” I said. “What’s in this?”
“I grow it myself. I grow it right here.” Eklil gestured with the steaming mug at some of the plants on display. “I am a tea maker by trade and skill. I will prepare a gift of it for you.”
“Oh, you don’t need to do that,” I said, hastily, not wanting to impose. “I… uh, didn’t mean it like that. I just thought it was good.”
Eklil shook its head and sipped some more. “It is an honour for a guest to accept a gift. Please, do me the honour.”
I nodded. And I felt ashamed of my earlier angry thoughts from the dungeon. Part of me knew I’d been justified in my suspicion, but it still stung to consider it after the kindness the iepurrans were showing me. I made a mental note to better check my circumstances before diving into any other portal.
“I will gladly accept a gift of tea if it’s no bother to you,” I said, bowing my head towards the wizened iepurran. “It is the best tea I’ve ever drank.”
We drank in silence for a time and Eklil refilled both our mugs.
I was still staring at the lights, trying to figure out how they worked. Eklil saved me the question, “They are captive light sprites. My tenth nephew is a light weaver. He’s built these for all our homes.”
“Why do you have your shutters drawn?” I asked, gesturing to the boarded up window.
“The sprites draw too much light during the day. They become blinding. We open the shutters at night. You will see, if you will do me the honour of being hosted in my home.”
I let out a small chuckle. “I don’t really have anywhere to be,” I said, realising that it was actually true. The feeling was extremely strange.
I had nowhere to be. Nothing to do. No issue to solve.
“Eternity?” I asked, digesting the moment.
“Yes?” The light popped into existence, like a freed mote.
“Am I dead?”
Eklil looked at me, head tilted to one side. “Why would you believe you are dead, honoured guest Klaus?” it asked.
“Because I’m supposed to be.” I still stared at Eternity’s mote. “And if I’m not, I’d like to stay here a while longer.”
“You have survived your battle with the bear,” Eternity said.
“I’m aware of that. It’s not what I asked.”
Eklil set down the mug on the table and reached a paw to touch my hand. It was a light caress, just above my wrist. The touch was warm with the heat of the mug, surprisingly human.
“Honoured guest,” it said. I looked up and met its eyes. “It is this old iepurran’s belief that the dead will seldom fight for life. The dead flit away, for it is their writ to seek what comes, not linger in what was.”
“In short,” Eternity continued, its tone slightly smug. “You are not dead, Klaus. Life must continue, and yours continues here. If you so choose.”
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