More time passes. Tara has lost track of how long—days, maybe weeks. The dragon's tail keeps swishing. The torches keep flickering. The water keeps dripping.

  "Great," Tara thinks. "No body. No pleasures, unwavering isolation and a great view of the dragon's back forty. At least this guy doesn't poop!"

  And Tara keeps trying to stop the energy flow.

  It is like trying to hold your breath when you don't have lungs. Or trying to stop your heart when you don't have a heart. The energy flows from him automatically, constantly, like a river that can't be dammed. He focuses, he concentrates, he *wills* the energy to stop flowing, but nothing happens.

  The stream of energy continues, unwavering, feeding the dragon that sits below him.

  "Come on," Tara thinks, focusing all his awareness on the energy stream. "Stop. Just... stop flowing. Please?"

  Nothing.

  He tries imagining a valve, a switch, a plug. He tries thinking about cutting the connection, severing the link. He tries visualizing the energy pooling inside him instead of flowing out.

  Still nothing.

  The energy keeps flowing. One unit per second, every second, feeding the dragon, making it stronger, ensuring it will kill anyone who comes looking for treasure.

  Tara is getting desperate.

  Then, footsteps again.

  Not just footsteps—more of them. Louder. More organized. Tara can hear voices, multiple conversations happening at once. This isn't a small party of adventurers. This is a larger group.

  "Are you sure about this?" a voice asks.

  "Absolutely," another replies. "The reports say four adventurers went missing here. If they found something valuable, we need to secure it before word spreads."

  "Or we could just leave," a third voice suggests, sounding nervous.

  "Where's your sense of adventure?" the first voice laughs. "Besides, we've got twelve people. What could possibly go wrong?"

  Tara feels a chill that has nothing to do with temperature. Twelve people. Twelve people are about to walk into the room akin to their doom.

  The dragon's tail stops swishing. It has heard them too.

  Tara redoubles his efforts, focusing everything he has on stopping the energy flow. He imagines walls, barriers, anything that could block the stream. He pushes against it mentally, trying to force it back, to contain it.

  Still nothing.

  The group enters. Twelve of them. Warriors, mages, rogues, healers—a full adventuring party, well-equipped and organized. They spread out in a formation, weapons drawn, magic glowing.

  "Poison Drake," one of the mages says, her voice steady. "Level forty. Standard formation. Healers in the back. Tanks forward. DPS spread out."

  The dragon leaps from its pedestal, landing on the floor with a thud. It is ready.

  Tara watches, helpless, as the energy flows from him into the dragon. He can see it clearly now, a bright stream of power making the creature stronger, faster, deadlier.

  "No," Tara thinks, desperation turning to something else—something sharp and focused. "No. I will not be responsible for this. I will not let these people die because of me."

  He focuses on the energy stream, and this time, he doesn't try to stop it. Instead, he tries to *pull* it back. To reverse the flow. To take the energy that is flowing out and force it to stay inside him.

  It is like trying to push against a waterfall. The energy wants to flow out. It is designed to flow out. But Tara pushes back, mentally, with everything he has.

  The stream wavers.

  Just for a moment, just a flicker, but it wavers. The energy hesitates, slows, as if confused by the resistance.

  Tara feels something shift inside him. The energy that has been flowing out is now... pooling. Accumulating. Building up inside him.

  He pulls harder, focusing on containing the energy, on storing it instead of releasing it.

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  The dragon continues fighting, seemingly unaffected. It has been receiving energy for days, weeks—it has plenty stored. The adventurers are holding their own, but the dragon is still strong, still fast, still deadly.

  Tara keeps pulling, keeps storing, keeps containing. The energy builds up inside him, and he can feel it—a pressure, a weight, a sense of fullness. But he keeps going, pulling more and more energy back, storing it instead of letting it flow to the dragon.

  And then, something breaks.

  Not the dragon—though it is definitely losing—but something inside Tara. A barrier, a limit, something that has been holding him back. And as it breaks, words appear in his awareness:

  **NEW ABILITY UNLOCKED: ENERGY STORAGE**

  **Storage Capacity:** 1,000,000 units

  **Current Storage:** 1,247 units (and growing)

  Tara stares at those words, rather perceives them. Energy storage. He can store energy now. He can stop it from flowing to the dragon.

  He pulls harder, faster, storing every bit of energy he generates. The stream to the dragon slows to a trickle, then stops entirely.

  The dragon, in the middle of lunging at one of the warriors, suddenly falters. Its movements become clumsy, its attacks weak. It is as if something vital has been cut off—the constant stream of power it has been receiving is gone. The adventurers, sensing the change, press their advantage, and within minutes, the dragon is down.

  It isn't dead—Tara can see it breathing, weakly—but it is defeated. The adventurers cheer, moving to secure the treasure.

  Tara watches, his energy now flowing into storage instead of the dragon. The counter climbs steadily: 1,500 units. A few minutes pass. 2,000 units. More time. 3,000 units. The counter keeps climbing, one unit per second, marking each passing moment.

  One of the adventurers—a warrior with a scar across his face—looks up at Tara's pedestal. "Hey, what's that?" he asks, pointing.

  The others look up. Tara can see them examining him, his pyramid form, his glowing runes.

  "It's an artifact," one of the mages says, moving closer. "Looks powerful. Should we take it?"

  "Careful," another warns. "Artifacts can be dangerous."

  The scarred warrior reaches up, his hand closing around Tara's pyramid form.

  And Tara, for the first time since becoming a pyramid, feels something. Contact. Touch. The warrior's hand is warm, rough, calloused.

  "Feels... warm," the warrior says. "Like it's generating energy or something."

  Tara's storage counter keeps climbing steadily as they gather the treasure and prepare to leave. 4,000 units. 4,500 units. The energy is building up inside him, and he can feel it—a sense of power, of potential, of possibility.

  As the warriors approach the pedestal, Tara thinks, "Yes, It was because of me that you guys survived! I don't need you to bow to me, I am a humbleee..."

  The warrior lifts Tara from his pedestal, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Tara moves. He is being carried, held in someone's hand, taken away from the dragon's backyard.

  "Wow, handle me with care. I am delicate and precious." Tara complains to himself as the warrior handles it casually. "I'm not a Tetra Pack you can just toss around! I'm a sophisticated tetrahedron artifact with feelings! I have got all kinds of emotional angles."

  "Let's get out of here," the scarred warrior says. "We've got what we came for. And this thing might be worth something."

  Tara watches as they leave the room, the defeated dragon lying on the floor, the treasure being gathered, and tara being carried away. He can't interact with them but being with humans make him feel safe.

  "Well," Tara thinks, as they walk through the dungeon corridors. "This is new. And at least I'm not powering a murder-dragon anymore. No more staring at the dragon's tailgate! Goodbye, I won't be back!"

  The storage counter keeps climbing, one unit per second. 6,000 units. "That's 6,000 seconds of accumulation," Tara calculates. "About an hour and forty minutes. Hours will pass before I reach even 10,000, let alone the full capacity of 1,000,000. I'm a slow charger."

  Tara wonders what will happen when it reaches that limit.