No, no, no! I have to get out. Have to dig faster. Can’t stay down here any more. It’s too much. My stomach’s killing me, my throat’s on fire. Dig, dig, dig. Out, out, out!

  Escaping from my muddy prison, I dive up onto the surface, immediately falling onto my hands and knees. Heaving and coughing, a runny, blackish bile spews from my mouth, spilling onto the ground.

  “Bref tak?” a puzzled brother dangling above me haltingly muses. “Fras mud. Yas? Nam…?”

  He tightly squints his eyes, hard at thought attempting to discern the properly interpreted noises created during my breach.

  “Ugh. Yas. Fras mud. Gok. Gob Gok,” I correct the record, hoping not to cause any further misunderstandings.

  “Oh! Nam Gok!” he yells over to his partner, who lies deep in slumber half hanging off the side of the pit.

  That was the worst dream yet. I couldn’t take it. What was he doing? It was so far beyond my ability to comprehend. Although, these days, nearly everyone and everything around me is beyond my comprehension. Sadly, even my own two minds. It once seemed as if I was finally taking a grand step forward into a supreme strength and aptitude. However, now it’s all a tragic joke. The punchline being that I’ll remain small and insignificant no matter how high I climb. Tiny minutiae of the present vainly chasing after the heels of the old giants. What’s the point?

  Shaking my head, I forcefully eject the negativity. No! No accepting defeat. That’s one thing that the dream one got right. I was clearly born into this dark and scary world for a reason. Maybe not a very obvious one, but I still possess both the time and energy for the difficult labor of figuring it out.

  Resolutely gathering up all my possessions, I redress my nakedness. As I’m slipping into my body leathers, a sharp pain in my right hand demands my attention. A cut? I’m bleeding. It’s pretty bad. What happened? Why didn’t the mud fix this? When did it even happen? Did I hurt myself when frantically digging my way up to vomit?

  Ugh. If it’s not one thing then it’s another. It’s not worth using any of my scarce healing potions, but I can’t let it stay like this. Rooting through my pack, I discover some of the strange fabrics from the ears. This is probably a good use for these otherwise useless things. Winding them tightly around the wound, I manage to stop the bleeding and force my muddy flesh firmly back together. Could spend my entire life below the mud given all the little scratches and minor injuries I typically receive. Need to find better ways to patch myself back up. Need to figure out how to make my own red potions!

  Patiently waiting for Ha’koff to dig his way out, I sneak over to the sleeping goblin and quickly stash his scroll deep inside my pack. If he’s not going to use it, then I will. After all, I desperately want to understand how this thing works. Maybe I can extract some historical information from it? Unless it’s really only one way. Nothing is truly one way though, right? After all, even a one way street is only a suggestion, and not a truth. One must only be very sneaky and clever about how one traverses such a street.

  Regardless, there’s so many questions that do need answering. For example, this Will or Anatoly or whatever he is. There has to be somewhere that I can find answers.

  So many more cycles of the hunts have passed that I’ve lost count. My little team has merged so effectively with the brotherhood that we’ve become a well oiled machine. Follow the whispers, safely hunt the monstrosities for a bit, and then drag Ha’koff around to wander the strange tunnels exploring. He’s calmed down a bit. Really though, he’s still frustratingly stuck in his silly, perpetual existential crises. Therefore, it’s proven impossible to get him to hold a bow or dagger without panic attacks, let alone practicing any of the more advanced songs. One day, one day. We’ll get there.

  The most positive aspect of the passing cycles has been how much I’ve again managed to hone my little warrior body to its limits.

  Breaking through to the higher tiers of the body hierarchy has proven very difficult. However, it’s only a matter of time. If there’s one thing that I’ve thoroughly proven, it’s that I can break into anything when there’s something inside that I want. It’s only a matter of cleverness and time.

  For example, despite the initial intimidating aura of the walking stick, followup missions into the second portals have been an absolute bonanza of treasure collecting. Knives, daggers, and other weapons lie scattered in the dark corners of the mazes, often beside the skeletal remains of long dead big ones. I even collect the bones and grind them down. The powder contains an amazing potential for my mixing. Many of Garret’s books expounded on this, but even with just a small taste, I can tell that they contain some kind of mysterious power.

  On the other hand, the area around the golden chests is another story. It requires that I be extraordinarily careful. Sneak past the dangerous traps hidden in the floor and walls. Sneak past the semi vigilant brothers, going about their vague jobs. When they do happen to spy my curious investigations, they always devolve into annoying, judgemental glares at the interruption. Well, only briefly. After a short moment, I assume that the whispers scold them back to their real duties, given the glassy lifelessness returning to their eyes. Regardless, the oppressive social weight of their collective stares means that I must be very careful!

  More than a few times, idle brothers stood guard, blocking semi interesting passages and places. However, those obstacles were always quickly dealt with by singing to the shadows, quietly sneaking up on their rear, and then popping a dagger into the base of their neck, conveniently returning them to the pits. Obstacle removed! It’s no spacial song, but Garret’s passion is truly growing on me with practice.

  I’ve even taken to swiping the tools and mechanisms of the teams assisting the walking sticks. The sorts of advanced tricks and surprises that can be constructed with these are fascinating. For example, imitating those terrible spikes near the treasure boxes. Also, magically covered deep holes, hidden strings, and other valuable life lessons for the inattentive brothers clumsily wandering about in the darkness. Ha’koff may be my educational focus right now, but that doesn’t excuse me from at least the occasional outreach of lessons for the others.

  Reach and stretch I do! Do what you love, and you’ll never work a day. Fully embracing the spacial freedom outside the void, I cleverly work my spacial serenades into my traps. Some drop the target from one tunnel into another, deeply confusing and disorienting them. Others plummet my victims into a blender of shredded spacial energies, with a very different and interesting result.

  If a goblin falls on top of a spacial hole much smaller than their person, then it behaves like a soft, solid obstruction. If only a part of them fits through, then the rest simply won’t or can’t follow along the path. However, if the space around the hole has been thoroughly shredded, then all their little bits shift forward or are left farther behind at very different rates. Their physical being is literally torn up from the chaos of everything chaotically moving about at different relative speeds and directions.

  The wounds received aren’t particularly severe at the moment. Mostly small cuts and abrasions. A few left with only a slight rash. However, I’m certain that it can be improved by designing the ragged edges of the hole more carefully. My songs simply aren’t quite up to it yet.

  Regardless, tricks and traps are a blast! Spacial playgrounds are also enriching and amazing. Nevertheless, the true adventure lies in a single question: how the heck am I supposed to get at all the assumably wondrous treasures hidden inside the lovely boxes?