Eric entered the armory right as Shannon was exiting the training field. She looked exhausted, but had a smile on her face.

  She spent a lot less time out there than me. It had to have been less than ten minutes. I guess that she didn’t put on as much of a show, or maybe she didn’t get as many questions. I suppose that makes sense, since she is a True Stalker. It’s not all that interesting of a Class.

  Peter spoke first. “How was it?”

  “It was good! I think I really impressed them with my shooting.” Shannon’s voice was slightly louder than before. Less mousy, and more assured. She held up the massive arbalest; the butt stock couched on her hip. “I can shoot far, and it hits hard. Plus, I got to sneak around undetected!” She giggled and covered her mouth with her other hand. “Even scared some of the nobles when I swiped their coin pouches—I gave them back, I promise!”

  Peter rolled his shoulders and walked past her. “Guess it’s my turn then.” He glanced at Naomi, “Unless you want to go next?”

  “I don’t think I’ll be as impressive as you will,” Naomi said matter-of-factly and with a hint of defeat in her tone.

  Seraphine clicked her tongue. “Not all Classes are visually impressive.” She looked at Peter. “Go ahead. I’ll take Naomi to a workshop a few levels down so she can better prepare.”

  Peter gave Naomi a look of concern, but ultimately nodded. “See you all later.” Once he’d exited, the doors were shut behind him by the guards.

  Seraphine took Naomi and departed, leaving Shannon and Eric standing there. Shannon disassembled the arbalest as Eric sat down, and she took a seat opposite him once she had stowed the equipment. “So . . .” Shannon scooted the bench she was sitting on closer to him. “What do you think about all this?”

  “Being in a world with mana, Skills, and literal fire at my fingertips?” To emphasize the point, Eric held up his hand and manifested a Blackflame Bolt, but held it and prevented it from being launched. “I think it’s badass.” He let the Rote fade and felt the mana thwip back into his body, which was as strange a feeling as always. Like inhaling during a sneeze.

  Eventually my channels will get used to reversing the flow, he thought. Gah, I hate that feeling so much.

  She looked melancholic. “Don’t you . . . aren’t you upset we can’t go home?”

  Eric thought back to his life back on Earth before the first summoning timeline. His father was a good man, though absent most days due to work. But they had a father-son day every Sunday, when the shop was closed. Sunday morning, church dress, then their favorite restaurant: a little cantina run by his auntie and avó. Then, they would watch football in the evening, which was normally an older broadcast thanks to time-zone differences. The memories brought a smile of warmth to his face, especially of his older brother dressed in his SC Braga gear and rooting on his favorite player.

  “I’m upset,” Eric replied, not really feeling that way but wanting to empathize with Shannon. He had felt that way the first time around. Not anymore. It had just been too long. “There’s no point in tearing yourself up over it though. We’re stuck here, so we might as well make the best of it.” He looked up to meet her gaze, which was filled with a grief he recognized well. After standing up, he moved to sit next to her and gently, as if asking for permission, wrapped his arm around her shoulder.

  She leaned into him and he felt her shaking. “I—I’ll never see my brother.” Her voice cracked, and she began to cry. “He—he’s gone. I ab-abandoned him.”

  The girl’s a wreck. I just need to keep playing up the caring surrogate brother and I’ve got her allegiance.

  Eric pushed his cloak into her hands so she could use it as a kerchief. He sat there, letting her get all the emotion out. He genuinely wanted to keep her safe, and his stomach curdled at the tactic he was using, tearing between wanting to actually be there as a comfort and knowing that this was a manipulation tactic—albeit a minor one. As she began to calm down, he rubbed her arm. “It’ll be okay. We’ll stick together.” He meant those words, there was no lie in that.

  They sat there for a few minutes. Eric could hear the sound of combat outside, hear the impressed sounds of the audience, could hear Peter’s bravado-filled voice as he seemed like he was used to putting on a show. The man seemed to have gotten over his initial anger and begun to accept that they were in—what Eric would have described in his first go around—as a fucked up situation.

  Shannon pulled away a bit and turned to face him. “Thanks, Eric.” Her voice was still small, but the fear was gone, now replaced with the lingering sorrow that Eric knew would persist for some time.

  It had taken him a whole season to get over the grief of losing his family forever. He had no clue how long it would take her. That was made easier by the fact that he was comforted by the then-loving embrace of the Admiral who frequently took him to bed. Shannon wouldn’t have that physical distraction. He’d need to be there for her as a support if she was going to be any level of emotionally stable.

  “No problem,” Eric replied. “We’re here for each other.”

  The double doors opened before either could say anything else, and Peter walked in. His clothes were ripped and torn, his muscles were practically writhing under the skin as he unintentionally flexed, and the hammer shaft in his hand had imprints where his fingers gripped it.

  “Holy fuck,” Peter said as the guards shut the door behind him. He dropped the hammer on the ground and let out a laugh. “I was amazing! Fought three guards and I absolutely rocked their shit!”

  Eric smiled and gently squeezed Shannon’s shoulder before letting her go. “Your clothes are pretty messed up.” He saw that Peter’s attire had several slashes that came from swords.

  “Oh, yeah, a neat Skill I can use. It makes me really hard to hurt. And apparently, the more injured or tired I get, the stronger it is. The same goes for . . . whachamacallit. Index!” His eyes glazed over briefly before they refocused on Eric’s. “Right, I get some damage amplification the more injured I get. That’s from a Trait called Reckless Strength.”

  Eric smirked. “You up front, me and Shannon in the back; no monster can stand up against us.”

  “Monster?” Shannon asked. “Seraphine mentioned something about those.”

  Eric looked back to her, about to reply, but Seraphine and Naomi re-entered the armory. He was thankful for that, as if he had answered, it might have been knowledge that he should not have known yet as a newly Summoned. His habit of answering every question posed to him almost bit him in the ass right there.

  Naomi had a box of bits and pieces of metal, tubing, pipes, and more junk. She had a look of extreme excitement. “I’m going to really impress them with all this!”

  Peter let out a little chuckle. “Looks like a ton of junk.” Quickly, he added, “—But I’m sure someone as smart as you will make something good out of it.”

  “Oh, just watch,” Naomi replied with a grin.

  Seraphine gestured to the guards, one of which left his post and grabbed the box from Naomi with ease. “Go forth, Summoned Takinaka.” Naomi departed the room with the guard, and the one who remained shut the door behind her. Seraphine turned to the trio. “Blackflame Mage Mercer, Reaver Steele, True Stalker Murphy . . . the four of us have some time to talk if you like.”

  Shannon nodded and patted the bench next to her, also grabbing Eric’s robe and gently tugging for him to sit. Once he complied, she said, “What are monsters? I mean, I think I get the gist of it. Big scary things, right?”

  Peter sat opposite the two, and Seraphine sat next to Peter. Her nose wrinkled, and her brows raised. Eric watched as she tried to maintain her composure, but after a second, she turned to him. “Reaver Steele . . . do you mind sitting farther away? No offense intended.”

  “Sorry,” Peter replied as he stood up and moved across the room, leaning against a pillar and looking back sheepishly. “I sweat when I work out. And those guys put me through the wringer. I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”

  Seraphine nodded politely and faced Shannon. “Monsters are a catchall term. It describes any type of creature within a dungeon, although each of them generally have a specific name. They come in many different shapes and sizes . . .” She began listing them off.

  Eric tuned her out. He’d fought hundreds in his last timeline—well, not necessarily fought, he had mostly healed or protected other people while they fought the monsters.

  The first floor of the Twilight Depths has Duskbound Zombies, which should be easy to handle. Then there’s the Graveborn Striders after the trap room. Last is that Corpse Amalgamation. All of them give Monster Parts.

  “What are dungeons?” Peter asked when the conversation on monsters had seemingly wrapped up.

  Eric answered in his thoughts, tuning out Seraphine.

  They’re dangerous is what they are: pocket dimensions that are fractured echoes of other realities. They appear randomly, containing monsters that begin entering the real world if left uncleared for too long.

  Eric shuddered as he remembered his first dungeon break. ‘Farming’ monsters that trickled out of dungeons could be lucrative enough for a kingdom to tolerate them being left uncleared, but it was also very risky.

  They only vanish if someone claims the Dungeon Core.

  Eric looked at Shannon, who was listening with rapt attention at Seraphine’s own explanation, though Eric was in his own mind and didn’t hear what she was saying.

  Dungeon cores are the best type of material to give to Artisan Classes, like Naomi, to improve or make new gear.

  “And what makes the Twilight Depths special?” Shannon asked Seraphine.

  Once more, Eric answered in his thoughts.

  It’s a mega dungeon, with seemingly endless floors that each contain unique Dungeon Cores: one per person. They don’t ever go away, and you can’t repeat floors.

  Eric scratched his nose absently as he lamented how little of his first life he’d spent in the Twilight Depths. After the trial run in his first timeline, he’d never descended into the mega dungeon again.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  This time would be different. He planned on going far deeper, leveraging his Class’s ability to gain milestones from killing monsters.

  He vividly recalled the reason why the guards and Seraphine would be accompanying them, yet not helping at all on the trial run. The Twilight Depths tracked the ‘progress’ of every person who entered. The monsters and traps would be ephemeral to the guards and Seraphine, since they had all been through the first floor.

  Only Peter, Naomi, Shannon and Eric would be able to interact with—or be injured by—them. Thankfully, the mega dungeon also acted like a flexible instanced environment, keeping track of who entered with whom and when. If Eric went in solo, the encounters would scale down in difficulty to be appropriate to a single individual. If he went in with a group of twenty hired hands, the difficulty would ramp up.

  It was standard practice in Trok that anyone who entered the Twilight Depths mega dungeon would tackle the first floor ‘blind,’ whether solo or in a group. No dungeon guide, no lessons in what was coming: a true blind evaluation of one’s abilities and training. Often, a dungeon organization like the Delvers’ Guild would have a representative who accompanied the individuals to score them and rate their progress.

  In their case, The Summoned would be subjected to the same treatment. A blind, first-floor Twilight Depths run, but they had an advantage: Eric knew what was coming. He knew exactly what they would encounter. Each monster they killed would produce Monster Parts which could be taken to a Refiner Class, turned into Components, and then those could be given to an Artisan Class to make gear.

  Eric tuned back in to the conversation once Seraphine had finished explaining everything he already knew. “Guilt-free violence?” he commented with a wry grin. “I get to light things on fire and get stuff that can be sold?”

  “That’s right,” Seraphine replied with a grin.

  Shannon raised her hand politely. “What if we don’t want to go into dungeons?”

  “You don’t have to,” Seraphine replied. “Combat Classes tend to do well in there, but you can do anything aligned with your path to reach milestones.” She gestured to Peter. “For example, Reaver Steele’s Class can benefit from physical exercise, increasing strength, practicing with martial weaponry, and even being subjected to physical harm. You could progress by sneaking around, stealing, scouting.” She shared a mischievous grin with Shannon. “You can steal without guilt, provided you return the property. It is also quite useful for identifying flaws in defenses. I am sure that there are many nobles who would value having their estate’s probed by a Summoned.”

  “Like a white-hat hacker!” Shannon replied. She was on the edge of her bench, hanging off of Seraphine’s every word, seeming to lose herself in the explanations provided. Eric figured it was a means to cope with the loss of her brother, that tossing herself into Elyndor like diving into the deep end of a pool would be the best way to get over it.

  Seraphine shifted her gaze to Eric. “I know what you’d prefer, Blackflame Mage Mercer.”

  Eric, confidence brimming, replied, “I’ll be spending a lot of time in the mega dungeon.”

  “Oooh!” Shannon raised her hand. “I know we can’t interact with the stuff other people are dealing with. But, well, if Eric cleared the second floor, and then I went to do it with Peter, would Eric be able to interact with us?”

  “Oh yes,” Seraphine replied. “Having a more veteran individual along to provide guidance and emergency healing if required is common. Generally, dungeon organizations will charge a fee for someone to accompany you in such a capacity.” Her gaze narrowed.

  Seraphine glanced at the double-doors. “Summoned Takinaka will probably not be accompanying you into the mega dungeon aside from this first attempt. Most Profession Classes do not delve frequently. However, your success will lead to her success.”

  “Because we can harvest the Monster Parts, and these Dungeon Cores, and give them to her?” Eric asked, wanting to keep up his fa?ade.

  “Yes,” Seraphine replied. “But you’ll need a Refiner Class to work with Monster Parts, first. The Consortium has those. They will do the task for a small cut of the total Components produced by the process.” She grinned. “The good news is that you will be given a lifetime license to access the mega dungeon. A gift from the kingdom for ripping you away from your homes.”

  As if on cue, the double doors opened, and Naomi walked into the room. She was beaming, and in her hands she had a gun. A full-on firearm that looked like something out of a steampunk convention, covered with tubes and little lines of crushed wires. “I made a rifle!” she said gleefully.

  Fuck! Eric thought. She’s not supposed to invent firearms yet. She went way too advanced too fast.

  Peter just let out a whistle. “Pretty neat.”

  “What is that?” Seraphine asked.

  Naomi’s voice was filled with enthusiasm, and she rapidly explained, “This is what I’m calling a mana acceleration blaster, or MAB as an acronym. It condenses down the mana in my body, turns it into the gaseous form again, and then I can let it build up like steam, insert a projectile into the chamber, and bang! Release the trigger and I’ve got a rifle!” She cleared her throat and calmed down a bit. “Well, it’s more like a potato gun, but it's the same principle!”

  Seraphine’s eyes glinted with some intention Eric couldn’t quite break down but knew couldn’t be good. “Can anyone use it?” she asked.

  Naomi shook her head. “Nope! Only me. And I’m never going to introduce these to the world at large.” She looked at Eric, and he saw a resolve in her gaze, as if she was silently communicating her intent of keeping her incredible advancements to herself.

  He felt a wave of relief wash over him.

  Good, she’s sticking to her moral code from the last time.

  In his past timeline, Naomi had declared that she would never allow her technology to be used for evil. All her advanced technology had safeguards in place that enabled her to disable them on a whim. Even the amazing advancements like the train networks she’d arranged had shutoff points that, if disabled, only she could restore.

  Shannon sighed. “Damn, I was hoping to get one.”

  “It’s not very stealthy,” Naomi said as she waved her hands over the device. It compressed down into a small version the size of a pistol that she pocketed. She looked at Seraphine. “What now?”

  Seraphine stood. She appeared disappointed by Naomi’s response. “Now, I will take you to your estate.”

  “Our estate?” Shannon asked, sounding excited.

  “Of course,” Seraphine replied, perking up and resuming her perfect posture. “You might not be allowed to leave Tenebria, the capital proper, but we wouldn’t make you live in prison cells. That would be barbaric and completely improper. Come along, and I shall escort you to your new residence.”

  The estate was on a lower part of the mountain, beneath the main citadel. Still in the royal district of the terraced capital, but separate. They were off of one of the main roads that led down from the rocky promontory above but set back a few plots for a bit of privacy.

  The entire complex was surrounded by chest-high walls with steel, spiked rods that rose another ten feet to provide a protective enclosure.

  As much a shield as a cage.

  Seraphine led them to the building, where two servants—one male, one female—were standing in pressed, proper servant attire. “These two are assigned to the estate and will cook, clean, and perform errands for you throughout the capital if you desire. The estate is at your disposal as long as the king permits.”

  And they are both working for the Spymaster.

  “This is badass,” Peter said as he walked to the left of the building. “We’ve got a pool!”

  “And hot springs,” Seraphine said, her perfect, regal expression plastered on once more. “You have your own kitchens, bedrooms, a study, and a workshop on the other side of the building, plus other rooms as you would find in any estate of a middling noble.” She’d glanced at Naomi. “Consider this your new home, so you can customize that workshop however you wish.” The woman turned away and went to the gates. “Do not go onto the streets at night,” she called back.

  The guards who were following her shut the gates. Then, they spoke with and were replaced by two gold-cloaked guards that had been all around the upper city. Those two stood guard at the gates, facing outward.

  Naomi tracked Eric’s gaze. “That’s ominous,” she muttered.

  Eric looked at her. “Like you said, we’re political prisoners in a way. Gilded cage. They’re as much guarding us as keeping us in here.” Eric walked up to the servants. “Hi. I’m Blackflame Mage Mercer. Call me Eric.” He held out his hand.

  The man on the left, a younger man with black hair and brown eyes, clicked his heels together, dipped his head slightly, and then took the offered hand. “Butler Gravis. If you desire, you may call me Benson.”

  Eric looked to the young woman, who clicked her heels twice and curtsied, her black-and-white maid skirt held daintily in her hands. “Maid Gravis. If you desire, you may call me Mari.”

  Naomi walked up. “I’ve never had servants before.” She sounded enthused at the prospect of someone to wait on her needs.

  Mari flashed a dazzling smile as she stood up straight. “We are here to serve. I work during the morning and afternoon, my brother is here during the mid-day to evening. We have quarters in the basement, next to the laundry, kitchen, and more . . . servant-specific spaces. You are of course welcome to go where you like, but we do ask for privacy in the marked-off personal bedrooms and lounge in the basement level.”

  “We live to serve,” Benson said with a soft smile.

  Shannon walked up. “I’ve never owned a house before!”

  “Technically we don’t—” Naomi began to say, but she was cut off as Shannon slipped her way past the servants and barged into the building. Naomi sighed, gave Eric a look of exasperation, then entered as well.

  “Peter, we’re going inside!” Eric shouted.

  “Taking a dip!” he shouted back from the side of the building.

  Benson dipped his head. “I shall fetch him a towel.”

  Eric faced the man. “Oh, right. Everyone’s names.” He rapidly listed off the names of the other Summoned, and the Butler produced a small notepad from his pocket, scribbling on it with a reservoir, gravity-fed pen.

  “Thank you, Eric.” Benson blew on the pages before closing the book. “My sister will begin dinner preparations. Please, feel free to explore the grounds.”

  Eric went inside and took in the space: a huge entry room, with a parlor on one side that was sumptuously appointed. On the other side, a dining room with cabinets holding fine cutlery and plates. Directly in front of him was a hallway going back to a lounge and the study. A set of stairs went up to the bedrooms, and another set of stairs behind the ones to ascend led into the basement.

  Eric walked up the stairs, following the voices of the two ladies, who were busy picking out rooms. Shannon chose one that faced the gorgeous view of the horizon and distant river. Naomi decided on one that looked to the north: not quite the same nice view, but close to it.

  “I’ll take the mountainside one,” Eric said as he opened the door that led back toward the citadel and the most plain and boring view. There were some other estates with their high stone walls, and the clean alley that ran behind their metal fencing, but other than that it was a boring view.

  “You sure?” Shannon asked cheerily from her well-appointed room. “No view in there. There’s still the one facing the street.”

  “I like this one,” Eric said as he entered. Really, he had another reason. This room was the only one in the house that had a hidden compartment behind the bed, which he planned to make good use of. He shut the door and beelined for the hollowed-out part of the wall, incredibly well concealed behind a wooden board. Even the paint was perfectly matched—the cuts were impossible to notice.

  During the war he had lost the first person who he felt a true, authentic, love connection with. Luciana Escarin, from the Meritocracy of Bhlast. Despite their short time together, he had never felt more alive, and her loss crushed him. When he returned to Tenebria, he didn’t return to the Admiral’s loving arms and warm bed aboard her flagship, the Fist of the North. He returned here, back to where his journey began, and destroyed the room in a rage. That is when he found the hidden stash.

  He spent a few minutes in the room, just reliving the memories through his Paths Within. Closing his eyes, he replayed through every memory of the first few weeks of his arrival in the prior timeline. In those minutes, he filtered through every single person, name, event, and important detail of note. It was a rapid refresher for his present-day mind of those first few, crucial days. Days that he would be replaying very, very soon.

  Eric reached into the crevice and pulled out the pouch of coins: something left behind by a Summoned from a different era. He quickly pocketed the sack, replaced the board, and then went to the door and opened it.

  Naomi and Shannon were standing at the top of the stairs, and both looked over at him. “Peter told us to tell you thanks for the nicer view.”

  Eric nodded then, tone serious, said, “We need to talk.”

  Naomi’s brow furrowed and her demeanor darkened, Shannon looked confused, and Peter popped his head around the corner of the door to his room, hair still damp. “What about?”

  “Not here,” Eric muttered. “In the basement. Less chance we can be overheard if someone is listening to us.” He led the way downstairs, and the rest followed him. Eric made a show of looking around the rooms, then went to the laundry room where a large series of tubes with red and green crystals embedded in them ran from suspended chains along the ceiling.

  To keep the ruse of being newly arrived to Elyndor going, he said, “I bet these things function off of a person’s mana.” He reached up, grabbed a tube, and poured mana into it. The warming rush leaving his body made him feel a little winded, so he sat on the nearby stool.

  The room began to get warmer, and the loud hum of the hot-air-iron made it so he had to speak at a moderate volume. “They’re probably listening to us, and I can’t risk them overhearing what I’m going to tell you. Hopefully, this drowns out their . . . well, if they’ve got the magic version of listening bugs.”

  “Figures,” Peter said. “We’re their prisoners, so they’ve got this place bugged . . . magically.”

  “Eric knows something we don’t,” Naomi said matter-of-factly. “He’s been holding it back since we got dressed.

  Eric nodded. “Get closer so I’m not shouting it.”

  He had been mulling over what exactly he would do and had landed upon a slight misdirection. It would give his allies insight into what was coming, while keeping his deeper foresight and knowledge of future events firmly to him alone. That was an advantage he did not want to give up just yet.

  The others moved in closer, and he spoke just loud enough to be heard. “The world is going to end in fifteen years.”