Through my dealings with many parties and guilds, I often noted a certain reserve that seemed common in Shadows, which was often set aside when they met another fellow Shadow. This odd behavior I only noticed in higher tiered individuals--by which I mean those who had passed the tenth floor's challenge and/or earned their first circle. I believe there is a secret order of some sort. One with strict rules. For example, I believe one of these rules is that under no circumstances can a Shadow speak of another Shadow's beliefs, motivations, or abilities. Unless that Shadow committed the offense first. It's... a fascinating subject. Unfortunately, I might need to stop this line of research, as asking questions had led to two attempts on my life already.

  - Novaris, Seeker-for-hire.

  Back inside the Custodial room, Miles paced about, considering how to proceed with the Shadow. His eyes drifted about as he weighed his option. Did he use Quinn’s favor and basically enroll the Shadow in his plans, or did he keep him in his storage for a bit?

  Right out, the second option made him grimace. That wasn’t how he wanted his new life to start, and sooner or later, he was going to let the man go and that would come with its fair share of headaches. If he got him to work for him though…

  “That would be the smoothest option. I do have some errands only a Shadow can deal with. And this way, he doesn’t disappear out of Rivergate and raise the alarm even higher.”

  Eying the horizon as he weighed the options, a part of his mind wondered how far the room stretched. So putting a pin in his decision—and letting himself sit with it for a few minutes—he called the Dungeon’s platform to him, and hopping on the dark stone, he willed it to move toward the forest.

  It didn’t move.

  “Damn it. That would have been cool,” he grumbled, hopping off and breaking into a run. Activating his new Skill, [The Courier Moves. The World Makes Way], the world blurred as a surge of cool, cold magic flowed into his body. Unlike [Slipstream Step], the new Skill wasn’t just empowering his steps and making them take him further than what was physically possible. No, his whole being was overflowing with strength, as if nothing could stand in his way with the Skill running.

  But it did eat a lot of mana. Especially considering his lack of practice with it.

  Cutting off the Skill as he moved through the trees, he thought back of his current issue. If he were to do something with the rogue, he had to do it fast and tomorrow, he’d need to make sure Thalia hadn’t gotten into trouble. If he could convert the Shadow to his cause, that’d open a lot of options to him.

  If he apologizes. I get that he was doing his job, but that still ticks me off. And if he’s going to be around, I’ll need to make a few points clear, Miles thought as he slowed down. All in all, he approximated that he’d just ran close to 6 or 7 miles when the wall of black stone showed up.

  The horizon disappeared as familiar black bricks suddenly rippled into existence, as if it had been invisible and only showed up as he approached. It was the same material he’d seen in the challenge chambers within the Dungeon.

  “It is a room, then,” Miles said, scratching his back. Nodding as he looked around, he activated his Sill and zipped along the wall, which took him next into an area of rolling hills that slowly began showing more and more rocks and gravel as vegetation grew sparser, slowly rising in altitude as Miles climbed the small mountain he’d seen earlier. The black wall was still to his right, cutting off the mountain, which then sloped down into a swampy area that strongly reminded Miles of the ninth floor. Next came the briny smell and the sound of waves as the swamp connected to a beach which brought him back to the rolling green hills.

  “I can definitely work with this,” he said. “I could have a nice cabin in the center near the river, then work my way outward.”

  It was a nice plan, but Miles’s smile still slipped. He was no carpenter. He’d need experts and builders. He’d need contacts. Loads of them. Builders, manufacturers, woodworkers, metalworkers, an architect or two, and he most certainly was forgetting a bunch more. He’d need to be able to walk the city of Rivergate. He’d need to be able to interact with guilds and companies without raising every alarm throughout the Dungeon.

  It was a prickly little problem. But he did have a potential solution in his pocket for it.

  “Yeah, that settles it. I don’t know any Shadows in this city, but this one should do. If we come to an agreement.”

  Summoning the doorway to himself, he went out into the corridor, moved the entrance to the hills at the center, then hopped back in as he readied himself for the job interview. Pausing for a moment, he considered whether he needed to put his mask or not. But then he reminded himself he was building a new life out here, and that secret identity came with a lot of baggage. People might suspect it, if they worked close enough with him, but as long as he didn’t don the mask, he’d be fine. They’d never be able to confirm it.

  Plus Shadows are a little easier to work with when it comes to this kind of stuff, he thought. Cracking his neck, Miles got started. “Alright,” he muttered before digging into his pouch and dragging the stasis-locked man out. “Let’s do this.”

  The form of the Shadow was still frozen, hands reaching up toward his neck where Miles had gripped him. With a gesture, the stasis dispelled, and the hands jerked up before the Shadow realized that he wasn’t being dragged back anymore. He stood still for a second before slowly lowering his arms and regaining his composure.

  Standing still with his hands behind his back a few yards away, Miles gave the man a second to recover and fully come to term with his current predicament. When he felt the Shadow was ready, he jerked his head to the side.

  “We’re gonna have a talk. Show your face,” Miles simply asked. He could distinctly see the tension building up in the Shadow’s shoulder, and there was a small tremor in the man’s hands as he reached up and pulled his hood back. The rogue was reasonable enough to understand his situation, and he listened, which was a good sign.

  The darkness dissolved away, revealing a man that looked to be in his mid-twenties and if Miles trusted what he had felt through his aura, it was probably at least double that. He had brown-eyes and his dark hair was slicked back. He had a pale complexion, and like many Shadows Miles had encountered in the Dungeon, he took the face-hiding thing too seriously and he could definitely benefit from getting some sunlight now and then.

  He was in good shape, though. Healthy. People tended to live for a while once they got past tier-10 and manifested their first circle, and that pursuit of a long life was why so many died at the hands of Hazel’s copy on the tenth floor. Her name definitely matched, too.

  Haver’eth, The Dying Dream, Miles mused. I’m gonna have to ask her about the crops later. She probably knows a thing or two about farming.

  Cutting himself off from drifting too far, he turned his attention the man in front of him and took a second to recall the gestures, then he recited, tapping his heart with two fingers, then his throat, then placing them on his lips. “The edge is drawn,” he said in a clear voice, and had the pleasure to see the man freeze. The shock turned to a calculating gaze in less than a second, then the man lowered himself on one knee, tapping his ear with two fingers.

  “The Shadows realign,” the Shadow answered, head bowed. “How may I serve, senior,” he asked without looking up.

  Miles suppressed a grimace. He always felt a little off about using the keyphrase, but, well, Quinn gave it to him fair and square. And to be fair, he was using it for the first time in this loop, so that shouldn’t raise any dangerous flags.

  “Have a seat,” Miles said, pointing down to the ground as he sat down cross-legged himself.

  The Shadow hesitated for a second, then sat down, matching Miles’s posture.

  Without looking up at the man, Miles dug into his pouch. “Do you know why you’re still alive even though you pointed a dagger at my sister’s throat?”

  The man stilled, then shook his head. “No, sir,” he answered, voice a little high.

  Miles finally found the thermos and pulled it out, then got two mugs with it. He appreciated how professional the Shadow was being. No apologies, no begging. He knew he messed up, and sat there, waiting for the hammer to fall.

  Miles was tempted to use his aura to telekinetically lift the cups, but his control was not that good yet. “Hold this,” he said, extending the cup to the man who leaned forward and took it. “Here’s the thing, uh… what’s your name again?” Miles asked as he poured the man half a cup, then poured himself half as well before setting it down on the grass. The man mirrored his gesture, and tilted his head.

  “I go by Lott, sir.”

  “I’m Miles. Here’s the thing, Lott. I’m gonna be honest with you. I know you were doing your job and all, but it still ticks me off that you attacked my sister and her friend. And both know that doing your job isn’t a valid excuse. It can’t get you in just as much trouble as doing you job. Look, we both spent a decent amount of time in the Dungeon. We know how things… go in there. My hands aren’t clean. But while I might never forget certain things, I’ve never crossed anyone who wouldn’t have killed me or those I protected. And as I’ve grown stronger, I’ve gained alternate ways of dealing with problems.”

  The Shadow swallowed, but he kept quiet. Miles swished the mug around as he spoke.

  “To put this in Shadow terms, you’re an issue for me. You stumbled upon me when I didn’t want to be found, which right now makes you a liability. And while you haven’t done any permanent harm, you still injured and threatened my sister. You injured her friend. I know that she’ll face worse when she delves sooner or later. The Dungeon’s a violent and dangerous place that brings out the worst in us. But she’s not there yet, is she?”

  Miles let out a shaky breath, but it wasn’t helping that much. “A younger me would have already taken some drastic measures. I’d rather not. I’d rather we work together instead. Let me ask you, do you have loved ones, Lott?”

  The man had been starting to relax at first, then the last question brought all the tension back, and as Miles noted the flitting gaze, the man nodded. “I care for my parents,” he mumbled, voice weak.

  Miles smiled. But there was no mirth in his eyes. And while he’d initially been trying to keep things pragmatic, the part of him that had been peeved was slowly heating up. The more he thought about what had happened, and what might have happened, the more pissed he was getting. He’d finally made it out of the Dungeon and reunited with his adoptive family, and this man had just threatened them?

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Then Miles realized. He hadn’t been around for Uncle Auren’s passing. Thalia and Aunt Soren had been alone for that. They had grieved alone.

  The thought was like a matchstick that lit his guts aflame.

  “How would you think they’d take it if you were gone, Lott? You wouldn’t even realize it. You’d be in stasis for ten years or twenty, because you hurt a random stranger while doing your job. The life you’ve built yourself and cared for would go on without you. I don’t like doing this. Threats. But I want you to really— and I mean really understand how close you’d gotten to crossing that line. Do you understand, Lott?”

  Even more color drained out of the man as his gaze flicked back the air rippling behind Miles, and that reminded him to clamp down on his Veil. The surrounding mana quieted down and slowly, as if scared any sudden movement will see his head divorcing his shoulders, Lott leaned forward until his forehead touched the grass below them.

  “I sincerely apologize for my actions, Lord Miles.”

  Miles looked down at the prostrated rogue, and he tamped down his anger as he slowly picked up his cup. He might have pushed things a bit far. But it really did get under his skin the more he thought about it. Thalia could have been the one thrown through a building. And what would have happened if he hadn’t had a potion on hand?

  He let out a sigh, letting some of the bubbling anger drain out. “Well, they do say recognizing one’s mistakes is the first step toward redemption. And while this might not be the best start we get, we don’t need to tread down this path again. I would honestly prefer it. I’m willing to look past this, so long as you make amends and apologize to those you injured. Now, get up. And don’t call me Lord. I haven’t earned that title yet.”

  The Shadow got up, relief apparent on his face and straightened up. When Miles raised his own cup slightly, the rogue picked his own.

  “Let’s talk, then.”

  ***

  They drank in silence for a minute, with Miles mostly giving the rogue some time to recover while he himself worked on smoothing out what remained of his anger. By now, the rogue seemed to be working up the courage to speak, so Miles gave him a nod as he sipped from his warm cup. The coffee was a little bitter, but in a rich and flavorful way, and it helped mellow him out a bit. It also helped stave off the fatigue that was slowly creeping up on him. He wasn’t about to start yawning any time soon, but the long day was certainly making itself felt.

  “Apologies for mis-titling you, sir Miles. But couldn’t you just claim a noble title with your strength? I don’t think any noble house on the surface could contest you if you did,” Lott asked.

  With their boundaries and grievances aired out, the man was a little more relaxed. He was still quiet and generally stoic, but he wasn’t fearing for his life anymore. And he shouldn’t. As for his questions about nobilities and titles, Miles grimaced at all the work such endeavor would entail and shook his head. “There’s a difference between claiming to be nobility and being officially titled, Lott.”

  Miles’s eyes drifted toward the ghostly door a few paces behind them and he wondered if Lott had seen it or sensed it. I wouldn’t trust him with too many details, but I bet I could get him to break in and see if that works, Miles noted. Then looking back at the man, he found him frowning, confused, by the looks of it. It lasted for barely seconds before his eyes widened imperceptibly as Miles’ words sunk in. “Dungeon… titles. So they’re real?”

  Miles nodded. “It’s what comes after Masters and Grandmasters. But speaking of,” he said, pouring himself some more of the mixture. Made of cold brewed coffee and spirit, the mixture packed quite a punch, though it couldn't do much to him at this point. “Are there any Master or Grandmasters around?”

  Lott shook his head, then paused. “Not… officially. The agreement between the city’s government and guilds says that no Master or above can operate or intervene in the day-to-days of Rivergate. But there might be one or two around. If there are, I haven’t seen or heard anything, sir. I can ask around if you’d like.”

  Miles shook his head. “No, leave it be. If you start sniffing they’ll start looking. I don’t plan on causing issues anyway. As I’ve said, I want to rest. And for that, I will need a couple of favors. That you would be fairly compensated for.”

  Lott briskly nodded. “Of course sir. Anything you need.”

  Miles eyed the man for a beat. Lott looked eager to serve. Though that might just be because he was very much aware this whole situation could have easily gone differently.

  That left a bad taste in Miles’s mouth.

  “First, I need this encounter and conversation to stay secret. You seem smart enough. You recognized the magic I captured you with,” Miles began, and the Shadow gave him a slow nod. “I would have preferred if you didn’t but that’s fine. You keep my secret. My name and the ability you’ve seen. I will pay. Next, I need a new identity, but I’d rather keep my name. Can you manage something?”

  Lott held the cup still, blinking a couple of times, then slowly put the cup down. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

  Miles waved that off. “Of course. Go on.”

  “With all due respect sir. You spoke a Cantic Rite. If I spoke of you or of what you asked me to keep to myself, I’d be breaking multiple tenets. I’ve worked too hard to be excommunicated now.”

  Miles nodded, and he didn’t let the tiny pulse of unease show on his features. The Unspoken Rules applied for Shadows, and, well, he wasn’t one, though Lott was assuming he was. Still, Miles didn’t correct him.

  “Your loyalty is noted. But you’ll still be paid for your efforts.”

  “Thank you, sir. As for the identity, we could say you’ve been born in the Dungeon and registered in another city-gate? Should be easy enough to forge. What archetype do you wish to declare in it?”

  Miles hummed, as if in thought, then nodded. “Put me down as a Torchbearer. No last name.”

  The rogue nodded thoughtfully. “Got it. Less of a chance of attracting attention,” he muttered. “Do you wish for an official guild rank on it or would you rather do that yourself?”

  “I’ll do it. Mixing up the truth and lie would be more effective.”

  Lott nodded enthusiastically, a smile tugging on his lips. “Of course sir. Do I bring it to you here?”

  Miles eyed the man and nodded. “Do that. But,” Miles said, getting up. “While I’d love nothing more than trust you and not worry about a thing. I’d be stupid to do so. We still don’t know each other well. So I’d like to put a tracker on you. Until you come back.”

  At his words, Lott paled a little, but he was quick to bow. “Of course, sir. I understand. I hope I’ll earn your trust in time.”

  Turning away, Miles summoned the glowing blue book, hiding it from the rogue’s eyes, then touched the first page. Hazel wasn’t recovered yet, but he couldn’t cast the spell he needed himself.

  Come out, Hazel, he summoned. The magic of the book pulsed, and a haze of intensely, purple and green magic billowed out of the book for a few second before stopping. When the process was well in progress, Miles sent the book away and waited as the fog cleared out.

  The horns appeared first, almost shining in the afternoon light. They were followed by the intensely green eyes that shone through the dispersing fog before the rest of Hazel’s sharp features came to light, revealing her green and flowing robes. The marking on her skin shone in the daylight, though her hand was still missing.

  “I’m still recovering, Miles,” she groused, giving him a sidelong glance, and Miles smiled at the cranky witch as she quickly took in the horrified Lott before looking around, curiously examining the space.

  “The sooner you help me, the sooner you can get back to resting,” he said. “I need you to put a tracker on Lott. He’s going to run some errands for me,” he said, pointing toward the Shadow with his thumb.

  The fey witch’s smile spread wide, and her eyes glimmered. “Oh? Well. I can do that. As for the resting part… with how little mana around, that’s gonna take a while,” she said, turning to face the rogue as her fingers danced. “Alright, stay still,” she called out as her hand began glowing, and Lott took a step back, lips trembling. “Dying… Dream?”

  “Lott,” Miles called out, snapping the man out of his terror. “She’s not the same as what’s down in the Dungeon. You’ll be fine. And Hazel, no curses,” he said, pointing at her with narrowed eyes.

  He’d caught her right as she was about to send the spell at the tip of her clawed finger. Hazel gave him a pout. “Boo. That’s boring. Not even a little one?”

  “Nope. Just the tracker, please. No pain.”

  Hazel sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fiiine.”

  The spell shot out of her pointed finger, and it almost looked like Lott was about to dodge when his feet refused to leave the soil. The spell slammed into his stomach, worming itself near his core as he squirmed in discomfort. “You have to keep still,” she said, chuckling.

  Miles pinched the bridge of his nose then stared at her. “Did you have to freak him out like that?”

  Hazel shrugged, brushing her dark hair to the side with one hand. “No, not really.”

  Miles shook his head and walked toward the kneeling Lott, pulling a white towel out of his storage and handed it to the sweaty man. “You’ll be fine. Here. And I’ll add a little extra for the inconvenience,” Miles said, digging into his storage for a few coins, only to frown as his fingers touched the first.

  What was valuable up here? It’s been a while since he’d been to the surface. Were gold coins fine? Did he need to pull something better?

  Wait, gold works just fine on the 11th floor. That’s around his level, right? Considering he’s terrified of Hazel, that should track, he concluded, pulling a spare pouch and dragging up a handful of gold coins.

  The clinking of coins seemed to finally calm the rogue down, and once the ten gold coins were in the bag, he pulled the cord and walked to the rogue. “Here. Relax. Now I need you to help me with something before you leave. I’m gonna close that door, and I want you to try and open it from the outside, okay? Don’t blow it up, but anything else is fine. Try to damage it a little as well. I’ll give you five minutes. Understood?”

  Lott nodded numbly, though there was a little life that entered his features as the heavy pouch hit his palm.

  Looks like I’ll be able to motivate him effectively with gold, Miles noted as the man exited through the door.

  Over the next five minutes, Miles stood in front of the closed gate, from the inside, and he was happy to realize he could actually sense the attempts at opening the door. It was like an alarm he felt, and he even sensed the attempts at damaging the wood.

  “You sure you can trust this man?” asked Hazel after a few seconds.

  Miles tilted his head for a second as he sensed the man continue his attempts then nodded. “My gut says yes. He earns more by allying with me than gambling with anything else.”

  Ironically, Shadows were one of the most trustworthy of archetypes to work with. Of course, one could only generalize to a certain point, but there were certain similarities one could pick up within archetypes. Vanguards loved fighting. Seekers were often relentless about finding new spells and new knowledge, and you can always count on Shadows to be simultaneously ambitious but always wary with guarding their backs. At this point, he knew he’d hooked Lott with what this new relationship might earn him, and whatever the man could earn from selling Miles out would never match what he could potentially earn. That’d lean too much into the greed side of things and if Shadows were anything, it was cautious.

  When the five minutes elapsed, he opened the door to find a red-faced and sweating Lott, and he turned and eyed the door.

  “I apologize, sir. I couldn’t open it.”

  Miles waved that off. “That’s fine. It’s good enough,” he said as he looked the man in the eyes. “As we said. Amends. Go apologize, and I’ll wait here for the new identification. When you come back, let me know what’s going on with the investigation. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Alright, see you later,” Miles said, shutting the door behind him only to find himself face to face with a grinning Hazel.

  “So? What is this place? And how long did you intend on keeping it hidden from me?”