“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, still trying to wrap my mind around the bombshell Stinky had dropped on us. “If time is weird here, then how come you know it’s been five days? Shouldn’t you also feel like it’s been just a few minutes, or whatever?”

“He is a matau,” Jes answered matter-of-factly. “One of their racial traits is Time Clarity.”

“What does that mean? He can’t stop keeping track of time?”

“That’s exactly what it means, orc,” Stinky spat.

“Damn, you’d probably be a hella good drummer, then,” I said. “Want to start a band?”

“Time Clarity is a gift that some races and even Classes gain access to,” Jes continued. “An internal calculating Ability that allows one to always keep track of passage and pacing. It is quite sublime and an excellent tool for those with scholarly pursuits. I, myself, missed many events and proceedings because I was far too busy with my nose in a book, studying the—“

“And that is precisely why we do not urge Jes to speak on his tenure with academia,” Calden said. “It is exceptionally droll.”

“So, then, this is–what? A magically-induced… time dilation?” I asked, using a term I’d borrowed from movies.

“Precisely,” Jes said, pointing outward. “I would imagine if this is all accurate—and not just a guess—that those within close proximity to one another share the same relative space.”

“Like a time bubble?” I said.

“Yes,” Jes said. “A time bubble is an appropriate metaphor for what we are experiencing here. I have read about instances—”

“Ah, but isn’t there more to life than research, dear Jesimir?” Calden asked. “It seems as though hard-won instances of practical application matter more than words on a page.”

“You would say that Calden,” Dedyc hissed. “Since you can’t read!”

“Is that true?” I asked Calden, genuinely stunned. “But you use all those hundred-dollar words.”

Calden’s vocabulary had seemed to reflect someone with a higher-than-average understanding of language, so this was definitely a surprise.

“Literacy is overrated,” Calden admitted. “What good would knowing how squiggles align with one another do for me, where competency in other areas would not?”

“I have been attempting to teach him his letters for some time now,” Jes said. “But he is frustratingly resistant, like a precocious stain on a shirt.”

“It seems to me,” Calden said. “That I have done perfectly well without a handicap. Unless I am mistaken, all of us present have found ourselves in the same dungeon, making the same mistakes. How could basic comprehensive language dynamics help us now? Are any of you holding out on a piece of life-altering script or poem that will aid us in navigating this trying avenue?”

He waited for a beat before continuing.

“No? Well then. It appears ignorance persists for another day.”

We’d all gathered around the campfire as Stinky proceeded to warm himself and drink deeply from one of the proffered bottles. The roe milled about cautiously, like tiny, round insecure cows looking for a patch of grass that wouldn’t eat them. I wasn’t sure how to approach the idea that they were suddenly docile and straight-up refusing to bite me or anyone else. In my mind, it had to be some feature of the dungeon itself, rather than the hatchling monstrosities suddenly having a bizarre change of nature.

The others had received Stinky’s news with a measure of calm that I didn’t know was possible. He’d just told them they’d been trapped in a dungeon for centuries, and these people were more concerned about one of them not being able to read Good Night Moon than the fact that they’d been existing inside of a time lie. I’d have been wigging the hell out, probably trying to attack Stinky with a handful of feces for lobbing this trauma on me. Hell, finding out I’d lost five days was bad enough, but four hundred years? Instead of trying to bite the walls or fight the trees while screaming, they were relaxing serenely, unwinding just as they had been before the commotion. Jes, in particular, was more overcome with fascination by both Stinky’s existence and the fact that he traveled with a cadre of egg monsters than anything else. I, of everyone, seemed to be handling the news the worst.

“Seriously,” I demanded, staring at each of them. “Doesn’t it bother you that you’ve just essentially shot yourself forward in time by half a millennia?”

“Ah,” Calden said, taking a bite of stale bread. “That. I believe we are all dissecting the information to stomach it as best we can. It is quite the knot to unravel. Though, I think I speak for everyone when I say that we had our suspicions.”

There was a round of nods at his words. My mouth was hanging open, so I closed it.

They were all so… chill with having lost everyone they loved and cared about.

“What did you suspect?” Stinky asked, taking another pull from the bottle.

Jes sighed, gesturing to Calden that he would take over. Calden nodded and continued eating his food.

“A few days ago—well, I suppose that isn’t accurate anymore, is it? Regardless, we recently discovered a skeleton in a ravine that shared an uncanny likeness with our navigator, Carmichael. We never spoke of the possibility, but I believe we all understood the potency of following a pathway of thought like that without the truth or even properly understanding the mechanics.”

“That’s cool, I guess,” I said. “Whatever gets you through to the other side, right?”

“In any case,” Calden said, finishing his bread. “Jes, here, is an elf, and Merra is a dwarf. They are frustratingly long-lived. To them, a few measly centuries is as losing a few weeks for us. They will be fine.”

“Not exactly,” Merra said seriously. “It’s still a loss, by any metric. My grand da only lived to be six hundred.”

“Aye, but ain’t ye gran still alive?” Frida asked. “Almost nine hundred in years, correct?”

“Well, yes,” Merra admitted. “But it isn’t the same equivalency to weeks as our rambunctious Calden likes to think.”

“He’s just saying that for pity,” Dedyc said with a laugh. “Wants you all to feel sorry for him.”

“And it was working too,” Calden scolded. “Until the indelible dwarf had to go and ruin it by being factual.”

They laughed.

I was sincerely moved by their companionship. It was entirely likely they’d been through enough together that this was just another drop of water in the bucket. I was envious. Even at my lowest points, I hadn’t had anyone I felt stood at my back to face it toe to toe with me. It made me a little angry, honestly. I remember when Nick’s uncle had died in fifth grade, tons of people had shown up from school and elsewhere to make sure he and his family were doing alright. I’d even stayed over at his house for three days straight–even though they were school nights–playing games with him and trying to cheer him up.

But when I’d had my own tragedy…

Let’s not think about that right now.

I forced a grin and leaned back, resting against one of the logs. Something was still eating at me. They’d all been here for much longer than they thought… but why? It was clear they considered themselves a bit lost without their navigator, but how confusing was this chamber? There was a literal fucking path to follow. Did the whole area swap around like those staircases in Harry Potter? That would be messed up, but still, would that make it impossible to travel through just because of that? Clearly, the one they’d called Carmichael had some method of wayfinding that didn’t jive with their current skillsets.

Maybe that’s the question I need to be asking

“So,” I said, clearing my throat. “This chamber. You mentioned you’ve all been stuck here specifically, trying to find your way out. Why is that? Is there a magical barrier or a living labyrinth sort of sitch?”

“Our research…” Jes began before looking over to Calden. The blond man seemed primed to leap onto his terminology, so he changed his tactic.

“We learned from reliable sources that this chamber is one of the most challenging by far to successfully complete. Not only are there various monsters and other inhabitants to pose an obstacle, but also the dimensions of this chamber are quite vast.”

“How big is it?” I asked.

“To the best reckoning of our stupendously calculating minds,” Calden said. “Unending.”

“Is that even possible?” I breathed. “The dungeon has to have… whatcha call it—finite space? A room of eternal jungle doesn’t seem realistic.”

“Ya ain’t the keenest scholar on magical theory, eh?” Virgil said, speaking for the first time in a while.

“Hey, man,” I said. “I know plenty about plenty. I just don’t hold on to a bunch of useless dungeon trivia, is all.”

“Well then, professor,” Virgil said. “Allow me to parcel out the knowledge in a morsel you’ll be able to stick in your gullet. Dungeon magic is potent and don’t exist like nothin’ else in the whole damn world. Works by its own rules and don’t take no regard from no one else. Stubborn and independent, she is.”

“I can relate to that,” I said. “But how does that explain an infinite pocket dimension?”

“Let me wrangle up a bit o’ foundation for ya, afore ya get your trigger-finger in a twist,” Virgil said.

I didn’t say anything, but now I had absolute proof that Virgil was a sojourner. Trigger-finger seemed like an unlikely term to exist within this new world on its own. I supposed it might have meant something else entirely, but I could not shake the feeling that he was anything but someone from my world. But, being cautious was important. It wouldn’t do to follow my already-decided thoughts to an incorrect conclusion. I think they call that confirmation b.s., or something.

“As you like,” I said.

“Most appreciated,” Virgil said. “There is a specialized form of magics known as ‘cosmic.’ It dictates a great many things in relation to what they call spatial manipulation and transference. On a small scale, you git things like bottomless satchels, rings o’ storage, and magicians who can shift little items from one spot to ‘nother. Upper side of it are your planar portals and dimensional planes. It is a volatile mistress, cosmic, and she takes an awful-long time to gain a sense o’ mastery over.”

“So, are you a master of cosmic magic?” I asked.

“Naw,” Virgil said. “But I listened somethin’ fierce when Carmichael was jawin’ about it.”

“Carmichael is–er, was quite an aficionado of advanced arcane knowledge,” Jes said. “With a targeted expertise and specialization in cosmic arcana and function, as well as flair in fields like simulacra and alchemical research.”

“So, he was, what? Your dimensional tour guide?” I asked.

“I’m not quite certain of your terms,” Jes said. “But he was our navigator because of his planar adroitness. We commissioned him specifically for this journey, and now it appears we may be trapped forever without his aid.”

“Unless one of your number is sufficiently skilled in the practice?” Calden ventured, looking from me to Stinky.

“I’m definitely not,” I admitted. “Stink–er, Akiva?”

Stinky shook his head and spat on the ground.

“Not a fuckin’ chance.”

“Ah,” Calden said, crestfallen. “What about one of those eggs? They seem spirited enough to lead us out of the maw of confusion.”

“Now ye just graspin’ at whiskers,” Frida said.

“Well, it was worth a try,” Calden said.

"Et really wasn't."

I slumped in my seat a bit.

“So, unless we figure out the best route through this room, we are boned?” I asked.

“Precisely,” Jes said. “To further complicate matters: this may not be a space within the dungeon itself, but one that exists outside of it. Carmichael believed that the gateway to this chamber was actually a portal to another plane altogether. This, I believe, is the most likely conclusion to be drawn from the nature of this area. It would also explain why there was not a message upon crossing the threshold.”

I nodded.

“Yeah, now that you mention it… there wasn’t an annoying notification at all. I didn’t even consider that until now.”

“That’s ‘cause you’ve got a pile of wet underclothes where your brain should be, orc,” Stinky said with a laugh.

I knew it was meant to be a joke, but I couldn’t help but feel some embarrassment at him making fun of me in front of our new acquaintances. So, obviously, I got a little salty.

“The hell, man? Not cool. What did I just say about that shit?” I demanded, pointing a finger at the matau. “Get off your high-horse, you cantankerous… stooge!”

“It’s not difficult to be lofty, orc, when your fuckin’ smarts are all the way down in the dirt,” Stinky shot back.

“I’m gonna put you in the dirt, you racist pimple licker,” I said. “Call me an orc one more time. I fucking dare you.”

Stinky waved me away with a gesture.

“You’re all chin wag, you damned fool,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you fight. I’ll be peachy.”

“Well, where I come from, we eat peaches!”

“Likely eat the fuckin’ trees they grow on too, by mistake,” Stinky said.

“I am going to kick your ass so hard, you’re gonna have to take your hat off to fart!”

“I’m not wearing a hat, you fuckin’ reprobate!”

“It was a figure of speech,” I yelled, standing up now. “Why don’t you go cry in the dark, Stinky?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Make me,” I said.

I paused, seeing the looks from the rest of the group. Each of them was frozen in horrified curiosity at Stinky and I's sudden outburst. Stinky seemed to notice as well, a retort perched in his mouth as we felt the weight of the party’s judgment blanketing us. Calden was the one to speak.

“Do the two of you have an underlying issue? Or do you genuinely despise one another?”

I looked at Stinky, who scowled in return.

“We, uh, were just messing around,” I said. “It’s something we do. A bit of banter, you know? Keeps the blood coursing through your veins and the blush on your cheeks.”

“Clearly,” Calden said, obviously unconvinced. “Well, whatever it is you two do to pass the time is perfectly alright, but you may want to give us fair warning before your next bout. Virgil is quite sensitive to conflict.”

“No’m not!” Virgil said.

“There’s a brave lad, Virgil,” Calden said.

“Okay,” I said, turning back to the group. “Let me backtrack here…”

I rubbed my temples, trying to calm down from Stinky’s barbs using a direct line to my emotionally-stunted epicenter. After a moment, I exhaled and found my conversational footing.

“So, what exactly do you remember Carmichael saying about the make up of this place? Did he elaborate? I am trying to figure out how he knew some stuff but didn’t know about the timey-wimey bullshit.”

“He was an expert,” Jes said. “But even then, there is only so much available information about the Forbidden Crypt. Much of it was little better than guesswork, as the gaps in reliable sources were quite wide. Carmichael made his best conclusions from the paltry amount of detail in the archives. Everything else he posited was done so once we had arrived.”

“...and what did he propose was going on here? You said he’d figured out this place was separate from the dungeon altogether, right? But did he mention any theories as to how to get out?”

“He thought he was on to somethin,’ just afore he meandered off,” Virgil said. “Said he wanted to test one o' his thoughts.”

This seemed to shock the group, and the skinny elf wheeled on Virgil.

“I was unaware of this,” Jes said. “You spoke to Carmichael before he went missing? Why did you never say anything?”

Virgil seemed to bristle at that, perhaps expecting a confrontation. When he finally responded, his voice was tight and quivery as if he was trying to maintain control over his fear.

Or anger.

“Carmichael said he’d be along in a few days,” Virgil said. “Said if he came back, he were wrong. If he didn’t, well, that meant his speculations were correct.”

“Did this not seem like useful information to pass along to the rest of the team?” Jes asked sternly.

“I ain't want to worry no one,” Virgil said, his voice growing in its own defiance. “If he came back, and I had told y’all, I’d have riled ya up fer nothin.’ I ain't got any means to discern that we’d been frolickin’ ‘round in a cosmic time marsh, did I? I was goin’ to say somethin' soon but wanted to give him ample time to return.”

“Virgil,” Jes said cautiously. “What were his exact words?”

Virgil closed his eyes, either trying to recall the information or convincing himself not to pistol-whip his companion. I knew the feeling. After a moment, he opened his eyes again.

“Best o’ my recollection, Carmichael said, ‘Virgil, I’m a-goin’ out there to procure an answer fer an idea. If I return, I have been incorrect in my assumptions. If I don’t, I was abreast of it, and none o’ this will matter.’”

“Well that’s fucking ominous,” I said.

“I was hopin’ he’d come a-callin,’” Virgil continued. “When we seen that skeleton in the ditch, I kept my chin up, prayin’ it weren’t him. Now…”

Virgil took a deep breath.

“...seems like my fears were realized. He ain’t comin’ back, an’ he were right about whatever he thought was goin’ on.”

“What a fuckin’ rube,” I said, feeling a hot knot of anger in my stomach. “What kinda senseless dick-brain goes off without telling anyone their plans—especially when the result means leaving people in the dark? I’m not a scientist—by any stretch of the imagination—but even I know that you always leave a fucking note, at the very least.”

“He was a bit odd,” Merra said sadly. “I can’t reason why he would do that, either.”

“Well, he did,” Calden said. “What is done is done.”

“Was there anything on the body?” Stinky asked.

“What do you mean?” Jes asked. “On the corpse we discovered? No. It was picked clean, likely by marauding monsters or perhaps time itself.”

“Wait,” I said. “If the skeleton was all that was left, how could you even suspect it was him in the first place? Did he have diamond bones or something?”

“Carmichael suffered an accident shortly after we entered the dungeon,” Jes explained. “In the first chamber, his arm became trapped under the body of one of those winged horrors.”

“The cuckoos?” I asked. “But they weren’t that heavy.”

“That is correct,” said Jes. “But the creature’s body had stuck itself in a fissure—with Carmichael’s limb beneath it. In order to make it to the archway within the time limit, Frida was forced to sever the appendage from his body. The corpse in the ravine had only one arm, the other hacked off cleanly.”

“Oh, fuck,” I said. “Alright, that makes more sense. Would there be any clues as to what he might have discovered?”

All eyes turned to Virgil, who shook his head.

“Best I can reckon,” he said slowly. “Somethin’ he thought would make us blanch. He weren’t keen on providin’ insight into his work. Kind of a private poke.”

“Was he carrying anything with him?” I asked. I’d seen enough detective shows to know that there was typically a visual clue as opposed to a verbal statement that would tip an investigator off to their next lead.

“Everythin,’” Virgil said. “The whole caboodle.”

“Yes, we’d assumed he’d abandoned us at first,” Jes said. “As there was nothing left behind.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to take on the qualities of the type of inquisitive genius that only ever existed in the writing room of television dramas. I didn’t think I could solve this mystery myself–I knew the limits of my powers of deduction—but maybe I could ask the right questions to lead someone else to the answer?

“So, there wasn’t anything on the skeleton? No clothing, belongings, or anything?”

“Hard to remember,” Dedyc said. “We were on the move, and it was dark.”

“Shit,” I said. “I wish we could go investigate the body, but we are already short on time as it is. Adding the super speed syndrome into the mix—even if we figured it out, we might not leave for another century.”

“Actually…” Jes said thoughtfully.

“Everyone, this is it,” Calden exclaimed. “Master Carandalon is going to offload a dram of golden intellect into our laps. No one look him directly in the eyes, now.”

Jes groaned and shot Calden a withering glare.

“Enough,” he said.

“As you wish, Sir Nobelborne,” Calden said with a wink.

“What were you going to say, Jes?” I asked.

The elf turned to me, then indicated Stinky with a gesture.

“We don’t need to worry about the time dilation,” he said confidently. “As long as we have Akiva here, we will not suffer the effects of the cosmic influence.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yes,” said Jes with a nod. “At least, in theory, that is how it should operate. I have seen similar reactions before with time-disrupting arcana.”

“You might need to explain that a bit more in-depth,” I said. “You know, for, uh, Calden’s benefit.”

Calden chuckled.

“My comprehension, as you all now know, is on par with a block of wood–or one of those dreaded horned knights.”

“Assuming that the rules of this chamber follow conventional rhythms,” said Jes. “The… bubble—as our friend Loon so eloquently put it—is something of a passive effect. It will be in place as the arcane process dictates. Which, considering the ancient nature of this crypt, runs by a set of rules that may work autonomously.”

“Like an autopilot?” I asked.

“Er, yes? Perhaps,” Jes said. “Typically, something of this level of output would be difficult to monitor. The age of the dungeon in conjunction with the complexity of the seals and arcana necessary to produce the desired result leads me to believe that it would rely on the simplest possible execution.”

“...and that means?” I asked.

“Akiva,” Jes posed, smiling warmly at Stinky. “How long has it been since you arrived at our campsite?”

Stinky didn’t even pause.

“One hour, eight minutes.”

“Now, if we assume that he is not affected by the time dilation—which seems evident, based on his previous indication—the arcane bubble will disperse. I estimate that the spell contorting this realm would place more importance on collectively containing the bubble for the challenge, and not on a precaution of whether or not a matau happened to stumble in here."

"So, his Ability... supersedes the magic for all of us?" I asked, unsure if I'd used the right word.

"It would be more accurate to say that the arcane function assumes that a group of individuals will not have Time Clarity among their rank. The collective is a higher priority than anything else. So, it is not that his Ability overrides the arcane, but that it doesn't have a formula in place to recognize it in the first place."

“Wow, way to go, Stinky!” I announced, slugging the matau on the shoulder. “You’re going to be useful after all!”

“Touch me again, and I will rip your tongue out through your arse,” Stinky growled.

“Oh, easy now,” I said. “Just because you’re excited is no reason to start talking dirty to me. Leave bedroom talk in the bedroom.”

Stinky put a hand on his dagger and jerked away from me.

“Alright,” I said, clapping my hands together for emphasis. “Whaddya guys say? Who’s up for some good, old-fashioned gumshoe sleuthing?!”

“What does that mean?” Dedyc asked.