I was reading in the Scholar's Guildhall, also known as the library, while ensconced in a minor fortress of books. No one who knew me would be in any way the least surprised by this, since on any given twenty-four-hour day, I could be found reading in that very same spot for an estimated fifteen of them. Not the idle skimming of a casual reader, either, but the intent studying worthy of a devoted Scholar. Well, even the other Scholars found me abnormal, some of them; I'd overheard whispers wondering whether I was truly human, or most recently how, with my crazy commitment to the library, I was still only a Junior Scholar, until it was explained I’d joined the guild as an Apprentice less than a year ago. Barely more than a year, now.

"Rowena."

My mentor's soft-spoken voice roused me from the latest tome, an absorbing diversion into historical dungeons, which often had dramatically over-the-top names like 'The Screaming Wastelands of Frozen Despair.' I almost regretted the current trend of economical three-word descriptors.

Blinking away the pages of facts, anecdotes, and suppositions, I focused on Andy Rubrik's gently smiling features behind his reading glasses and capped by his signature gray-streaked frizzy hair. I'd expected to see him sooner than later, since I currently lived in his spare bedroom, though he was a comparatively late riser, and his preferred library table was adjacent to mine, though he was here less than half the time I was. The Senior Scholar was a venerable seventy-eight years of age, with many publications and accomplishments to his name, but his true passion was in guiding and teaching others. Fortunately, I was just as eager to learn. He calmly took in the assorted piles of books related to dungeons and asked, "Have you decided on an accreditation paper?"

Ah, he'd mistaken my sudden preoccupation with inspiration. No wonder, when others in my position would be actively climbing the ranks to Learned Scholar. As for me, though, I felt my progression was somewhat inevitable. This wasn't arrogance, which would be assuming I'd then continue upward to Senior Scholar, and finally, Master Scholar. Actually, I did expect the former, but I would never take the latter for granted. I knew I was still a long way from the mastery of my late grandmother the Sage.

All these thoughts leapt through my mind, but what my mouth said was, "Have you ever heard of a Starting Dungeon capable of communicating?"

Senior Rubrik did not laugh or dismiss my question outright. Furrowing his brows, he clearly thought the matter over before saying, carefully as always, "No, presuming communication does not mean attempting to fulfill its endless imperative to consume. Did something happen earlier today?"

I filled him in on the morning's events. Then we both sat there and reviewed the facts, and whether they might differ from my interpretation of them, before he shook his head in equal bewilderment. "That should be impossible."

The four Gold-Rankers had sensibly disbelieved me, since they must have been as familiar as Scholars with the standard maturation stages of dungeons. In essence, Starting Dungeons mindlessly ate and slept; Developing Dungeons showed glimmers of intelligence, such as caution; Mature Dungeons achieved individuality through their Avatars and general creativity; Elder Dungeons gained human intelligence and communication abilities; and Ancient Dungeons once again slept.

In other words, no Starting Dungeon should be able to grasp concepts like fear or confusion, much less having its will bound.

"I thought perhaps prior research failed to account for a gap between a dungeon's perception of the world and perceivable action, but I disproved this theory already." I gestured to one stack of books. "Which leads me to two hypotheses. Either this dungeon is somehow different, or my interaction with it is."

I looked to my mentor expectantly while he chewed my statement over. Finally, he shook his head. "False dichotomy. Another possibility is that this isn't a new dungeon at all." Seeing my look of incomprehension, he explained, "It is possible, though difficult and risky, to remove and relocate a dungeon's Core. If successful, a dungeon quickly develops at the new location with remarkable similarities to the original, which collapses with the Core's removal as though destroyed. For obvious reasons, this information is restricted."

I instantly deflated. "That must be it, then." Anomalous non-Planar dungeons were extremely rare, and it was even more unlikely in the extreme that in 2972 years of recorded history, not one person had approached a dungeon with my combination of abilities. The minor mystery of who would secretly transplant a dungeon here and why was far less interesting to a Scholar.

However, Senior Rubrik did not have the easy expression of a man possessing a satisfactory explanation. "The means might seem more plausible, but there remains the motive. I do not know of a dungeon surviving a significant translocation while in its Starting or Developing Stages, but for a Mature Core to be relocated and left exposed..."

He trailed off, his delicacy of expression belying the brutal statistics of dungeon survival and their cause, namely that consuming Cores was one of the quickest, simplest, and most well-known methods for ascending in power, though certainly not the safest or surest. Just as dungeons became exponentially more dangerous as they matured, Cores became exponentially more valuable, where Starting Cores were worth wastefully little, Developing Cores tempting enough bait to most often be swallowed immediately, and Mature Cores… Well, no sane person would have one in hand and fail to consume it, gift it, or sell it, not unless they were a Contractor or other loyal minion of the dungeon. I was once again presented with a conundrum worthy of a Scholar.

Senior Rubrik smiled, seeing my curiosity was well and truly reignited, and asked, "What will you do now? You could offer this dilemma to the guild as a research topic. If it is accepted, and you requested it, you could continue to be included as an assistant." He paused. "Or you could investigate further yourself."

Right, no Junior Scholar would be given the lead position on an official guild-backed project, barring exceptional circumstances. On the other hand, conducting successful research on my own initiative and presenting the finished results could advance me to Learned. Again, if that were my motive. "It’s not that simple," I protested. "I would need to return to the dungeon. I suppose I should anyway, to replicate the results, but..."

"But?"

"It's a dungeon. It's dangerous! Not like I can request another escort, if I choose to research this quietly."

"You are friends with adventurers, are you not?"

"Silver-Rankers. Yes, I know, they can probably handle most C-Ranked Dungeons, and this one's not even D-Ranked, but they would also have to guard me. Adventurers aren't the best bodyguards... wait." I frowned with sudden suspicion. "Why are you practically pushing me out the door, anyway?"

Senior Rubrik sighed. To my consternation, he removed his glasses and began to clean them methodically with a pocket handkerchief, something he did to clear his mind. The silence stretched while he finished his little ritual, replaced his glasses, and finally peered at me with a neutral expression. "This is the first time I've been able to convince you to leave your books."

"As my mentor and a fellow Scholar you should be glad I am so dedicated," I countered somewhat stiffly.

"I know your circumstances were... difficult," he said, "Before coming here. But I worry for you. Do you remember your seventeenth birthday? I thought we should celebrate, and you agreed, only to persuade me into celebrating with more books. You said, and I do believe you meant it, that all you wished for was to read more and perhaps discuss some of the topics together. Then when you were promoted to Junior Scholar, your friends practically had to kidnap you to celebrate." I knew he'd aided and abetted them. "After that, you refused to treat your one-year anniversary in the Scholar's Guild as special. To my knowledge, you have not taken a single break for any holiday. It's almost as if you are afraid of the world outside the library. I know books are a source of comfort and strength for you--"

"That's not it," I interrupted. He just gave me this politely patronizing look, and I couldn't stand it, blurting, "I mean, they are, but it's not just that. I... I feel I owe it to my grandmother."

I fell into a shocked silence, unable to believe what I'd just admitted not only to him but to myself. Yes, said aloud it sounded... but when I looked up, he was just patiently waiting, ready to listen.

I didn't think I would have been able to continue in front of anyone else, but he was perhaps the only real father figure I'd ever had in my life, at least I felt as close to him as I thought a real parental bond should feel, which, considering we'd met in person a little over a year ago, probably only supported his theory I was not the most mentally and emotionally sound. Fortunately, I could sense -- through my Empathy -- his warm feelings of care, consideration, and concern towards me. If I was laboring under a familial delusion, then it was somewhat shared.

I blinked away from his lined face, so wise and kind, looking around my equally beloved library, the sprawling shelves filled with thousands of years of accumulated knowledge... and yes, perhaps I sought comfort and strength. And received it: I didn't understand how so many others could pass through here and suffer disappointment at the lack of easily accessible Skill Books, when ordinary books could be just as valuable in content if not market price.

Finally, I tried to answer my waiting mentor. "She gave me her blessing," I said, lowering my face and voice like this was a confession. "I learn faster so long as I stay devoted to learning."

Something like a hush descended between us, broken when he couldn't resist asking, "Was this when...?"

"No. I don't remember when she did it, only she told me when I asked why I picked things up so quickly."

Another pause, this time more awkward than reverent. Mercifully, he didn't say it. I knew he was thinking it, since I could literally feel his doubt, but he demonstrated his usual tact. "I have not heard of such a thing, though I cannot discount it. Nevertheless, such a boon should not prevent taking breaks or conducting field research. Consider also that nearly all spells, even ones as necessarily powerful, expire along with their caster."

What a lot of words to circumvent what we were both thinking, the reason I'd avoided acknowledging anything until now, that my final memento of my grandmother was awfully convenient for a Sage who must have been keen to keep her talented student motivated. If only she'd known I would remain steadfast in my love for learning just as she had. Or if she'd had more time...

It was my turn to sigh and to circulate my mana, centering myself. I thought of the dungeon I'd left behind and its... well, what I interpreted as almost a cry for help. Could I truly abandon it without looking back? Did I really want to offload such a curious mystery?

I could feel my heart beating faster again at just the thought of returning. It had also been nice to discuss one of my own projects for once; my mentor had encouraged me to seek out what interested me, but nothing had succeeded at doing so until now. "I suppose another field trip couldn't hurt. Oh no," I suddenly realized, "This means I'll have to approach Bessie and the rest as adventurers."

"...Yes?"

"Just, adventurers. It's one thing for strangers or acquaintances. An entirely different matter when the madmen are your friends."

"Adventuring is an entirely respectable profession," he said, picking up on my mood.

"They'll be overjoyed at the chance to risk their necks and mine for a cause."

"Surely you exaggerate."

"Only a little," I said, but in spite of myself, I was smiling. And maybe, just a little bit, excited.