For my first subsidized Scroll creation, I decided to start with Mana Barrier while the spell was fresh on my mind, and all right, in the hopes I could somehow gain the Skill faster. As a dedicated student of runes, I believed I already had a good grasp of how to make its Scroll. Unfortunately, the process would be much more involved than chalking a runic circle for an on-the-spot cast.

The first hurdle was the expense. I was never more grateful to the Scholar Board than when I went shopping for my many necessary materials, for my peace of mind if nothing else. As I examined each pricey bottle of enchanted ink -- starting at two silver for a small bottle; I could buy ten sets of chalk with that sum -- and equally wince-worthy quire of special parchment, it occurred to me despite or because of my unusual situation, I might benefit greatly from a good Merchant broker. Such a person could make all my current and future purchases and sales quickly, conveniently, and competitively, including helping me obtain a suitable and hopefully affordable focus. I was sure any Merchant would be especially interested in hearing I practically had an open bank-bag for Scroll-making materials -- but no, I wasn't willing to exploit that potential loophole in my magical contract to effectively cheat my guild.

In any case, establishing a mutually beneficial relationship with a broker early on could prove invaluable, but I didn't know any such candidate here. And I wasn't willing to trust entirely to luck and my questionable ability to judge character. I actually did know one of the best Merchants in the world, or at least most successful... but he was in Bhizdom, much too far to develop a working relationship over my meagre offerings. A matter for another time, then.

In the end, I decided to splurge large silver on a sizable ink bottle and ream of parchment, saving me from making repeat trips for every new Scroll. Furthermore, I discovered buying a sample Scroll of Mana Barrier was covered by the contract, which made logical sense, since studying and copying a Scroll was significantly easier than creating one afresh and just as good experience for [Scribe], but still left me stunned speechless before nearly shouting with joy (except I was too self-conscious). No wonder they'd had me sign a personalized magical contract! Even so, the Board was extending me a great deal of trust, and my heart swelled once more with gratitude.

For most, the greatest difficulty in creating a Scroll was in constructing and memorizing a workable runic formation. With my memory and expertise in runes, however, my greatest hurdle came in implementation, relying on my finger dexterity and mana manipulation. [Scribe] enabled me to copy individual magical runes, but that was useless here, since the runes in a Scroll needed to be intricately interlinked; copying one would be like copying a single detached thread from a tapestry. Still, I made good progress with few shortcuts: after sufficiently Appraising the high-quality Scroll I'd obtained so that I was confident I could replicate it, I managed to finish inking a basic outline of Mana Barrier, leaning heavily on [Scribe] to draw the runes precisely, before running out of mana.

Blake would probably point out this still wasn't enough of a personal challenge if I wanted to upgrade [Scribe] in a reasonable time frame. Nevertheless, I felt exhausted and eagerly sought out my mentor. I filled him in on everything: my promising lesson in [Enhanced Scribe] followed by my disastrous one in [Mental Resistance], my triumphant return into my first dungeon and our poorly communicated deal, and finally, Bessie's assertion it must be an anomaly.

By the time I finished speaking, the feeling from him was... odd, but warm. Pride, relief, concern, fondness, nostalgia? I waited for him to gather his thoughts and speak, but he still surprised me: "I am glad you have emerged from your shell, Rowena."

Had I? I supposed I'd been more active these past days than I once would've been in a month, at least from an outside perspective; personally, I thought learning from books could be just as active. But no, Senior Rubrik knew all this. If he was so glad to see me leaving the library... well, I couldn't say he was wrong or in the minority. I decided to accept his words in the spirit they were intended and said, "Thank you."

As for the possible anomaly, he believed drawing any conclusions at this stage would be premature, since substantiated research into and published literature on dungeons was sadly lacking. For example, we had no idea if a relocated Mature Core would be mana-starved and consequently require significant sleep to recover. "I believe you should prioritize gaining [Mental Resistance]," he said, "And to that end, obtaining mage robes capable of dampening your Empathy. If you still wish to create your own, I could introduce you to a tailor I know."

"How is it you know everyone?" I said. "Wait, do you happen to know a good Merchant?"

Seeming bemused, Senior Rubrik said, "I do not. However, I have lived in Wilton my whole life, well over seventy years, and patronized the same tailor's shop the past three decades, enough time to develop a friendly rapport." He paused in thought and added, "If I recall, your friend is from a multigenerational Artisan family. She or her parents may have more useful connections in this regard, possibly including a Merchant."

"I heard the Artisans and Merchants are something like rivals, though?"

"That might be, but the relationship is complicated. The Artisans seek to monopolize, whereas the Merchants support a free market. The Artisans value top-tier craftsmanship above all, compared to the Merchants profiting off mass production. Despite the ideological differences, however, they arguably need each other... and may resent the dependency."

"Merchants need us, but we certainly don't need them," Hannah objected hotly when I raised the topic later that night. "My parents do just fine selling for ourselves."

"And when it comes to trading goods across the continent or overseas?" Blake said. "Will you Artisans invest in ships, take up arms, and brave the journeys yourselves?"

Hannah frowned. "Well... without the Merchants, we could hire our own people to do those things."

"Without the Artisans, the Merchants could hire their own people to make things to sell."

For a second, annoyance surged, but then she relaxed and even cracked a smile. "Point taken. Anyway, Rena, I'm happy to ask my parents for you... but it might be better if you asked them yourself?"

Startled, I nearly fumbled a rune. "What? You mean visit your home?" I'd never ever done something like that before.

"Yes. Don't you remember me inviting you, oh, half a year ago? You looked terrified and stammered a bunch of excuses? I haven't brought it up again, but they really do want to meet you."

I stared at her, trying to picture the scene she described. I did remember her saying she'd talked me up to her parents as some sort of genius. Anybody would feel self-conscious after that, right? I'd assumed they wanted to meet the walking encyclopedia, hence my refusal. "Um... sure?"

"It's just that I keep mentioning you -- wait, really?" She brightened. "You'll come for dinner tomorrow?"

"It won't be awkward that I'm asking a favor right away?"

"Naw, don't worry. My parents don't stand on ceremonies. Er, also, I may have told them about this dungeon and how it's possibly an anomaly--"

"What?" My heart leapt into my throat. If people started flooding in...

"--but they don't really care."

"How can they not?" I asked. "Don't they know how rare anomalous non-Planar Dungeons are?"

"So? They're boring blacksmiths. Trust me, you'll get it when you meet them."

I looked around and was met with a complete lack of concern, which might be more reassuring if my friends didn't react the same way to definitely dangerous situations... like here and now. Reminded of my role, I went back to chalking runes.

At last, I cast: "Mana Barrier." A moment later, Bessie used her Skill. We carefully adjusted our coverage, and then Tom went right up to our barriers, leaned over, and gave a shout.

The rats came running... and crashed into our glowing blue panels. They shrieked in blind fury, charging forward again only to bounce back, again. This obviously wouldn't work with stronger minions, or smarter: instead of coordinating together to overcome the obstacle we presented, they managed more often to trip each other up. When the rare rat did succeed at scrambling over its kin and leaping over, Tom simply knocked it back with a single swing of his shield. Meanwhile Blake's hands moved in a blur, detaching limbs. Only Hannah had little to do, waiting out the cooldown after [Pinning Shot] with a frustrated expression.

I ran out of mana first, lacking the Skill unlike Bessie. I let out a warning before letting my Mana Barrier collapse, my heart sinking at all the remaining rats. To my surprise, Bessie followed suit -- and instantly cast: "[Wind Blast]!" The compressed air blew back the unprepared attackers. I braced for them to return, but Tom, standing in the doorway, remained unmolested.

The seconds ticked by before Blake slipped back into the room. "They're disarmed."

"I think those are all legs, not arms," Bessie said cheerfully, peering into the gory hallway that I resolutely averted my gaze from. "Huh, a lot fewer than yesterday."

Truly? The monsters had seemed so numerous when they were clawing at my Mana Barrier. Still, I was happy we had apparently avoided killing any.

If I was hoping the dungeon would be similarly pleased on waking, however... well, it just felt accepting of the current state of things but disinclined to communicate. That or the distance from the Core prohibited easy contact. In any case, there wasn't much point to lingering inside with the monsters out of commission. I considered asking it if there were any stragglers that could attack us for more practice... before coming to my senses and discarding that idea as terrible.

Still, I couldn't help feeling a bit disappointed by the lack of interaction with the dungeon before we left.

Hannah's family lived on the second floor above their store at a good central location within walking distance of the Adventurer's Guildhall. She led us directly upstairs and inside, where I saw her home was clean, uncluttered, and economically furnished, with only a few decorations: a vase here, a family portrait there. A medium-quality play orb sat pride of place in the living room, currently set to soft music without visuals. Somehow I had expected something more... artsy, from Artisans.

My lingering nerves soon dissipated, replaced by surprise as Blake removed his hood. I was so used to him hiding under his cloak, it was somewhat jarring to see his features plainly exposed. In fact, I didn't think I had ever seen him with his hood fully off before, though his tattered cloak once upon a time hadn't managed to hide much, telling me right away of his nonhuman heritage. His silver-white hair, dark skin -- more brown than the expected black -- and very slightly pointed ears, at least to those with high perception, all spoke of a dark-elf parent. I once more wondered how a drow and human had fallen in together, though considering Blake's lack of surname, the tale was unlikely to have a romantic ending. He looked young enough, somewhere around Bessie's sixteen, my seventeen, or Tom's eighteen -- certainly younger than Hannah's twenty-two -- though given elven long lives, who knew? Probably not even him, considering his circumstances in the Underworld.

Sensing his discomfort, I quickly turned my gaze away.

"Hello! You must be Rowena Loress!" Mrs. Smith was a tall, sturdy woman with Hannah's cropped black hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. She shook my hand vigorously, releasing me when I winced. "Ah, sorry. Forget how delicate you mage types are, besides Bessie. So we have you to thank for Hannah's current Path!"

Though she felt sincere, I could sense her real feelings were more complicated, gratitude mixed with pained resentment, like I'd saved her daughter's life by cutting off her leg. Taken aback, I said, "Feel free to call me Rena, and she chose her own Path. I just offered some tips on relevant Skills."

"Nonetheless, we appreciate you trying to help her." She returned my offer with her own name, which I promptly forgot in my nervousness; curse it, I should have asked for and Scribed it earlier. "Hannah tells me you're looking to learn how to make your own robes?" When I nodded, she looked me up and down. "Have any experience with crafting?"

"Uh, not as such, no," I admitted. "Unless making Scrolls or ordinary books count?"

"Hm. And you're some genius with runes?"

I flushed. "I wouldn't call myself that. Just well-trained and possessing an eidetic memory. I am much more experienced in rune analysis, replication, and modification than in formulation and construction."

"Huh, you are just as my daughter described." I stiffened; the last person who'd said that was Derrick. "Where's your book?"

I relaxed. Oh, was that all? "In Tom's pack."

"Hm. And you have [Advanced Appraisal] and familiarity with artifacts?"

"Mom!" Hannah protested. "We haven't even sat down yet! Didn't you promise not to pester her?"

"I did no such thing. Don't get so excited over a few friendly questions," her mother said before turning her gaze back on me. "And I do ask for a reason. We don't truck with any Merchants here, but we could refer you to other Artisans. I think I may already know someone who'd be happy to help you if you can help her. She's been experimenting with tricky new enchantments, can't figure out why they only sometimes work. Does that sound in your wheelhouse?"

I brightened. "It does, thank you!"

She chuckled. "Not a genius, she says. Do you hear that, Hannah? Why can't you be so modest?"

"Now, now, our daughter is perfect," a man said, entering with Tom from the kitchen. He was tall and stocky like his wife but had an especially gentle, peaceful-feeling aura. "Also, dear, perhaps we should stop embarrassing her if we want her to keep inviting over her friends."

"Dad!" Hannah said, looking like he'd come to rescue her. "Are you done? Can we eat?"

"Yes, thanks to Tom here, who did most of the cooking," he said, seeming amused rather than offended when everybody perked up, including me.

We gathered around the dining room table, or rather the original table and another that had been dragged in to accommodate the seven of us. Seated beside her parents, Hannah's resemblance to both was striking, all three sharing my dark hair but shorter and coarser. That thought prompted me to look around the table, where I noted with pleasure we had a whole spectrum of natural hair colors -- Hannah's black, Bessie's brown, Tom's blond, Blake's white -- without any of that Mage's Guild-inspired nonsense.

Bowls were passed around before we were left to serve ourselves. I waited until there was finally room around the cook pot without jostling anyone. Tom's cooking was notable in that it was never particularly fancy or appetizing in appearance, but one bite and it also never received any complaints. If I didn't know all of his Skills, I would think he was using top-tier illusion magic to make us taste what we liked.

Today he'd whipped up some sort of thick, meaty stew with lots of potatoes, which I couldn't help eyeing dubiously. But again, one bite and I discovered the meat melted in my mouth and the potato was soaked in the sauce's rich flavor. I happily helped myself to a full bowl and ate with gusto while the others chatted about the Autumn Festival, which I was skipping as usual.

"So, Rowena," Mrs. Smith said, snapping me back to the lull in conversation. "Since we've talked business, we have something more important to discuss."

I straightened. "Yes?"

I felt a wave of alarm mixed with embarrassment from Hannah, but just as she was opening her mouth her mother asked: "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Mom!"

I just stared at her blankly. "I'm currently seeing you?"

There was a pause before laughter erupted around the table. Mrs. Smith was not immune to the apparently contagious hilarity, but she recovered first. "Very funny. I meant, are you attached? Walking out with someone? Sharing wands?"

I turned bright red and looked to Hannah for help, but she was still choking with laughter. That or she'd choked on her food.

"Come now, it's a yes or no question. Yes? No?"

Unable to withstand such intense pressure, I folded. "No."

"Now that won't do! An adorable little thing like you?"

I boggled at this description of me, but I supposed compared to her I must seem tiny. "I think appearance-wise she's more pretty than cute," Bessie offered her unsolicited opinion. "She just acts so adorable." Argh, she was younger than me! I shot her a feeble glare, made difficult by my lowered face. By now I was sure my blush must extend all the way to my ears. She simply gestured at me with the hugest smug smile. "See?"

"Well," the fearsome Mrs. Smith said, "Maybe we can find you more than a helpful Artisan! What sort of beau are you interested in?"

"Um..." At least the subject was slightly shifted off me. Much easier imagining someone else who didn't really exist. I bought time with a large spoonful of stew, but I didn't have to think long. "Somebody brilliant, caring, and kind. He should love learning, and um, preferably read the same books I do."

I once more stunned the table into silence. This time Bessie spoke first: "You want to date a male version of yourself?"

I blinked back at her. She did have a point, though I hadn't thought of it that way. Was I truly kind and caring? I was empathic and disposed to be helpful, which wasn't the same thing. And brilliant? I lacked the expertise to create artifacts, merely study them; I had yet to invent any new spells, simply stumbled onto the lucky discovery of a new Skill; I had not expanded the current repertoire of magical knowledge, only read a great deal and memorized everything I read. The world was full of geniuses much more capable than me, though admittedly I was still young. At the least, the 'beau' I'd envisioned was someone I would aspire to be.

"The young often wish for a partner who thinks the same way they do, avoiding friction," Mrs. Smith said, "But true partners should complement each other." She shared a look with her husband that had Hannah rolling her eyes. In her parents' presence, the archer-arrowsmith appeared to abruptly lose a decade in maturity. "You will see in time. Have you any previous experience with love, Rena?"

Unbidden, a face flashed in my mind. I felt myself pale, a hard knot of emotions tightening in my chest as my eyes welled with tears. I blinked furiously, trying to chase them back, and my spoon slipped from shaking fingers to clatter loudly against my mostly empty bowl.

For the third time in a row, the table went dead. Then Hannah hissed furiously: "I told you not to pester her!"

"You didn't say she's had those sorts of bad experiences."

"We don't know if she has, since that's her private business!"

"Rena," Bessie said quietly, "Do you want to talk about it?"

I just shook my head.

"I'm sorry, young lady," Mrs. Smith said. "I didn't mean to reopen old wounds. I suppose I've grown used to these hardy adventurers. You aren't one, are you?"

"No," I said, hopefully having regained my outward composure.

"But you fit right in with Team Multi-Movers." That made me stare at her in surprise. "Since you're a Scholar?" Seeing my look of continued confusion, she clarified: "As Scholar and adventurer, you would be multi-class yourself."

"Wait," I said, turning to my friends, "That's why you chose the name?"

In answer, Bessie thunked her head on the table, berating me with a deluge of exasperation. I supposed she counted as a multi-class mage and warrior who called herself a spellsword. My gaze slid to Tom, the cook and shield, and Hannah, the archer-arrowsmith, before landing on Blake. Since as far as I knew, he was following the Path I'd recommended for him of a Bloodshadow Embattled Rogue... This time he met my searching gaze, despite the lingering discomfort, and stated, "I'm the single-class, multiracial exception."

The first time we'd really met, he had been unhappy with anybody knowing he wasn't fully human. I hadn't brought up the subject since, but I was glad to see he was so comfortable with having it out in the open now. On the other hand, he clearly still didn't like attention, so I changed the subject and asked, "Why 'Movers'?"

"You try coming up with a better team name," Bessie said, lifting her head. "We couldn't take the Silver-Ranking test without declaring something, and we didn't want to miss our chance and have to wait another three months for the next test..."

"Trust me, the other naming suggestions were worse," Hannah said grimly.

"No, I like it," I said. "Movers can be people who are influential, ambitious, or dynamic. You might not be the first yet, but it's a name that will grow with you."

Bessie beamed. "Thank you!"

"Actually, on the subject of naming," Tom said. "Can we decide something to call the dungeon?"

I looked at him in confusion. "Dungeons aren't named until they reach Developing and survive a year."

But Bessie was nodding. "Just between us. Can't keep calling it 'Rena's dungeon.' I mean we can, but anybody overhearing us might get the wrong idea."

"Why would you call it that?" I demanded. My cheeks felt hot again for some reason, and I hastily picked up my bowl as an excuse to hide my face.

"Because it's your one and only?" she said. Hannah felt a spike of trepidatious concern, but I honestly could take the teasing and refused to wallow in the past. "I mean really, Rena, you finally leave your book-cave just to meet it, upgrade two Skills in your first two visits attaining one that's Advanced and one that's a new Skill, form some sort of unique mental connection with it or at least one we've never heard of..."

"It's a romance for the ages," Tom said sagely.

"Perhaps you will even reform the dungeon to be less of a mass-murdering human-hater," Blake said, enjoying himself.

"Now don't be putting more funny ideas in each other's heads," Mrs. Smith said. "Adventurers take too many risks as is. At least treat them seriously."

I looked at her approvingly. "How sensible."

"Then instead of looking for trouble in this dungeon," she said, turning on me, "Why don't you concentrate on advancing in your guild? Hannah tells me you aren't even trying?"

'Sorry,' the aforementioned traitor mouthed.

"Um," I said, "What would be the purpose of that?"

"Of advancing? Don't you want to open more opportunities, take on more responsibilities? If you weren't still a Junior Scholar, you could lead an official team researching your dungeon instead of sneaking in with your friends' help, for one."

She had me there. "Then after I've satisfied myself with this investigation, I will make it a priority," I said and decided, setting down my finished bowl.

"Why does it need to be you who goes into the dungeon at all?" she pressed. "Are you hoping for recognition and distinctions?"

I looked at her curiously. "I imagine it's for the same reason Hannah crafts her own arrows," I said, "Or risks her life as an adventurer."

She glanced at her daughter, who stared right back with a lifted chin and mulish expression. Watching them, I had a sudden flash of insight: Hannah's mother did not want her to be an adventurer. Of course not; who would want that for their loved one? Then Mr. Smith placed a hand over his wife's, and some tension eased. "Anybody want dessert?" he asked.

I shook my head along with everybody but Tom, who was also on something like his fourth refill. "Maybe later?" Hannah said. "I'm stuffed."

"Hold up," Bessie said, "We still haven't decided a name for the dungeon. Oh!" She spun toward the Smiths. "Can we use the chalkboard?" Receiving their amused approval, she scampered out and soon returned dragging a board on wheels. I thought it said something about her that we were all used to this sort of behavior and rolled with it. Tapping the board with its accompanying chalk, she asked, "Any ideas?"

When nobody said anything immediately, I began, "I read a book with dungeon naming conventions--"

But she interrupted, "No, no, we can't have a dungeon name for our dungeon! That's too long and too suspicious. We need, like, a codename."

Silence once more descended, this time thankfully not caused by me. Hannah ventured, "Since it's a dungeon, how about Dungy for short?"

Instead of laughing as might be expected, Bessie dutifully wrote the suggestion down, confirming the intended spelling.

"Duni," Blake said. "Shorter still."

"Denny," Bessie said and wrote. "Since it's a monster den."

The three not-so-dissimilar choices lined up. "Maybe we're thinking about this the wrong way," Tom said, pausing between mouthfuls of stew. "What do we want it to be? Or want from it?"

I'd heard of that, naming children after virtues like Prudence, Constance, or Felicity. "If I could choose one blessing for a newborn," I said, "I would ask for Wisdom. I think it would be the opposite to use that as a name we'd keep calling the dungeon, though." I could just imagine the future confusion: 'Watch out for Wisdom, don't let it eat you.'

"So Wizm, then."

"That's very godmotherly of you," Bessie said, "But what do we want from it? The usual classics, power and fame and fortune?"

"To become a legend," Blake said, dark eyes glittering.

"You can't mean the dungeon? You want an SS-Ranked legendary dungeon?"

"It could be a legend another way," I offered. "Right now we don't really know that much about dungeons. It could be the first to change that."

"Dungeon lore," Mr. Smith spoke up. "Lor."

We all studied the current board with its list of candidate names: 'Dungy,' 'Duni,' 'Denny,' 'Wizm,' and 'Lor.' "I think that's enough options," Bessie said, looking uncharacteristically unsure as her gaze swept back and forth over the five contenders. "Shall we vote?"

"Wait," I said. "This isn't like when you were deciding your team name. We don't have a time limit here. Anyway, I at least want to float the names by the dungeon."

"Do you truly think it can understand that much?" Mrs. Smith asked.

"No, but it's the thought that counts, right?"

After another pause, Hannah leapt to her feet, clapping her hands together. "Oh, I haven't shown you my archery range, Rena!"

In all fairness, she'd put together something amazing especially for a private range, with moving targets continually fired in random directions, and smoothly showcased both it and her archery. However, I couldn't help feeling affected by her parents' suppressed boredom suggesting they'd seen nearly this exact demonstration so many times they could picture it in their sleep. Eventually, they left us youngsters to it and drifted indoors.

"I'm sorry about my mother," Hannah said quietly, contrasting with the loud sound of arrow striking target. "She means well, but she can't help, well... prying and nagging."

"No, it's fine," I said, awkwardly.

"I was impressed," Blake said. "When it was me, I couldn't deflect her questions at all until I finally escaped out the window."

"I think this is pretty normal family behavior," Bessie said. "Parents are practically required to try embarrassing their kids in front of their friends and vice versa. Awkwardness is to be expected. It's all part of coming closer together."

Could that be true? I'd never been part of a normal family, so it was hard to know. I recalled just yesterday feeling rather awkward with my mentor but also happy. And there'd been plenty of awkwardness in the beginning when he'd taken me in.

"They always have trouble embarrassing you, though," Tom said around mouthfuls of dessert, "Since you're shameless."

Bessie grinned. "What do I have to be ashamed of?"

And this was my first time visiting a friend's home, another new normal. I looked around, at Hannah's armed-and-loaded backyard, at her parents peeking through the windows, at the five of us milling around joking, and I was glad.

I also couldn't help the tiny wish sparking inside me, no matter how foolishly or distantly, one day for such awkward normal relations with my dungeon.