"Call me Georgina," the Senior Artisan said. "I think we'll be working very closely together in the future, don't you?"

"Ah, as you wish. Georgina," I said and was promptly puzzled by her mingled disappointment and relief. "I've been reading advice on sewing--"

"No need," she said. "As you solved mine, so I have just the solution for you and yours. Assuming our trial run together goes well. More practice is always best before the real thing" -- she arched her brows suggestively -- "if you know what I mean."

"Of course!" I smiled and nodded, choosing to ignore her peculiarities as much as possible unless they became a problem. "I'm eager to learn!"

She sighed and shifted closer on the couch, pressing her arm against mine. She had grown even more touchy-feely since my button breakthrough. Perhaps as I turned to books and Empathy, she liked leaning on her tactile sense? That would be both natural and useful as an Artisan. Supporting this theory, her lips brushed my ear as she said, "Have you ever mixed your mana with somebody else's before?"

"Yes, for group casting."

"Now that isn't the same at all. Far less... intimate."

Personally, I thought the primary difference was the fewer people the easier, but then I realized: "Oh! You mean to infuse threads with both our manas and then sew the robes on my behalf?"

Her eye twitched. "Precisely. You realize what this will entail?"

"Weeks of merging our manas in forced close proximity? I imagine I'd have a longer and harder time on my own, if I could succeed at all." I glanced down at my poor tormented fingers and shuddered at the memory of needles. "Really, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. If we aren't compatible..."

I wasn't worried. Though we both might find the other peculiar, I doubted we could ruin our chances beyond our respective abilities to compensate. We were neither of us novices in the art of fine mana manipulation.

Following her directions, we each grasped the same thread but on opposite ends; she'd snipped off a relatively short section. Then we essentially threaded our manas through. Since hers moved smoother and faster, our energies met closer to my end and as expected -- by me; Georgina seemed pleasantly surprised -- mixed together without any difficulty or delay until the whole thread was uniformly filled.

Next, we tried starting from the same end, though Georgina pinched the very tip of the thread while I started slightly farther down, thinning our manas as much as possible so that both were fully accommodated. The gradual commingling of manas was then as ice gently stirred to melt faster in warm water, minimizing the risk of a volatile reaction. Once more we soon finished the whole strand.

The third test was the clincher. Georgina presented a small spool of thread, and together we repeated the previous steps on a bigger -- or rather longer -- scale. This time it was my turn to be pleasantly surprised when we managed the entire task before running dry. I supposed the thinner mana stretched longer and I'd grown used to adventurers with their abominably greater mana pools and mana-intensive activities, whereas the Artisan had scarcely more than I did.

She made excellent use of hers though, her Skilled hands moving in a blur at such speed she must surely outpace most sewing machines -- thankfully I wouldn't need to invest in one as I'd feared -- producing several samples of fabric. "Here," she said. "Place them one at a time against your skin."

"No runes?"

"I want to confirm our method is working for you first. And it's a common mistake, focusing on runes to the exclusion of all else." Seeing I was listening attentively, she explained, "Runes are the centerpiece of our craft's enchantments, but they can't stand alone. It's like... a garden might be known for its trees and flowers, but you still need grasses, walkways, and I don't know, decoratively placed stones and other touches to make it truly great. It wouldn't be much of a garden otherwise... what?"

I realized I was smiling and said, "I like your metaphor. So now I just circulate my mana?"

"Right, imagine you're wearing that and remember the feeling. Now the next one."

Following her instructions, I quickly found I preferred rounded designs over blocky figures, straight lines, or more elaborate embroidery. From drawing runic circles, but rarely other formations? Georgina didn't give my choice any thought, simply starting on the next set of circular-only samples.

Even without such tailored measures, I would already count this as an enormous success and said as much: "I don't understand why this method of making mage robes isn't more well-known?"

She kept her eyes on her work but answered readily, "Considering how much an Artisan would typically charge for this kind of service? Plus the time investment? The vast majority of clients would skip straight to mage armor. Or sew their own robes and become labelled Threadmages, as though they're somehow separate from ordinary mages." She tied off a stitch and glanced at me. "Or know such a person."

"Oh," I said in surprise. "There used to be a Threadmage's Guild, but they joined the Mages long ago."

"Yes, I imagine they benefit from their own dedicated robe-makers, but you know how those Mages are with secrecy. Anyway, you might find circulating, mixing, and molding your mana into an undamaged thread easy, but you're hardly a usual client."

She passed over the new samples, whereupon I determined I did favor circles and also spirals, but not oval, wavy, or more abstract symbols. Continuing in this manner, I strongly preferred perfect symmetry, which apparently was normal and even expected with my personality, whatever she meant by that. Finally, I chose fully enclosed borders.

I wondered if Georgina could now see through me in the manner of Senior Okim, though she lacked the preternaturally piercing eyes. Probably not; instead of measuring me at a glance, she used a tape measure and meticulously recorded each result. "Right," she said, "Now we know what fits your mana and your body" -- she leaned closer, anticipation bubbling -- "we come to the linchpin of any commission. I know some ladies find the topic uncomfortable, even... improper." Oh, no. I was not ready for this. My whole face flushed with nerves; my heart beat faster. Locking eyes with me, she struck my one vital weakness: "What is your budget?"

Despite bracing for it, I winced. "Um. Right now?"

"That bad, huh?" she said dryly, concealing disappointment.

"I can maybe make more? No, I will. Absolutely."

The Artisan was unimpressed by my newfound resolve. "I am willing to waive labor fees, but you understand I cannot possibly justify subsidizing any of your costs of production. Such a shame. We would have made a masterpiece together." A moment passed in shared regret for what might have been before she asked briskly, "Right, how much can you afford?"

There was no tactful way to say it. Hannah's parents, knowing of my situation, had insisted we meet soonest anyway. "Less than a silver," I admitted.

Her eyes widened; her internal reaction was much more dramatic. "But... how?" In the next moment, disbelief turned to calculation. "Perhaps we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement. If you place your services at my disposal, I can offer you... yes, two large silvers for a month. How is that for a generous offer?"

"Um, no thanks?" Even without the greedy glee emanating from her, that would be a hard no.

She pouted. "Really, someone so impoverished should not be so particular!"

"I'm poor at least partly because I am," I countered.

"Come now, we can start with a trial month and then renegotiate..."

But despite her wheedling, we hit an insurmountable impasse in the number of working hours. She insisted I had unrealistic expectations; I agreed and pointed out my consequent lack of a standard job. "Your mismanaged finances will seriously limit the quantity and quality of available enchantments," she said what I already knew. "Well, on the bright side that'll save us much time. In fact, we could use castoff bargain-bin robes I have here and simply add embroidery as needed."

"Really?" I said hopefully and then hesitated. "What's the catch?"

I felt a surge of mischievous inspiration from her before she said, "Sewing mage robes from the ground up is like growing a traditional garden. Adding stitches onto a prefabricated robe, meanwhile, is like placing plants on plain flooring. Is it better to have a potted garden with more and rarer plants, do you think, or an outside garden that's mainly dirt and grass?"

Curses, her one metaphor was markedly superior to all of mine. "The former is better for the present," I said, "But the latter for the future?"

"Nicely summarized. Hmm, with two more details. First, the potted garden can also be improved upon along with your finances, though it will suffer more limitations down the line. And second, where the metaphor breaks down, I'm afraid, is the stitches on mage robes cannot simply be removed and replanted. But unless you suddenly luck into a pot of gold, I think the choice is clear. Or are you happy with waiting an age, slowly growing a bare plot of land?"

I grimaced, reviewing my dungeon's timeline: anywhere from two to ten years to the Developing stage, at which point... well, one way or the other I would lose access. I didn't wish to face a tradeoff between quality and affordability, future potential and current speed, but laid out like that, it was a choice between daydreams and reality. "Could I have the potted-- the faster robes first? And slowly build up the other?"

She nodded slowly. "I see how that could be the best case... but sweetie, if you expect to receive two robes at material cost from me, you'd better prove your value to me twice over. And even then, I do have my own projects keeping me busy. You could easily wait years for a second robe sewn from scratch fit to replace your first." She looked and felt so serious I could do nothing but nod. "Well, on a happier subject, miss rune expert. Have you given any thought to the enchantments?"

I had, thankfully. "Um, I doubt at this point I can afford ones really useful for defense, so maybe focus on mana conversion? I also have three special requests. First, I'd like help with long-distance movement, such as a stamina boost. Second, an optional block on my Empathy."

Georgina's whole body stiffened before she donned a professional smile. "Pardon?"

"Third, I hope to gain the Skill [Mind Over Matter]... Are you all right?"

"You feel that, do you?" she said acerbically. It was impossible not to. Her innards had recoiled from me before roiling with a concerning concentration of horror, disgust, and loathing. "How dare you. Those are my, my private... you have no right..." The sudden switch in her attitude and emotions had me shrinking away even before she pointed a painted nail and spat: "Get out. Out!"

"How dare you? How dare she!" Hannah fumed on my behalf later in Duni.

"It's understandable," I said with a sigh. "Not everybody reacts so well to a known Empath."

"She just hasn't had the chance to get to know you," Bessie said, "And that you aren't some judgy creep."

"But you've helped her so much!" Hannah said. "The least she can do is uphold her end of your agreement." True, I might've suspected Georgina was trying to evade repayment if... well, if I couldn't sense her feelings. "I'll have my parents talk to her."

"Won't she be upset with them, too? For introducing us, and not informing her of my Empathy?"

"Probably?"

The Journeyman didn't seem concerned, but I blanched. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Not your fault. Besides, it might be good for them. A nice, healthy shouting match to get the hard feelings out of the way." Seeing my shock and dismay, she said, "Fighting doesn't always have to be a big deal or a bad thing."

"Don't you Scholars like to debate?" Tom added.

"With logic! An emotional appeal constitutes a fallacy!"

"See, this is why most of us don't bother arguing with you," Blake said. "Do you hear yourself? It's impossible to have a personal argument between two people without bringing emotions into it."

"Unless they're both emotionless golems," Tom said.

This was blatantly false, but I recognized the use of hyperbole and that presenting factual counterexamples would be futile and unappreciated under these circumstances. Not for the first time, I blessed my luck for the existence and acceptance of the Scholar's Guild of likeminded rational people. It wasn't as though I found emotions worthless -- how could I, as an Empath -- simply less than conducive to a proper argument.

"Anyway, she might be a Senior and grownup now," Hannah said, "But I bet she's still intimidated by my mom. We'll knock some sense into her, don't worry!"

That apparently would not be happening anytime soon, however, as the Smiths discovered Georgina Lauren had temporarily closed shop and left for parts unknown. We decided to wait on her return rather than send messages that would likely only give her a swelled head. She loved drama too much to avoid me overlong if I wouldn't chase, according to Hannah's mother.

I just wanted a robe-maker, not a trip to the theater. I considered seeking my mentor's referral, but no point until I'd earned some coin; his tailor wasn't conveniently in need. Also, I hadn't quite given up on the joint sewing project. What other tailor would be willing to spend so much time to spare me the pain? That Georgina had known and proposed such a method was beyond fortuitous.

Swallowing guilt, I had to wonder... was I wrong for not informing her of my Skill? Surely not; sharing such a thing should always be a personal choice, not an obligation. And her reaction only justified my hesitation. Of course, that didn't invalidate how lousy she'd felt then and I felt now. A personal argument divorced from logic, indeed.

In the meantime, my mentor discovered my delay in using my SES and explained its 'Subject to Availability' meant I should use it as much and as soon as possible. Once the Book was no longer available, I might be waiting a long time for its renewal; the sooner this happened, the sooner the Copyist Scholar could consider working on repairs.

[Magic Hand] as a Book was a real mind-bender, sending me helplessly tumbling, hopelessly flailing. Up was down; I swung my right arm and twitched my left leg; I knocked my head and felt the impact as pressure along my back. I was trapped in some warped nightmare.

And someone made this? Somebody else legibly repaired it? No wonder Copyists were so odd, and over time only became odder.

At least, in practicing Magic Hand, I finally hit a monster for the first time. That was, if flinging rats away counted, even though after falling to the floor and shaking themselves off, they went right back on the attack. I didn't dare use [Fireball], and it was still an improvement offensively over Mana Barrier, which I'd stopped training for now: while single-minded devotion to a Skill could help, just as often taking a break inexplicably aided breakthroughs, dubbed the returner learner effect.

Sometimes minions abruptly stopped and fled, indicating the dungeon had become aware. Unfortunately, with all the nearby noise metaphorically screaming into my mind's ear, I couldn't sense its moment of awakening otherwise. However, save for vague feelings of approval when I exercised and disapproval when I rested, the dungeon and I had no more notable interactions -- and not for lack of trying on my part. I couldn't even tell whether it was ignoring me, busy or otherwise distracted, unable to understand or reciprocate through our communication method, or completely unaware of my attempts to shout across our distance.

This standstill might have continued were it not for the end of the month approaching, and consequently the changing of the Gold-Ranked guards. Bessie had already been warned by Veronica the receptionist the next team, particularly their leader, were known as sticklers for rules. They were up for only one month, but... well, that meant an entire month without dungeon access. And possibly longer, after.

Thus, on the last day of the month, we decided to once more approach the Core. I agreed in case of any awkward future questions to stay in the neighboring room, where I'd explain to the dungeon we would be gone for an indeterminate period. I doubted it would care, but... I might feel better.

Thus far, my plans did not have a solid track record of surviving contact with Duni. The first issue occurred in the next-to-last room, at least judging by the mana density. Even when awake and blessing my exertions, it still seemed distant, lacking the heightened clarity I anticipated.

Driven by my curiosity, we made for the next room and received a greater shock. For a long moment, we simply clustered to peek around the corner. "Is that... a boss?" Bessie finally whispered.

"No way," Hannah whispered back. "That can't be, right Rena?"

"Why are you asking her?" Blake's low voice managed to sound natural. "It's right there in front of you."

"Back, back, before it sees us," Tom said.

"How... no, but..." I was shamefully the least coherent, retreating all the way to the previous room before voicing everyone's thoughts: "It's too soon."

For a first-floor boss to be here, that could only mean the dungeon already had a second floor! Even for those edge cases reaching the Developing stage -- or in other words, a third floor -- in two short years, none had been recorded starting the second floor in less than five months without an inter-planar portal, terrible amounts of bloodshed, or other extraordinary circumstances. Had we somehow missed such an event? No, before that... "This dungeon is supposedly less than three months old, right?"

"Maybe it was discovered late?" Hannah suggested. "And so already developed for a while?"

We all exchanged glances, then agreed together: "Nah." "No."

The signs of a dungeon, particularly a new one -- a change in mana density, wildlife behavior, weather patterns even -- were unmistakable. Considering its location right outside Wilton... I would have an easier time believing Duni was a multi-anomalous dungeon, an anomaly among anomalies. All right, that was unbelievable, but I still hadn't found Duni's individual anomaly if it had one.

Well, as Blake had said, I wasn't a Scholar by ignoring evidence right in front of me. In other words, it was back to the suspected boss. From the doorway, I tallied said evidence: a higher-mana room, single distinctive minion... and yes, there was a differently colored patch of wall on the far end, marking where stairs should appear with the boss's permission or death.

Still... "Are we sure that's a boss?" Tom said dubiously.

"What else could it be?" But Bessie didn't sound sure.

The rodent in question appeared similar to the other starting minions if slightly taller and slimmer, except for the notable fact it was standing. Not bent forward or half-resting on its haunches as other standing rats tended to -- after discovering Duni, I had taken the liberty of reading up on the order Rodentia, particularly rats -- but in a distinctly human-like manner, body upright and head at ease, looking well-balanced thanks to its long supporting tail. This last was pink along with its ears, nose, feet, and crown-like markings on its head; otherwise the boss was a sleek black. But even standing at full height, it didn't quite reach my chin, and I was a relatively petite person. Also, it was less bulky than the other minions, standing placidly in place rather than skittering and chittering madly, and alone instead of swarming with a furry, toothy wave... I had to say it appeared less impressive than I was expecting for my very first boss.

"Shouldn't it be bigger?" Tom echoed my thoughts.

"Maybe it's focused on speed, or can spit poison, or has one of those ear-splitting screeches..." Bessie began to list various possibilities.

However, we were soon distracted by the boss chattering its teeth in joy; this equivalent to laughter was evidently lost in translation, my friends tensing as one. "At long last, intruders to eat!" Never mind. "Finally I can fulfill my reason to exist and serve the Great Creator. I will hold back the enemy with my expendable, revivable life!"

"We don't mean harm to your--" I started to say.

"What is this?" the rat interrupted. "It speaks?"

"I speak, yes. In fact I have spoken with your creator. We made a deal."

"Truly?" I sensed extreme skepticism. "This unworthy one has not heard of such a thing."

I was undeniably disappointed but pressed on: "We agreed not to kill minions in return for the same courtesy." Here I paused, seeing the rat's dark eyes gleam with cruel cunning. I quickly realized my mistake and added: "But if you break our deal after receiving fair warning, we will not only be within our rights to retaliate but to demand justice from your creator. I imagine it would not be happy."

It chattered its teeth in agitation. (I noted absently that rats chattering their teeth could mean anything from contentment to the opposite, depending on context, much like humans sighing.) "Lies! The Great Creator does not care for intruders."

"But it should care for its sworn word--"

I broke off as Bessie shook me. "Rena, are you even listening? Are you paralyzed with fright or what?"

I blinked at her. "You didn't hear any of that?"

"Hear what?"

"I heard you squeaking a little," Blake offered, feeling disturbed. "I take it that wasn't just nerves?"

"Oh!" I suddenly remembered an important factoid. "That's right, rats communicate mostly at frequencies humans can't hear. I'll have to report this discovery for [Intermediate Universal Translation]. Um, so I've been communicating with... What should I call you?" I asked the boss.

It leveled me with an imperious stare. "You are in the presence of King Rat, the first elevated minion of the Great Creator."

"...King Rat over there." I smiled at my friends, who stared back at me.

"If you were anyone else," Tom said, "I would swear you were pulling my leg."

"Well, what has he been saying?" Bessie asked.

"Mostly how it's a loyal minion of the dungeon. I've been trying to convince it we've made a peace deal it should honor."

She looked horrified. "You asked him not to attack?"

I paused. "Is that a problem?"

"It's only a first-floor boss," Blake said. I could sense he was not reacting well to his failure to eavesdrop. "Probably not much fun anyway."

"Why do you make nonsense noises?" the boss demanded somewhat petulantly.

"You cannot understand..." I paused, unable to translate 'Common.' For that matter, I was surprised how much I could communicate. "...our speech?"

"That is how humans speak?" the rat squeaked. "How amusing."

"More importantly, how is there already a boss?" Tom asked.

I wondered that myself. I refused to believe there wasn't an answer, and some instinct told me I should have enough clues to piece a satisfactory if not conclusive one together... "Rena?" Bessie said. "Are you busy squeaking at the rat boss again?"

"Hm?" I noticed they were all staring at me and realized: "Oh, you're asking me? Hold on, I'm thinking."

I recalled one dungeon had an anomaly focused on fast growth, sharing Duni's speed in reaching the second floor; however, its minions had also been observed to grow faster. Of the existing anomalous non-Planar Dungeons, the most famous was the Quietus Dungeon specializing in mental domination: its minions were all fanatically loyal humans and humanoids, including most infamously the Assassins. The dungeon specialized in the opposite, freedom, hadn't fared so well... though it had conspicuously broken its bindings as a newborn. Namalia's own Dungeon of Time sparked numerous hot debates, including whether it was Planar, but its time-warping properties were universally acknowledged to start via slow or fast spots near the entrance.

Yet Duni had no such dead giveaways. Its first floor might've been any regular Starting Dungeon's. Its minions weren't noticeably different from other starting minions... at least not until this boss.

I was interrupted from my musings by a nearby clamor, glancing over to find Bessie pinning the boss down while it thrashed futilely and Blake held onto its tail with a dubious expression. I gasped. "What are you doing?"

"He started it!" Bessie said.

"She kept provoking the boss until it lunged for her," Blake said. "Anyway, it's surprisingly weak? I was expecting..."

"Tell your minions to unhand me!" King Rat squeaked in outrage over him.

"They're not my minions!"

But I did ask, Bessie relented, and we backed away together, observing the boss rising in trembling fury. "You dare? My creator will hear of this!"

The terrible triumph in its tone, reminiscent of some spoiled noble brat, made me say despite myself: "You realize my friends easily defeated you? And right now you're this dungeon's strongest defender?" No, why was I trying to reason with a brainwashed boss?

"You are intelligent enough to seek an armistice with the Great Creator," it said, more baffled than offended, "But not to recognize its greatness?" I didn't have the heart to tell it all Construct-type minions thought their dungeon was the best. I supposed that even made sense for them, since they were incapable of surviving outside their dungeon. Somehow it seemed to sense my doubt, gnashing its teeth unhappily. "The Great Creator is or will be the largest, the strongest, and far and away the smartest! The Great Creator is all!"

It continued to gibber, but I was struck by what it had said. "The smartest? Is that how you are different, your intelligence?"

"Of course, blind fool! I was made after its image, though I am but a lowly reflection of its true glory--"

The clues were staring me right in the face! But wait, what of the lesser minions? Then again, the earlier ones had all been killed off before they could learn better, and for the most recent batch, I supposed a month of once-daily, one-sided battles at the front entrance hardly qualified me to judge. "I think," I declared, interrupting my friends' irrelevant conversations, "I've finally realized the nature of the dungeon's anomaly!"

After a beat, Tom said: "No, please, not the dramatic pause."

I didn't let him ruin my moment, hurrying everyone out of the boss room before speaking. "It's specialized in intelligence! That's why it's brighter than any Developing Dungeon but otherwise seems a regular Starting Dungeon, why its boss is smart but weak -- I bet King Rat is meant to learn fast, just like its creator -- and why it's started early on a second floor, since it can more intelligently allocate its resources to maximize its growth!"

I stopped and caught my breath, my heart beating fast in excitement.

"That... sounds scarily plausible," Hannah said quietly after another pause. "But Rena, do you realize how deadly dangerous it could be if true?"

"It's one thing to be focused on hiding, dominating, or time shenanigans," Bessie agreed. "But smarts? A dungeon like that..." She glanced at Blake. "If it survived long enough, it could easily become the legend you wanted."

He frowned. "I thought I would be long dead before it could reach that point. But if it's intelligent enough to reach Elder in our lifetimes..."

"Well, it's a moot point," Tom said, "Since it won't survive reaching Developing."

By now my earlier elation had well and truly soured. Of course as a Scholar I recognized knowledge could be the most dangerous weapon in the world, and yet... did it have to be? "Maybe Grimmark will keep Duni?" I offered, but my heart wasn't in my words. I recalled the Gold-Ranked adventurers binding the Core, preventing it from growing past the third floor.

"To compete with Hellsfell?" Blake said. "One monstrously overpowered dungeon per country is enough, don't you think?"

"Or per continent," Tom agreed.

They weren't wrong, and Namasia in particular wasn't tolerant of dungeons above B-ranked. And my reaction to these reminders of old news was illogical.

Why was I so attached to Duni? Because of our unwitting emotional connection? Because I and my Skills had benefited? Because of its discovery and my consequent change? Because of its potential? Because I believed it deserved a chance?

I did not know the exact reason, only that I did care.

"Well, all that's in the future," Bessie said. "More importantly for us and now, I'm afraid this is where we call it quits."

"What?" I cried. "But why?"

"Hey, don't look at me like that. I would keep bringing you if I could, but as soon as we report this, Grimmark will lock Duni down. I just bet they'll be paranoid of hitting Developing any day now."

To never see or speak to Duni again? No. Please, no. Once more it was too soon. But what could I do? "Can you wait until you're asked to tell?"

"It'll come out eventually," she said apologetically, "And then we might be pulled in to answer awkward questions. I mean, I don't think it's illegal not to say anything? Do you know?"

Nobody did, but Blake said it: "Why risk our reputations or worse to delay the inevitable?"

Despite this, they weren't rejecting my request outright. If anything, the atmosphere was morose, uncomfortable, and above all regretful, almost like they wanted me to convince them. I just needed to find a way forward that they could follow.

I took my time to think it through: what I wanted, what I had, and how to use the latter to accomplish the former. "We haven't technically seen the second floor yet or the Core recently," I pointed out. "And unless we're unlucky, we shouldn't be barred from reentering or found out anytime soon. After all, nobody should be expecting a boss already, and so far we're the only ones coming here, right?"

Bessie raised her brows. "Are you sure about that?"

"I can ask Duni."

"All right. But you realize that could still change any time. What's your end goal here?"

The memory of the Executive Scholar's awe-inspiring teleport returned to me. I realized my magical contract had been even more generously worded than I'd supposed: it didn't specify limits on the cost of materials, the number of futile failures, or that the Scrolls had to be single-use only. In fact, working on such a superior Scroll -- well out of my personal experience and expertise -- could double as training and a challenge for [Enhanced Scribe].

Anyway, what did I lose by trying? No, the biggest risk wasn't to me. Looking up, I gave my friends a nervous little smile.

"Um, hypothetically speaking, how would you feel about a secret teleporting backdoor in and out of a deadly dangerous dungeon?"