Carrying my new rank pin, I eagerly sought out new books to read, my anticipation all the sweeter because this was previously forbidden knowledge. My one and only mentor led me past the private rooms and deeper into the library until we arrived at a thickly warded door. Copying him, I scanned my rank pin, surprised it was practical as well as decorative just like my adventurer's badge.

The inside was essentially another library inside the library. Senior Rubrik offered me a verbal or written summary of the guidelines; to nobody's surprise, I chose the latter, picking up a leaflet headlined Scholar's Archives.

The contents primarily centered on the different levels of restricted information, with the bolded, highlighted, then variously repeated and reemphasized warning these distinctions were for our own good. The convenient color codes were as follows: white for the most innocuous; yellow, we should be wary; orange was best avoided unless necessary for research; red for the probably to certainly self-damaging; and finally, black, which we needed additional permission to access. When in doubt, we should avoid reading and seek help.

I was reminded of something I'd once read: "The forbidden fruit might seem sweet / But once bitten be poisonous to eat."

We Scholars were nothing if not curious, so yes, I supposed handling the temptation of knowledge responsibly might well be beyond some of us. Still, was too much knowledge really so dangerous? Looking at the substantial size of the Archives, the sprawling shelves filled with that most beloved of objects, I couldn't help but feel as though I were in my own personal treasure vault receiving a lecture on the evils of wealth and capitalism. It was terribly difficult to imagine not biting into the forbidden fruit after enduring an epic journey (in my mind) to arrive here.

Still, I gave my guild the benefit of the doubt. (We were all Scholars here.) I decided to dip a toe into the shallow end first, starting with a subject I already knew was in the restricted Archives and shouldn't offer much by way of new information.

I approached the catalog as detailed in my leaflet and Scribed my request: Empathy. A list of books promptly appeared, sorted by availability, relevancy, and level of restriction. I was relieved to see none marked Black, though a handful were Red. Making my selection from those readily available, I watched in delight as the books flew through the air to settle in a neat pile in front of me.

I was briefly diverted by the question of why such service wasn't offered in the main library. (Scholarly snobbery? Surely not.) Retrieving a hovering carrier -- also not included as a general amenity -- I operated the artifact to collect and carry all my little treasures for me, leading it to a book nook near which Senior Rubrik was already deep in his reading. (So this was where he likely often disappeared to. I did not blame him in the least.)

My first book had a familiar title, and yes, I was fairly sure I'd read it already. I skimmed through and found a few sprinkled paragraphs here and one chapter there on lesser known consequences of Empathy, which apparently had been enough to shelve it as restricted. Somebody had removed the offending information before publication, and then this original uncensored edition was kept in the Archives.

I mostly read what my mentor had already told me, but I did gain one additional kernel of information: young children with a natural affinity for Empathy were known to gain a second from their primary caregiver. I didn't have to wonder to know my own; I'd always assumed I was a natural at Appraisal, despite the rarity of dual natural affinities, because developing one should take years of dedication. (Thank you grandma.)

Impatiently skipping to a Red book, it included as I'd suspected the most frequent methods for gaining [Advanced Empathy]. This was the classic case where too much knowledge of a Skill contrarily impeded progress in it. I was personally having trouble forging the necessary emotional connection with Learned Westwick, who I genuinely liked, respected, and appreciated; how much harder would this be with an adversary in stressful circumstances? Was it even possible while also desiring the Skill upgrade?

I was really glad I'd already had my friends and Senior Rubrik before [Advanced Empathy].

My next read detailed the weaponization of Empaths, from discovery and recruitment, to grooming in military compounds, to utilization in interrogation and the field. Empathy was by no means an invaluable Skill, the book explained, but Empaths could be quite useful so long as they were properly accommodated. For instance, their tendency to bond with captives held for interrogation, contrary to the usual policy, should not only be permitted but encouraged (and then heavily monitored). They should never be sent out alone on missions but instead included in tight-knit teams, and again, fraternization should be applauded. Upon achievement of [Advanced Empathy], they should be attached to somebody much more Skilled without revealing the actual reason to either...

The above practices had been historically implemented and were still in use in a number of states, including the Solarian Empire.

That was... highly disturbing. I was disturbed. Had I really needed to read that? After all, I hadn't truly learned anything new. Senior Rubrik had alluded to such possibilities, and if I'd really thought about it...

It wasn't even as though what these nations did was definitively wrong. The Solarian Empire, for instance, didn't forcibly recruit Empaths; no, it simply sent its passionately patriotic to knock on the doors of impressionable youths. I could so easily imagine myself unable to turn away such a sincere caller. To think, I might be a soldier now! Instead, my grandmother had made me a Scholar after her own image.

...Why had I thought this would be a safe starting subject again?

I'd already known the Solarian Empire exemplified realpolitik, and yet I badly wanted to think the best of it. The simple fact was that, on this continent, it was the only hope of a military counterweight against Grimmark, or rather, Hellsfell. I would love to paint the Solarians as celestials, basically, even as I knew the actual situation must be more complicated.

This thought drove me to look up Hellsfell next. Having thought it, I could not unthink it, and... well, I just needed to know. I had to know why a place like Hellsfell existed. Why it was allowed to continue existing.

In my mind, any book on such a place must be Black, so it was a simultaneous disappointment and relief to discover the most relevant text was Yellow. (I did see Blacks at the bottom of the list, but the titles suggested these pertained to portals, demons, and Dominus Hellcaller, Hellsfell's Contractor... not quite what I wanted.) Hellsfell: A History and Mystery it was.

The first historical mystery was the Starting Dungeon's seeming ordinariness. Scholars still could not agree whether this was in fact the case, and only later Dominus opened a portal into the demon realm -- wait, opening portals was possible? Or was this more secret or suspected technology? -- or whether Grimmark had managed to conceal a Planar Dungeon for over a decade. In any case, it wasn't until one hundred fifty years ago the world took notice of what should've been a harmless Developing Dungeon.

Grimmark at the time was an unimportant nation barely holding onto independence, surrounded by more powerful neighbors. The discovery this overlooked buffer zone hid a Planar Dungeon triggered an ugly war, as rival states competed to control the suddenly valuable territory. Nobody expected Grimmark to stay independent long. Even more shocking was the dungeon reaching Mature at barely fifteen years of age, an unprecedented achievement then and since.

The mystery was soon solved, the secret to Hellsfell's ridiculous growth rate outed: sacrifices. Over the last fifteen years, Dominus and Grimmark had secretly sacrificed everything they could -- monsters, humans, Cores -- to the dungeon. Presumably, they also offered sacrifices to their allied demons.

Flipping pages, I skimmed through more war, more politics.

I read on as Hellsfell and its accomplices committed further atrocities, and the dungeon swelled ever more in power, until, finally, events culminated in one of the single greatest dungeon raids in history. It was a marker of how universally reviled and feared Hellsfell had become that so many rivals and even millennia-long enemies united to end the growing threat once and for all. The full list of participants occupied pages upon pages in an appendix, where even the Names numbered over thirty. Notably, all six of the greatest world powers were significantly involved...

Wait, "greatest world powers"? In context, the author apparently referred to the greatest influencers of international politics, treating these as given, which were, in descending order of contribution: the Solarian Empire, Justicators, Herohall, Vampire Council... Mage's Guild... and Inova (i3 at the time). Herohall practically represented the Adventurer's Guild and Inova heavily influenced the Merchants, but I supposed the other Great Guilds were considered too apolitical?

Amusingly, these supposed top six represented one of each: a guild, nation, dungeon, species representatives, nonprofit activist group, and for-profit corporation.

I supposed, no, I knew I was delaying. These events were old history, taking place in 2850, and nothing I read or didn't read would change them now. But my heart still lodged in my throat, dread still pooled in my stomach, as I turned the page to the joint coalition storming Hellsfell.

All the king's horses... and all the king's men...

An army invaded the dungeon through its entrance. None returned that way.

Herohall's Knight Champion -- who like all Contractors was immortal and, more importantly, revivable -- was characteristically reticent, but he did share Hellsfell's defense included a demon army led by a fully manifested Archdemon, the dungeon's Avatar, and Dominus Hellcaller. Unfortunately, he was slain by Beelzebub, the Archdemon, less than two minutes after the dungeon launched its counterattack on its sixth floor.

Soon after, the Treaty of 2850 was signed. Notable provisions prohibited most sacrifices, including of slaves, though the compromise allowed for criminals and Cores. This posed the final mystery of Hellsfell: why, after such a resounding victory, did the dungeon through Dominus agree to a peace treaty? The following chapter explored various theories.

Just like that, Hellsfell gained its SSS 'invincible' ranking. The subject shifted from seeking its destruction to managing its fallout.

My heart ached. I wasn't good at hating, but I made a special exception for Hellsfell. I would give my life in a heartbeat for the chance to take it down... But the greatest heroes of an age had already attempted that trade. They'd only strengthened it.

So pointless, so impotent. What did the foot care for the ant crushed beneath it? What did a tyrant think of a peasant's curses?

Why, nothing at all.

I sat for a long moment in perfect stillness with the open book before me, its pages long since read.

Time moved on. I wished I'd picked lighter reading for my first day in the Archives.

After thoroughly fouling my mood, I really just wanted to rest, relax, and recover. But at such times I normally turned to reading, and I now realized restricted information was by its nature difficult or dangerous. The failed raid on Hellsfell, on top of other considerations, might be considered crippling for morale, not to mention embarrassing for many. What if I stumbled across another book bomb?

No, I had not been ignorant of what Hellsfell represented. If it was a bomb, it was one I had sat upon for quite some time, never truly inert nor safely ignored.

Anyway, I wasn't ready to abandon the Archives on this low note.

In the end, I chose to walk the aisles and browse titles distractedly until one caught my eye, first from its gorgeous cover art and then its absurdity. No, really, why was a book on fashion in the restricted Archives? It was quick and easy reading, just what I needed to stop the dark spiral of my thoughts. Apparently, the Mage's Guild had deliberately started their new fashion trend to protect members of nonhuman ancestry and unusual coloring. The hair, the eyes, the clothes: it was all started to protect people.

That was... actually uncommonly sweet. And unexpected. Perhaps I had judged the guild too harshly and hastily?

"Rowena?"

I looked up to my mentor and followed his puzzled gaze to my choice of reading material. Ugh, just why? How did he keep catching me with frivolous-seeming texts? He said, "It is growing late. Perhaps we should return tomorrow?"

Face burning, I agreed and operated the carrier, setting it to return mode.

But as I followed him out, my mind inevitably drifted back to my waking nightmare bound in book form. Despite my best efforts, dark thoughts kept me lying awake that night.

How could I rest when Hellsfell loomed out there, immortal and indestructible? Perhaps, even though Senior Rubrik was here, I should've left the country, putting as much distance as possible between us.

But what was the use? I could not outrun my own memories and knowledge.

I shivered under my sheets but told myself it was better to know, even if the answer wasn't what I wanted. This had just reopened a heart wound, pouring out the old grief, guilt, and horror. It would scar over again in time. Everything would look better in the morning.

As I barely dozed in fits and starts, I rose gloomily early the next day and set out again for the Archives. This time I focused on research into dungeons, soon immersing myself specifically in the subject of dungeon relocation. Cores leaked mana like sieves once removed from their dungeons, so the Scholarly consensus was that the Core's chances of survival were determined by its mana at the time of attempted relocation, the mana in its transporting environment, the duration of said transport, and the suitability of the new location. As Senior Rubrik had said, no Starting or Developing Cores had survived the process, and success was rarely achieved even for Mature Cores. I was surprised by the extensiveness of the research, as Mature Cores were normally quite capable of defending themselves and valuable property besides, but the findings appeared to summarize hundreds of years of efforts that had mostly not been intended for experimental purposes at all.

Emerging from the Archives, I found Blake waiting impatiently. "So you're alive?" he said. "And want to jump right back into dungeon diving?"

"Sorry?" I walked with him towards Duni. "Did Bessie tell you I have the Scroll?"

"And you're just carrying it around like that. I have this nearly overwhelming urge to rob you." I gaped at him, and he shrugged unapologetically. "Old habits die hard. You're lucky you've been keeping to the library."

I sighed. "All right. But good protection won't be cheap."

"Ask your guild. This is their property you're protecting, after all. Or have I got that wrong?"

"No, you're right..." Of course, then I might need to explain why I was trying to copy such a ridiculously advanced Scroll in the first place, but better that than losing nearly three large gold in one go. The thought made me scan our surroundings; thankfully, nobody was paying us any abnormal attention.

I was aware he hadn't just idly dropped by, so I was unsurprised when he abruptly said, "Still want to see the Underworld?"

"Yes...?"

"You'll hate it. And I don't think you're ready for it yet, either. That trick you have of making attackers just miss you" -- [Mind Over Matter]? -- "might work on rats, but you'll be easy ogre or troll food."

I frowned, trying not to think of a certain troll or cyclops. "So you came to talk me out of trying?" And here I'd felt guilty for passing Silver and promptly neglecting my friends.

"I came to say you need to be better prepared. For a mage slow to move like you, you should probably have at least [Mana Skin]. And keep that Scroll close... it'll still work in the Underworld?"

"Yes. All right." I observed his surprise with some of my own. "Um. You're the expert? Were you worried Bessie would feel obligated to take me because I made Silver?"

"She's the team leader," he said like that explained everything.

"Well, don't worry. Despite how it might seem, I'm not suddenly eager to risk my life for no good reason."

"Are you still meeting the water monster?" he said pointedly.

"Nailla happens to be good company!"

"Charming company, you mean." He muttered as we approached our destination, "Suppose you're safe bribing her with fish."

We reached the others outside Duni, who were already chatting with the Gold-Ranked guards. I felt a knot unloosen in my chest when I recognized familiar ones. "Hello," I said. "Dungeon duty again?"

"New year, new mission credits," came the reply. "Still haven't outgrown this baby dungeon?"

"She just made Learned Scholar," Bessie boasted.

The team made appropriate noises of congratulations before returning to their card game. "You kids have fun. Don't get eaten!"

"So Rena!" Bessie said excitedly while we were stepping through. I was worried she'd spout something incriminating within possible hearing distance, but she continued: "Plans for your birthday?"

"You remember that?" I said in surprise.

"Well, not the exact date. But this is around when you taught me [Mana Barrier] last year. Remember?"

"Um. Yes," I said slowly, realizing something. "But you haven't needed me to draw circles for a while? [Scribe]."

"Well, you've been busy," she said, "And they do offer classes at the guild. I can't wait to gain [Mana Skin]. Your birthday?"

I was too busy casting to respond, thankfully, since in truth I hadn't considered it. Bessie had no problem offering her own suggestions, and then I gave Blake the nod, and he was off. He returned with a swarm of rats, just in time for me to cast: "Entangling Vines."

I supposed I didn't need Scrolls for this after all. I especially loved the spell because Entangled rats were annoyed but not truly distressed, and they should be freed by our return trip.

"Ahh, just like old times!" Bessie said. "Except, you know, way less standing around while you draw."

"I feel like we haven't seen you in forever," Hannah said. "Tell me you have time now?"

"Least for your birthday." Tom completed the trifecta.

"And do what?" I questioned. "No parties, or quests, or idling a day away, please."

"There isn't anything you consider fun?" Bessie pressed. "Besides books."

I thought about this as we proceeded through the dungeon. "We could spend the day in Duni?"

"Wait. Seriously? This dungeon is your whole idea of fun?"

"Productive fun. I could spend more time trying to communicate, and longer exposure to higher mana--"

"No, I love it! We can pack a picnic, play music and games, and throw our own party!"

"I've wanted to try field enchanting," Hannah said thoughtfully.

"I'll bring weights," Tom said.

"You all are insane," Blake said.

Privately, I thought I would bring a book or three, combining a few of my favorite things. Yes, a good book with good people in a good place to be. That sounded like a great birthday all right.

The trip through the first floor was shorter than I remembered. Soon I saw a familiar rodent face, heard a familiar squeak: "You!" King Rat lashed its tail furiously.

"Is he happy to see us?" Bessie asked.

"I think so?"

It sniffed and blinked its beady eyes. "Where is it?"

It? "Oh," I realized, "I forgot the cheese!"

Despite my lack of presents, I thought the overall reaction of the rats to our return was positive. King Rat's squeaked insults seemed nearly affectionate. Or was I imagining things? They still tried their hardest to brutally kill us, but their motives felt born more from custom, obligation, and excess energy than aggression, agitation, or hostility.

I couldn't help but hope they were warming up to us, even if only because we were the sole intruders... visitors. Wasn't it terribly boring to defend a dungeon that was never invaded? What did they do all day, anyway?

I posed the question to King Rat, who of course delivered a soliloquy on the honor of serving the Great Creator, etcetera, though it did perhaps enjoy our more practical training, the better to serve, etcetera. It was not happy to discover I now soundly defeated it in spars, Scribing and casting various Tier-1 spells in quick succession on top of my usual Skills. I found myself in the bizarre position of comforting the boss while soothing its ego: "When I was your age, I didn't have a single Skill!"

We proceeded to the second floor, where I Entangled more minions. Arriving at the Core room, I felt Duni awaken and braced for... well, for nothing, but I could not help my small hope it would react to my monthlong absence. Give me some sign, something.

Its attention swept over its territory before resettling on me, all the while I held my breath.

, it sent. .

Belatedly, I recalled it could also sense emotions and was probably just as prone to misinterpreting them. No, since it was a newborn and different species, I certainly hoped I was better at reading others, though this didn't bode well for our case. That 'reassurance' it projected resembled patting a whining dog on the head, or at least that was the best approximate translation afforded by my Skills.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but it was still something, right? Perhaps distance truly made the heart grow fonder, at least for a stationary dungeon and its minions that were all incapable of bridging that distance.

Resolving to think positively, I tried to explain what I wanted. , I sent, but the dungeon had no real experience with the concept.

Thankfully, I had brought the Scroll, which I now drew out. "Ready?"

My friends each grabbed an arm or shoulder. Bessie flashed a grin. "When you are."

Taking a breath, I started casting. I felt Duni's attention snap to us, its hesitation and... discomfort?... before it queried:

Without pausing my casting, I returned: , .

The casting continued, seconds ticking on. I could feel the pressure building and mana density increasing as Duni watched, rapt and agitated.

Then it was all of a sudden as if we broke through a surface. We did not move, yet we were moved, jerked from the Core room to our new location. I glanced around the empty space to the stairs and said, "It worked."

"Of course it did," Hannah said. "Artisans made this."

We'd set up her tent to block the first hallway on the second floor. (From the outside, the artifact resembled an enormous grayish-brown boulder.) She'd assured us the warding, intended to safeguard sleep, should repel most monsters unless they were extra motivated to pay attention to us.

This seemed especially useful in narrow spaces, allowing us to stay outside the tent without exposing ourselves. I'd had to ask why I hadn't heard it used in dungeons before. "Because the dungeon can direct minions to attack anyway," Hannah had explained. "But Duni won't do that, right?"

"Um. Right," I had said, hoping that was true. Now I looked around and said, "But is it really safe to leave it here overnight? And where will you sleep?"

"We still have our old tent, though I'll really miss... wait, why don't we sleep here?" Bessie said.

We all stared at her, except Tom, who groaned. "Bessie, no."

"What? It's just an idea. You have the Scroll and more mana's better, right?"

"Nobody sleeps in dungeons," Hannah protested.

"Why not?"

"Because it's hard to get any sleep when the dungeon keeps trying to kill you," Blake said.

"Well, Rena, what do you think?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "But I intend to find out more."

We ran the second floor again to check in with Duni, who seemed annoyed we'd reawoken it so soon. When we left, I beelined for the library.

After inquiring about Scroll protection -- decision pending -- I made my way to the Archives. I was actually eager for the opportunity to research something with immediately actionable consequences.

Contrary to my expectations, I did not have to dig far to unearth a wealth of answers. Various organizations already made use of higher-mana areas to strengthen their people while sleeping. For example, the Solarian Empire used the starting floors of their dungeons as barracks of sorts for new recruits, whereas higher-ranked Mercenaries were known to keep homes in the Underworld. 'Incidents' had occurred for both; higher mana tended to come with higher risks.

I shook my head in amazement at all the juicy gossip just sitting in the Archives. But then Scholars were famously neutral for good reason, and every one of us had to sign a magical contract to gain access.

In any case, I was now determined to try Bessie's suggestion. What was more, why wait? I remembered my recent restless night, tossing and turning, trying not to think of things better not thought... No, instead, I could seek reassurance from my friends and possibly Duni. And to think, it wasn't even my birthday yet.

Bessie was just as excited when I found her and proposed returning tonight. "A slumber party!"

Blake was skeptical but curious, Hannah worried but willing, and Tom already packed and ready. I hurried to make my final preparations before we regathered together.

Though I disliked returning to the Adventurer's Guildhall, it had a room specially reserved for teleportation, the warding and preset circles designed to boost, stabilize, and prevent mishaps. I couldn't help a trickle of anxiety at teleporting into a dungeon, even Duni, and thought I'd need any extra boost I could get.

Thankfully, nobody else present should have any idea of our destination... Yes, nobody was even paying us the least attention. I supposed people who could teleport tended to be busy and self-involved. In my defense, I had a long casting time in which to scan our surroundings, fret, and let my thoughts wander...

And then the pressure built again. I thought I could actually sense Duni, or a dungeon-like entity, anyway, something foreign and impassable. We were intruders, intruding...

...And then we were jerked out of our closed circle, sent stumbling through open space. The transition was forceful, jarring, spilling us all over the floor on our landing. (Except for Blake, who rolled onto his feet; I could sense his disorientation or I'd think him perfectly unruffled.)

Thankfully, we were at the same destination as last time, the same empty room. If we'd had to face a hostile welcoming party... I'd still bet on Blake, but I was glad for the chance to catch my breath.

"Well, that was fun," Bessie said, standing and brushing herself off.

"Ugh. I could be sleeping in a real bed," Hannah lamented.

"And miss out on all this?" Tom said.

"Should we stop by Duni again?" I asked. "I think it's had long enough?"

"I don't know whether to hope for or dread when it stops napping all the time," Blake remarked.

We had to shift the tent to slip past and were swarmed before I could Scribe a circle. I suspected the rats could smell the cheese I was carrying.

I didn't keep them waiting long; it wasn't close to an even fight.

Pushing through to Duni, my attempts to explain our intentions seemed an exercise in futility. "Why are you still trying?" Hannah asked. "Let's just go sleep."

"But it can't change the floor while we're here," I pointed out.

"Not like it's changing much or often anyway," Blake said.

"We hope," Tom said.

"Are you getting through at all?"

Unfortunately not. I sent, and received: . "I think... it wants to sleep."

"Join the..." Tom broke off with a yawn.

We detoured by the first floor to distribute more cheese before calling it a night. I Scribed and cast Intermediate Self-Cleansing, then left the circle up for the others.

I had heard Bessie praise Hannah's tent more than once, but I was still surprised to duck inside and find adequately spacious accommodations in cozy green tones. The floor was soft and springy as a mattress, and Bessie had spread out her sleeping bag to use as a shared blanket. It was quite comfortable.

Still, I didn't expect to find sleep easily. Inside a dungeon? On basically the ground? Surrounded by people?

But this last was like a soporific. I simply focused on the sleepiest, namely Tom, who felt physically more than mentally fatigued. He must have... had a long day...

...

I woke with a start, unsure at first where I was or what was happening. I just knew something was wrong, even before I heard it.

"We're under attack!"