I sent.

But not really. Names didn't truly translate into the dungeons' wordless, soundless language, and instead my sending was more 'you' plus my concept of this particular dungeon.

Duni more or less echoed me, with a twist:

Again, not really. It was like a picture worth a thousand words. The elegantly economical composition was both greeting and query in one, and took the dungeon maybe a split second to form and flash through my mind... Following which, I needed another ten seconds simply to process.

Despite [Intermediate Universal Translation], I struggled with this telepathic system of talking. I just wasn't used to so much... input and output, needing to be assembled and disassembled rapidly.

Duni meanwhile appeared to have no such difficulties. Mimicking mine, its transmission was already flowing more naturally, like a posh native speaker throwing off an absurd attempt at a lowbrow accent. I could sense its genuine pleasure at this improved communication, reflected in its greeting. But accompanying that was a mixture of more complicated emotions, possibly owing to my possibly superior knowledge...

And all that was just from hello.

The second half of its transmission questioned my identity and status. It seemed to think I was in trouble or even similarly enchained, which gave me pause before I realized it must sense my unwanted teleport tag. I supposed it wasn't much of a stretch to connect my situation to its own plight.

More surprising was that it seemed to assume I was significant. Conscious of the seconds lapsing, I scrambled together a response:

Duni took less than two seconds to impatiently shoot back:

There, that should convey my jumbled impression of even this vast oversimplification. The Woodland Dungeon, for all it hadn't liked me, had been at least clearer in communicating. Seeing me as a lesser being, it had patronizingly and helpfully talked down to me.

But Duni, instead of drawling slowly for the benefit of the lower lifeform, was performing the telepathic equivalent of excited yammering and proud posturing. What was immediately obvious was that its previous perception of me and my significance paled in comparison to how it viewed itself and its awe-inspiring greatness. It was truly, totally, positively sure it was capital-I Important in a way that catapulted past arrogance straight into irrational delusion, like that of its brainwashed minions... or was it?

Actually, when I tried stepping into its shoes... its rooms?... I realized I shouldn't be surprised. We humans tended to secretly think of ourselves as special too, after all, sometimes despite all evidence to the contrary. I might've been the same if I couldn't emphatically feel that I was a single small thread in the vast, complex tapestry of life.

Meanwhile, Duni might well think the world revolved around it, or more precisely it was its own whole world, with its created Constructs serving it and anyone else invading it. Of course the dungeon was self-important under such circumstances. It had no way of knowing there was a whole larger world out there or that it was just one dungeon among many.

Nevertheless, it'd likely arrived at the right answer albeit for the wrong reasons. I had wavered after talking to my mentor, worrying I was biased in favor of my own hypothesis... but now I was more sure than ever it was exactly as I'd originally theorized, an anomalous non-Planar Dungeon specializing in intelligence!

While connected, I had felt its youth and inexperience, which made its potential all the more incredible. It had achieved Developing in eight short months, while other dungeons took typically two to ten long years.

Unfortunately, its potential would remain only that: potential. If I were to answer its question openly and honestly, I could not omit that salient, tragic fact, and it was difficult not to be open and honest in telepathic transmissions to this fellow Empath.

Yet we kept fumbling in our dealings with each other, and I didn't want it to hate the messenger, namely, me. Would it even help anything if I challenged its assumptions and worldview? Would it throw a violent tantrum and demand I leave?

No, I was thinking of it as if it were human.

Yet Nailla wasn't human either, and I couldn't imagine she'd react well to me telling her she was weak and doomed, thus unlikely to become truly significant.

Thinking of Nailla was a mistake. She'd never sat comfortably within me, but I'd succeeded at blissful avoidance in the shock, adrenaline, and confusion of escape into Duni. But now I wasn't focused and moving, she was definitely even worse than usual, like an upset stomach that roiled harder the more I noticed, and tried not to notice...

And then she was leaping out! Though I hadn't called her, she came disgorging from our bond.

"Nailla?" I yelped. "Are you--"

My voice broke off as, almost before fully materializing, she went straight for my friends. They startled and dodged, even Tom, caught off-guard and lacking his too-identifiable, too-unwieldy shield. He let go of the carrier to grab Hannah, who for some reason had been kneeling beside it... the silvery tube started to topple... and Nailla swept it up, flowing strangely into the artifact so she was partway in, partway out, like somebody tangled up awkwardly in their sleeping bag.

There was a stunned beat of silence. Even Duni seemed surprised.

"Where are we? Where are my sisters?" Nailla looked rather funny in her position, but that pervasive discomfort when she materialized without water was all but gone. I couldn't be too happy for her, as she spotted the Core and eyed it with sudden growing hunger. "Ah, so not a wasted trip. What luck, newly ripened!"

"Nailla!" I stepped between them in alarm, seeing her tense as in readiness to jump again. "Please don't--"

"If you collapse the dungeon," Blake cut me off, "We'll all be captured. I guarantee you'll never see your sisters again."

Nailla paused.

Duni, meanwhile, was greatly offended and shaken, which coincidentally cut down on its eloquence:

Unfortunately, it was a little more resourceful than the average spooked child. I felt it send up an alarm, the mana density dropping conspicuously.

Instantly, the second-floor rats we'd so peacefully passed began to swarm in our direction. "Duni! Please don't," I pleaded. "If you attack...!"

I trailed off into hesitant uncertainty.

Nailla glanced over, amused and incredulous. "Oh, you did not clear the area? Is it bringing snacks?" She flashed a very sharp smile, which widened at the sight of the first rat leaping down the stairs, even as it started to break apart; Constructs weren't meant to leave their floors.

"Nailla! Don't kill them!" I called desperately, feeling her hunger surge.

She ignored me, her arms spreading wide as though to embrace her attacker. The first rat only had time for a startled squeak before she engulfed it in a wave of water, dragging it to meet her savage grin. Crunch. Sluuurp...

They were just rats. In the wild, they were scavengers rather than predators. I didn't normally think this, since these were monstrously large, possessed fearsome incisors, and when they chittered and swarmed, charged and pounced, they looked like a scene out of a nightmare.

But seeing Nailla fight and feast made it obvious she was the lone shark loosed among mere fish. It was my first time seeing her like this. She normally managed to look nearly human...

I stopped forcing myself to look as the water ran red. Thank mana the minions were Constructs on the wrong floor, since their bodies naturally dissolved in time. Anyway, I didn't need to look; I sensed the lives as they were unceremoniously snuffed out.

Thankfully, when it became obvious Nailla was only enjoying all the attention, Duni sent another mana-costly signal and the remaining rats retreated.

Nailla let out a disappointed noise as the last rat finished dissolving back into the dungeon. "Delectable. This dungeon is not entirely useless, but still..." She lounged, satiated yet still dangerous, her eyes glittering as she looked around the single room. "Pathetic."

Duni's certainty seemed born of fury, but despite itself, it sounded shaken. It might be a hungry growing dungeon itself, but it was probably its first time on the receiving end of ruthless hunger.

I tried to console the fuming dungeon.

Unfortunately, Nailla was still talking. "This is the dungeon of your stories? Have you never been in a real dungeon?"

"Unfortunately, I have." I tried to wordlessly convey that I wished she would leave the subject alone. If only I had [Familiar Bond]...!

Duni demanded. And:

"Yes, that is how dungeons should be. Like the ocean, terrible and overwhelming," she said enthusiastically, "A whole domain over which it is creator and master. This? This is a puddle, not even deep enough to swim in. Perhaps it is a mercy they will kill it."

It didn't quite say that, but the intent was there. An undine and a dungeon unwittingly swapping insults back and forth.

How were we in this situation again?

"Nailla, please, won't you return to the bond?" I tried tugging on it in encouragement to no avail.

"I will not be shut away or silenced for your convenience!" She paused and regarded me suspiciously, perhaps sensing something through said bond. "Earlier, did you... speak to the dungeon?" I tried not to blanch. I failed. "No, no, I do not believe it. This Core, on this floor... the mana here is not nearly enough for that!"

Thank mana she was my familiar and thus a loophole in my confidentiality contract. But still, I couldn't help eyeing her a bit worriedly. If she said a word to her fox friends... Then again, I was already entrusting her with one secret, why not another? "Nailla," I said hurriedly, "Remember how you promised to keep the..."

Warning bells blared in my mind, causing me to cut off abruptly. I bent double with my hands over my mouth, my eyes watering.

"Rena!"

"Bith meh tongue," I admitted truthfully. I was a bit embarrassed this was my cause for complaint and injury while on a third-floor dungeon...

But it really hurt.

Anyway, I was reminded Duni could hear and understand us, and I shouldn't be speaking of severing bonds outside confirmed private rooms. I breathed in, out, and wiped my eyes before trying again: "Nailla, you know some things are meant to be secrets. Will you keep this one?"

We stared at each other silently while I tried to convey the import. "You'd think you would be a little more grateful," Hannah said to Nailla, advancing to inspect the tube-shaped carrier. "How are you doing that?"

"Stay back!" Nailla guarded her makeshift container but to my relief didn't lash out. "Spare me your human judgments..."

With her attention diverted, I was reminded Duni kept telepathically bombarding me with its confusion. But I... had no idea how to explain the issue to it nonverbally.

Of course, the dungeon understood normal speech! I'd nearly smacked myself when Nailla -- more specifically, its riled reaction to Nailla -- had made me realize.

I wasn't sure I could clear up its confusion much easier by talking, but at least I'd be less confused. "I signed a confidentiality contract," I said, and then my brows raised in surprise. "You understand that?"

it confirmed.

But how...? How did it know anything? Were dungeons specially formed with existing knowledge of the world?

Was this a dungeon thing?

Perhaps belatedly, I realized I had a rare, possibly even unprecedented opportunity here. I'd done my research on dungeons, and I wasn't the only one bursting with curiosity to know more about these reality-breaching entities increasingly populating our world.

But for whatever reason, dungeons consistently balked efforts at studying them. Other dungeons did, at least.

But Duni didn't need to know that, right? Even though it felt a bit like taking candy from a dying baby... No, there went my overactive imagination; this situation was completely different. I wasn't acting like a Merchant but a Scholar. Right?

"Wait, have you asked it yet..." Bessie's voice broke into my conflicted thoughts. She paused and then continued, "Dungeon, can you stop incoming teleports?" She glanced at me. "Did it get that?"

Duni blasted me with corresponding assurance, and then I gave my interpretative translation. We were both intrigued by the idea of my friends talking to it directly, and it hearing how I worded its responses. Hannah and Nailla also stopped bickering -- rather, Hannah stopped trying to berate the unrepentant undine -- to listen in.

Bessie brightened. "Great!"

I didn't verbalize that.

"Can it tell who is teleporting? Us or not us?"

"Um, it thinks so?" Actually, it had again aimed for confidence, only to fall considerably short. I explained further: "I believe it lacks enough experience to be certain."

Hmm, that might be a problem. I really didn't want to lose our backdoor access just when Duni reached Developing... but we also couldn't risk any Breeders trailing us here.

"At least that's irrelevant while we're here," Hannah said.

"Could we test it out?" Bessie asked.

I thought about this. "If one of you uses the Scroll instead... but it only has one more use before it needs recharging. Um, I guess we could just wait it out? Unless-- oh! Duni, block the teleport!"

As I'd hoped, when the spell-casting fizzled through no fault of Bessie's own, the Scroll retained its charge. Even better, Duni sent with every indication it had been wholly confident all along:

I knew it was a super special and mighty dungeon, talking to it was a huge honor, nay, miracle, etcetera... but it could seem remarkably childish.

"Rena?" Bessie prompted.

"Um... that worked."

"So it'll stop anybody else from teleporting in?"

I received the distinct impression Duni was wary of all intruders -- I supposed the terminology spoke for itself -- which conversely gave me hope it had made us an exception.

"Thank you," Bessie said, nodding to the Core with only slight awkwardness. "Second question. Why did you attack us?"

Feeling Duni's unrepentant dismissal, my heart sank. I couldn't help feeling hurt and disappointed. "Duni, this is serious! We can't just be brought back like your minions--"

"Duni..." I sighed. "We're not your minions. You can't just respawn us."

it insisted.

I opened my mouth and then paused. It felt confident, whereas... how much did I know of dungeons? Hadn't I just thought I could learn from it? And also, after failing with Serena Beste so abysmally, that I shouldn't assume anything anymore?

"You... can respawn us?" I said.

That took me some time to parse, and then I froze in shock. I'd surmised earlier that our inactivity had triggered its violent reaction, but it was saying our sleep actually cost it even more mana because...?

No, I needed to be absolutely sure. "Us sleeping here enabled you to respawn us?"

I felt my friends' shock, whereas Duni just returned: This time, it seemed offended I hadn't already known this... or offended it'd had to teach me. And also smugly superior.

Wait, could this be right? I was aware of course humans could become dungeon minions -- the Assassins leapt to mind -- but not of the exact procedure. I supposed I'd somehow thought they just... swore their loyalty and moved into the dungeon? Sleeping made about as much sense, I supposed, as any other start condition. Was this already known?

"Wait," Bessie said, "Are we minions now?"

"What?" Hannah squawked.

"But we can leave," Tom said.

"So can most other non-Construct minions," I said. I couldn't help staring at the Core with growing horror as I repeated the question. "Are... are we your minions?"

It was a little sulky about that. I released a huge breath of relief and asked, "Then how come you can respawn us? And how do people become minions?" It continued sulking, and I continued thinking of more questions: "Wait, what about creatures that don't sleep? How does that work?"

I felt Duni's annoyed confusion at that last. It didn't like not knowing, and... of course, it hadn't encountered anything but us and rats, probably. It was easy to forget it was so young.

It seemed to have no inclination to speak up, but I had more questions. My head still spinning, I managed: "Duni. Are you saying if you'd... that you would have resurrected us?"

it sent shortly.

I blinked, surprised it had answered... and then at its answer. "No, but, that's... why?"

"What did it say?" Blake asked.

Instead of sparing a thought for my friends it would leave for dead, the dungeon expressed its belief I might contribute enough to make up for its sacrifice in mana, zeroing in on this theoretical hardship as though I should be profusely grateful. Fortuitously, I was also the only one here with a realistic likelihood of dying to its rat minions. But still...

"Um, it... maybe not," I answered Blake vaguely, frowning at the terrible sentiment. I supposed, though... I wasn't really surprised. If anything did surprise me: "You... want knowledge? To know what?"

Duni didn't hesitate.

That response made me smile a little despite myself. And hadn't I just been thinking I could learn from it? "Then shall we make a deal? I teach you, and you teach me?"

To my surprise, the dungeon didn't share my eagerness.

It wasn't exactly a recording of my words to Nailla... but in effect, it was. I somehow received that event from its perspective in a neatly wrapped mental package.

For a moment, I stood stunned by this ability. Dungeons could do that? Did it realize it was sharing valuable information with me already?

Because it had meant to present its objection: It understood trying to learn as much as possible, since it shared the same drive, and reluctantly agreed to share some bits of knowledge... but it saw only risks rather than benefits with then sharing that with anybody else. Basically, it wanted my promise for confidentiality.

Was this a common instinct of dungeons? Why we knew so little?

Still, if Duni was willing to trade any information... could I use that to convince the Scholars to save it?

But even as I considered the idea, doubts crept in. The Scholars could easily milk the dungeon for information then see it destroyed regardless; no contract could be enforced against the side that was so much stronger. Besides, it was in Grimmark, earmarked as Hellsfell's sacrifice... and nobody in their right mind wanted to rouse that sleeping dragon. Finally, I recalled Senior Rubrik saying it was too dangerous to let live.

And he might well be right. Dungeons were dangerous, this one potentially more so. It was selfish.

But when would it have learned any differently? Human babies were the ultimate in selfishness, and if we were good human beings -- good people -- we shed some of that inconsideration as we grew older and wiser, arguably as part of our social contract... No, now wasn't the time to ruminate on psychology, sociology, or philosophy.

Regardless, Duni didn't know any better. Considering its situation, it might be justified to act selfishly even if it did. I would be the worst sort of hypocrite if I judged it for prioritizing its own survival and freedom first.

Besides, I'd wanted to help Duni to begin with for its sake, not mine. "I can agree to keep your knowledge secret," I said, "While you live." I thought that was a compromise that suited its selfishness.

Was it... deliberately dumbing down its responses? That had resembled our previous sad exchanges. Or maybe it realized it kept giving more information than intended away?

"Do you... um, want to make a contract?" Did it need a Contractor for that? I wasn't sure.

"So then it's a verbal agreement?"

Besides, we were both Empaths. We could likely sense any intended deception... No wait, Serena Beste. I grimaced, tried for positive thoughts, and said, "A friendly agreement?"

I paused. That was... anticlimactic. But it would answer my dungeon-related questions now, right? I offered first, "Was there anything you wanted to know?"

I froze. Right for the jugular, then.

I could tell it didn't really believe it was in imminent danger, expressing more curiosity and irritation than anything... and wasn't that a blessing? It had reached Developing. The moment it was found out, its days or hours would be numbered. If I were in its position, I truthfully wasn't sure I would want to know.

Oh, that was just a hint of uncertainty and fear. Probably from sensing my regret, pity, and sadness. Since the Scroll was already cast, I answered.

"I am afraid... I am sorry to say that... You see, Developing Cores like you are often considered food." I suddenly wished Nailla would jump in with the truth so I wouldn't have to, but no such luck. She turned her head to watch me curiously, seeing me squirm. My voice grew weaker as I continued, "So you will probably... most likely... die."

"You will try." I nodded. "But um, even if you could stop us from reaching your Core... these people are much, much... much stronger."

"The ocean is vast, little fish, and even the great krakens can be prey," Nailla said.

Duni considered this. It still didn't seem to fully believe me, for which I was glad; sometimes the truth could be unreasonably bitter unless leavened by hopeful suggestions.

Then it said:

I blinked at it, surprised. "I... I don't know how."

In other words, it just wanted my agreement to try. Some part of me wanted to, but... this wasn't like Nailla.

Oh, it was another seemingly hopeless case. Even more hopeless! But Duni was a potential world-changer. If I agreed to help... whether I failed or succeeded, it wouldn't only be me and mine on the line.

Duni couldn't be helped anyway. But that was the opposite of a reason to try helping.

I had so much I might potentially learn from Duni, more if I could keep it alive longer! But that felt selfish of me to even consider.

I looked to my friends and admitted, "Duni's asked me for help. I don't know what to do."

I expected instant opinions, but Bessie said, "First off, we shouldn't be having this conversation here. It's like... discussing whether to accept a quest right in front of the client."

"Potential client," Tom said.

"We can't leave until we get off these trackers," Blake reminded us, like we might've forgotten.

Hannah said nothing, just watched with a worried frown. My friends all seemed highly conscious it was listening in.

"You would be a new kind of fool to aid it without becoming its minion," Nailla said, possessing no such qualms. "Dungeons are your greatest natural predator. They alone prefer humans above all other food." Apparently she could not leave well enough alone when she was in a mood, adding, "It is useless anyway. I at least offered our bond; what can it do?"

Duni seemed equally incapable of not rising to her bait.

"What was that?" I asked. "Are you offering to, to make..."

I trailed off as for the first time ever, I received a system notification for something other than a Skill. It was like nothing I'd felt before, like the canvas of my mind was revealed as a book when it suddenly flipped a page. Or like instead of internal thoughts or external telepathy, the information slid sideways into my mind.

And what it conveyed in so many nonexistent words was this:

Ding! This dungeon would like to form a Contract with you. Do you accept?