"Can't you just make another book?" Hannah asked blankly. "You know, with [Scribe]?"

"Why would I carry around a book I'd already memorized?" I stared at the vacated space and shook my head. "Anyway, that is not the point. Duni, why? What do you have to say for yourself?"

In my mind, the only possible justifications for destroying a book were extreme exigency or the obtainment of knowledge. Still, I reminded myself again Duni didn't know any better. I might have wished it would show a little more repentance, but I braced myself for any sort of answer, so long as it gave one.

Hmm, what was that? "The book served as food?" I translated the easiest part aloud. "Oh, is that because of your anomaly... no, because it's new to you?"

I felt its confirmation and relaxed -- obviously eating books would be preferable to eating people, but I didn't know if we could be friends if that became its dietary habit -- before continuing to puzzle through its message. "The book counts as new material... Does that mean you can reproduce it?" I brightened. "You can? Like respawning people? That, that's amazing! Um, will you please make it for me?"

Duni was swelling with pride right up until I gave my request, whereupon it promptly deflated.

I faltered. "Um... a book costs a lot to make? How much?"

"No, really, how much..."

"Rena, it's just a book!" Hannah burst out. "Out of everything this dungeon can offer, do you really think it should be wasting mana on that?"

"I'm just asking," I said defensively. "Anyway, you know Scribing an entire book costs me significant mana too, right? When I should be saving it for more Scrolls of Advanced Appraisal?"

She gave me a look. "Are you forgetting you can just buy a copy?"

I flushed. "No, but... have you heard of a dungeon making books? I'm just curious." Rather than continue standing around or resume running, I took a seat on the dungeon's floor. The better to focus on our talk! "Duni, are you able to estimate how much performing certain actions would cost you?"

"Oh, good. So then... No, it is too bad it cannot just send me numbers."

"How much is respawning a minion?" Bessie asked with slight interest.

"...What?"

At least it seemed frustrated itself, which was better than if it had delivered such nonsense and then reacted with surprise at my confusion.

it added, once more infusing the sending with meaning. But where last time it had come off descriptive and wistful, this time it was somewhat petulantly pointing out that I could fix our communication difficulties by just accepting its amazingly generous offer, and also why didn't I like it enough to seal the deal, wah.

All right, I might be extrapolating a little for that last bit, but imagine a similar level of childish condescension mixed in with other feelings.

"How can respawns cost both a lot and a little?" I posed to my friends.

"Ooh, riddle!" Bessie clapped her hands.

"Different minions?" Tom said.

"No," I said on behalf of the dungeon, and then added: "Good guess, though."

"Different types of cost," Blake suggested.

My eyes widened when Duni didn't shoot this one down. "I think that's right. Wait, so dungeons spend more than just mana? But what...?"

I knew our communication was already substantially improved compared to before, but I was greedy; I wanted more. I couldn't help feeling like a whole world of information was right there in front of me, and yet there was a veil drawn across it. An untranslatable language that blocked me from understanding. If anything could tempt me into a Contract... but no, not even that.

"I want to know why it ate your book but not my tent?" Hannah said. "Or couldn't it?"

Tom, I noticed, was hugging his barbells to his chest, peering around suspiciously.

"It's the cost," I translated. "Again. Um... by any chance, did you get anything from the book, Duni? Do you have an idea of the theory behind spectral weavings now?" Sensing its lack of understanding, I cast [Scribe] and raised the reproduced page hopefully. "Can you read that?"

"What is it?" Bessie asked in alarm. "You look like somebody just died!"

I said, "Duni isn't a reader."

As though to punctuate the point, I dropped the page to the floor, where it was unenthusiastically absorbed.

My friends exchanged looks. Hannah at least mustered a sympathetic expression. "Can't you teach it?"

"No, it can read," I clarified, attributing that to its natural translation ability. "It's just not that interested."

For a dungeon specializing in intelligence... I wouldn't pretend not to be disappointed. Here I had thought of it as a budding Scholar, a future Master for sure... if it lived long enough...

"Well, what is it interested in?" Bessie asked.

As usual, her words were so very casual and on point. I flushed, guilt creeping in as I realized I'd imposed unfair expectations on this young dungeon, and what was worse, it could sense what I was feeling. I mean, it wasn't really a child in the same way, much less my child, but... "Duni?"

"So basically, it wants similar things to what everybody wants?" Bessie summarized my summary.

Duni felt offended, but I nodded. "Yes, it..."

I trailed off as the dungeon sent something inexplicable. I paused, blinked, and shook my head. "Sorry, try that again?"

But the next communication attempt was just as bad, flickering my vision oddly. I could feel its confusion this wasn't working, which only made me more confused in turn. Hadn't we been making progress?

I closed my eyes, sighing, when it tried again...

...and this time I saw them, symbols flashing in my mind's eye. Too fast and too small for any comprehension, but those were definitely... "Again," I said. "Fewer and bigger."

Hello, Rena.

The words shared the same exact font of the Scribed page I'd shown it, but hugely blown up in size per my request, and Duni even helpfully delivered them multiple successive times to allow me to process them. This was necessary, because I'd been able to receive its lightning-fast packages of information and then slowly, with difficulty, parse them, but my brain seemed less flexible regarding the strictly visual medium.

It was a bit embarrassing, honestly; I'd never before felt so limited in my reading speed and comprehension.

From Duni's accompanying burst of feeling, it thought I was mentally or physically impaired. And no wonder: this seemed like an extremely dumbed down variant of its naturally more advanced method, like tossing scraps of paper through modern portals.

But most importantly, this would work; it had already figured out a new way to communicate! Or a new way for the dungeon, mimicking an old way for me.

"Hello, Duni," I said. "Sorry, I can't read a whole page in the blink of an eye. One or two words is probably best."

I realized I'd opened my eyes in my excitement when the colors fuzzed in a pattern. Hurriedly shutting them, I saw printed in glowing white letters over the darkness behind my eyelids:

Do knee?

Um. What? "Do knee?" I repeated. I opened my eyes and stared around in confusion. "What does that mean?"

My friends looked back, equally baffled. "What does what mean?" Bessie asked. "What is going on?"

"Do knee, oh, Duni!" I felt... slow. "Sorry, that's what we named you, but of course if you would like something different we could change to that instead? And we've spelled it D-U-N-I." I felt flustered, like the dungeon might judge us for our lack of creativity, and just remembered to close my eyes.

Not It

"Um... 'Not it,'" I said, opening my eyes. "Does that mean anything to you?"

"Rena," Hannah said in some exasperation, "Do you mind explaining?"

I blinked and then flushed. "Sorry!"

I quickly caught them up, and they were gratifyingly enthused or glad for me. "Wait so it can share everything now, right?" Bessie said.

"Just in two-word drips?" Tom said.

Duni shot reprovingly with a hint of embarrassment, like it had just remembered itself.

I froze and then sighed. "Duni would like to remind me I've agreed to keep its secrets," I said glumly.

But instead of any of the expected reactions, Bessie just raised her brows and asked, "Why?" The others at least felt a little to moderately annoyed.

"Why... does it want its secrets? I think that's..."

I trailed off as Duni sent something. Again:

Not It

"What does that mean? Yes, I know, this could all be so much easier if I were your Contractor..."

It They

Actually, Duni struck diagonally through 'It,' but I thought that amounted to the same thing. My eyes flew open, widening. "You want to be called 'they' or 'them' instead of 'it'? Is that... it?"

"Wow," Bessie said, seeming genuinely impressed, "Good for you, Duni!"

"Is this... normal?" Tom said.

I had been wondering something similar, especially since I'd recognized the wisdom of Bessie's congratulations. What more proof of personhood was there than demanding the right to it, or its acknowledgment? At least, assuming that was its -- their rationale.

Was... their... translation ability at play? Or had they somehow seen through 'it' to the underlying dehumanization... um, depersonalization... the monsterization inherent in the standard pronoun convention? Or maybe they just thought of themselves as a multiplicity or royal plural.

"Can I ask why?" I said.

"...Never mind." But regardless: "Of course we will refer to you however you want, Duni."

"Er, I wouldn't go that far," Hannah said. "Let's leave the whole 'Great Creator' thing to its Constructs, please."

"Their Constructs," Bessie said pointedly.

She winced. "Right. Sorry."

Blake said nothing, but he was listening with intent interest.

Focusing on the smiling Bessie, Duni sent:

My face went blank. I supposed for some reason, despite any substantial supporting evidence, I had assumed Duni was primarily a rational being. Yes, I'd made allowances for their age and explained away other acts and inclinations as their dungeon instincts, but I'd still approached them as a fellow reasonable person instead of, say, a child easily bribed using flattery or candy.

Actually, intelligence did not mean maturity, did it? Just like intelligence wasn't power. And they weren't a Mature Dungeon, far from it.

"How come other dungeons don't ask for that?" Tom was wondering.

Blake snorted. "They probably don't care enough to ask."

"Duni," I said very sweetly, "Thank you for trusting Bessie. I implore you to extend that trust to my other friends, all of whom have agreed to help you because we think you are so important." They shot me strange looks, so I decided to tone it down a little. "Also, you need help. But it's harder to give if we tiptoe around, unable to have a forthright conversation, though I am glad that is no longer an issue with Bessie. You will agree to keep their secrets?"

"Sure," she answered, amused. And quick on the uptake: "Duni, you trust your bosses and other minions, right? Well, in a similar way, we are a team. We work and fight and talk things over together."

"Is she calling us minions?" Tom whispered.

"When you trust one of us," I added, louder, "You entrust your secrets to all."

The others wisely fell silent, waiting on Duni's response.

"It wants to know... sorry, they want to know why they need help," I translated, "And why we're willing to give it."

"Oh right, we were interrupted earlier!" Bessie smacked her forehead with a palm and then began explaining. "Duni, how much do you know of the current situation? Do you know more and more dungeons like you are forming all the time?"

"They do now," I said.

"Er... do you know you are in the country of Grimmark?"

"They are learning as you speak. And technically, only their first-floor entrance is."

"Fine, but from the perspective outside... you know there's a whole world out there? Look, I'm sorry to say this, but you're considered Grimmarkian property." I thought Bessie was usually able to speak clearer, but she was hitting the important points, and I doubted I could do better. "Grimmark has a ton of enemies, hence those Gold-Rankers always guarding outside... Er, do you know about them?"

I paused. "Um... they've been feeding you? With... what?"

Please don't have eaten people, please don't be eating people...

My friends were staring at me in horror and apprehension -- except for Blake -- and relaxed when I did, even before I related what I'd been shown.

"Makes sense," Tom said thoughtfully. "Dungeons draw in local wildlife, right? Guess it's not strange if standing policy's to kill anything comes near and toss that inside."

"Why don't they just let animals through?" Hannah said. "I get why not monsters. But that rat you saw wouldn't have made it far anyway?"

"That's if it was a normal rat for certain," Blake said before admitting, "But anything more would be overkill for a Starting Dungeon."

"Maybe the guards are just dead bored," Bessie said. "Duni, you're supposed to be a nice normal new dungeon, which means you should still be on your first floor and so boring nobody even wants to look at you. Now don't get huffy!"

Ha. She was already gaining a sense of its personality.

"That's a good thing. Your crazily fast development and how nobody expects it is why you're still alive. You see, nowadays nearly all dungeons get gobbled up as soon as you hit Developing. And at least some of that is because of Hellsfell and Grimmark. Er, Hellsfell is this super-powerful dungeon that likes eating other dungeons... How are we doing so far?"

"They are listening," I said.

"Right, so Grimmark has been helping Hellsfell by seizing every Dungeon Core possible. That means double trouble, no, triple trouble or more for you. On one hand, you are in Grimmark, which will happily throw you to Hellsfell just as soon as you're confirmed Developing. On the other, you have all the other powers in the world that would love to rub egg in Grimmark's face. On Hellsfell's gates? Can I say that?"

"Dungeons don't have gates," Tom said.

"On its ominous and creepy entrance! Doesn't have the same ring to it. Look, countries with dungeons have to decide whether or not it's worth trying to keep them. In Grimmark's case there's just no way. Hellsfell is more than enough dungeon already, and it's always hungry."

"Which one, Grimmark or...?" I swallowed. "Duni wants to know about Hellsfell."

"Where do we even start?" Bessie said. "It's... wait, can we still say 'it' for the other dungeons?"

"They have no opinion."

"Start with the rankings," Blake said.

"Sure," Bessie said. "So, Duni, right now you're maybe a D-Ranked dungeon, offering a useful challenge and training for Bronze-Ranked adventurers. Though you're supposed to survive Developing a whole year first. Then there's C-Ranked dungeons for us Silver-Rankers, so basically, imagine if your swarms and bosses were all such a challenge we needed to prep with potions and teamwork combos beforehand, and also sometimes we might get injured and retreat."

"Or die," Tom said.

"Or that. So if we have any kind of confidence we can solo clear you, you're not C-Ranked yet, or we're not only Silver. Moving on up, B-Ranked dungeons are for Gold-Rankers, A for Platinum, and S for Names. Those last are the most powerful people in the whole wide world. I guess you need to understand it's a really big world out there."

"I think it is having trouble grasping that concept," I said.

"Well too bad, I'm almost done. After S we have SS for legendary, because actually defeating one of those dungeons will put you in the history books for sure. Or uh, it'll put the destroyed dungeon in the history books. And like, the top contributors. But everyone else can earn at least a mention somewhere!"

"Bessie..."

"Moving on! At the very top we have three SSS-Ranked dungeons, which everyone's agreed are impossible to beat. Er, impossible in their own territory. Don't bother trying to become a hero of legend with these, since invading one's simple suicide. Or not so simple? I mean, all three are known for keeping enemies alive or undead..."

I had to fight back a wave of revulsion.

"Two are Ancient Dungeons, and then there's Hellsfell, young and hungry and, unfortunately... here."

I choked. "You think Hellsfell would help you?"

My gut instinct was sheer incredulity, but then I actually felt a little touched. Duni was just... so innocent. They had asked with perfect sincerity whether one of the worst criminals in history might not offer them a free meal... by denying itself said meal, no less.

Even thinking such a thing boggled the imagination. But then I recalled Duni was only eight months old, and they'd been alone with their minions for the overwhelming majority of that time. I supposed it wasn't the most mature of me to judge their maturity this early.

"No, you see," Bessie said a little awkwardly, "Dungeons aren't buddies. More like... competitors?"

"Competing predators," Tom said.

"There can be agreed alliances based on mutual benefits," I said, "But those are incredibly rare, and um, I do not see Hellsfell ever offering that to you or anyone. It is the uncontested dominant dungeon on this continent and will permit no challenge."

I sighed but translated.

Bessie promptly burst out laughing. "That's my kind of dungeon!"

Duni felt smug. I considered letting them keep their optimism longer, but... no, this would be hard enough without the blind leading the more blind. "Duni," I said, "Can you roughly estimate our relative power levels?" I frowned at the negative response. "But you were watching me undo the teleport tags yesterday. How much did you see?"

"Wait, what? I didn't quite catch that."

"Yes, I know. Can you please show me that again?"

The information cut off at the same point, or rather, I wasn't able to process it. I understood Duni saw... sensed... something, but not what or how.

"Back to the point," Bessie said, "You are the underdog, dear Duni. Do you know what that means? Sweet! How about 'beggars can't be choosers'?"

"Are you saying we're not even a beggar's choice?" Tom said.

"We're struggling against C-Ranked dungeons, and the opponent is SSS. So really, Duni here should be begging for any help!"

"Hold on," Blake said. "Nobody said anything about opposing Hellsfell. At most, we'll help Duni hide from its notice."

"Which it would be opposed to," Tom said.

"We're risking our lives here, the lives of everybody we know, our very souls... am I missing anything?"

My amusement faded as Bessie presented our situation in such stark terms. "We are not technically breaking a law by failing to report a dungeon's growth," I said. "I checked. So the consequences should not be nearly so dire... um." I caught the look she sent me. "But of course, that might not matter if we offend somebody important. And we still risk our relationships and reputations regardless."

"Um... I don't believe it has understood our point."

"If we're going to help you, you better appreciate our help," Hannah said bluntly.

There was a pause. I thought we were all considering whether to revise that statement, except she had already stuck it out there. And she wasn't wrong? I wasn't seeking appreciation, exactly, but cooperation... yes.

That had taken less time than I would've thought. Duni felt ambivalent towards us and determined overall.

"So we're agreed?" Bessie said. "You will work with us to help you, and help us if you reasonably can?"

"They agree, only they want to know how we are helping."

There was a dreadfully long pause.

I had thought myself woefully uninspired, but looking around, it seemed I wasn't the only one. No, compared to the others...

My heart sank. I had been trying not to think it because... well, for a few different reasons, but the idea had wormed its way in and then lodged there. After all, though it wasn't ordinarily an example to follow... I couldn't help making comparisons to a certain other dungeon.

That one had also formed in one of the worst possible starting positions. It had also benefited from human allies. And through them, it had also (hopefully) managed to hide its growing strength while it was vulnerable, hide that it was growing faster than anybody else knew.

It was no great secret how Hellsfell had secured its survival, or rather, the pesky details were uncertain but not the broad brushstrokes. The opening gambit.

The costliest, riskiest, deadliest of Summons...

(Though if I never saw one again, it would be too soon.)

Demons.