'Good morning!' Bryn woke to the same words again. They sent the same images crashing through her- the bed, the sex, the breakfast, the cat- but this time they felt like they were being called from inside her rather than being thrust in from outside. 'Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!' Before she could even sit up she felt something settle in her lap, atop the silk blanket she’d been covered with. Had the dungeon given her a blanket? Had to be- who else was there?

'Breakfast in bed, without the bed. Made it myself! HaHA! I wonder why living material is easier than ash poles, it’s probably…' The voice in her head trailed off into unintelligible murmurs. There were words in there she did not understand- well, she didn’t understand any of the words in the alien language, it was more… Things that did not quite translate? She heard the noises and understood the meaning, but not if she didn’t know the word itself and got something which was close enough.

Bryn carefully leaned up, trying not to jostle whatever was lying in her lap. It was food. A tray with an utterly perfect pottery plate piled with eggs and crisped meat slices. A transparent cup- was that GLASS?- held an orange liquid. The entire plate smelled divine- it was the only thing she could smell other than pure essence. 'Don’t know if ya’ll have bean water and I probably shouldn’t drop a drug on you before our little talk anyways, but take your time and eat.' Bryn blinked. The dungeon was feeding her. This was breakfast.

She ate.

The only tool was a little metal pitchfork. She’d never eaten with a tiny pitchfork before. When Bryn reached for her beltknife she noticed it was gone. 'Yeah, no weapons. I’m defenseless ya know? Though I spose I could…' The voice trailed off again. Defenseless. Bryn turned her head. The drake was still there, staring at her- no, staring at the plate of food. 'Oh, she wants some. Is it bad for drakes to eat people food?' Ah, a question. She felt her soul lurch back into motion.

“I… No. I don’t think it’s bad for drakes to eat people food.” Bryn picked up the little pitchfork and speared the food- she had to adjust her grip but it was a surprisingly easy way to eat. She could stab AND scoop with it. The liquid was some kind of fruit juice. It was decadently sweet. As she ate she watched the dungeon make another plate and a pile of food out of pure essence. The thought almost made her dizzy. It was known that dungeons could create materials but…

After she finished her meal a cloud of tendrils brushed past her and she got another shock- plate, cup, and tray all dissolved into puffs of mana. Could he- the dungeon- do the same to her? Defenseless, he said. She looked around- her knives were gone. Likely they fell to the same fate. The back of her neck itched. She reached back to brush it and felt the same cobwebby texture she had felt before.

'Yeah, that’s how I talk to you. Can’t be helped for now. In any case, I’d like to offer you a job.' She didn’t know what she was expecting, but this was not it.

“A job?” She cautiously asked.

'Labor in exchange for compensation, yes. See, I sorta have secrets, and you sorta know some of them. The whole talking thing and all. I think it would probably be real bad for me if certain people knew about my secrets, so I can’t really let you go. I’m not really into the whole prisoner or slave thing, so I’ll give you a job and a lil buddy to follow you around and everything will be fine, hey?' Bryn could understand that. If the University knew about a talking dungeon- a dungeon in the wastes at that- well, she didn’t know what they would do. Debate a great deal until the legion did something about it, probably. But… A job? What could she do for such a being, and…

“Did you eat my comrades' souls?” Bryn blurted out. She regretted it immediately. She knew the answer and-

'Nnnno? No. I would have remembered that, I think. Which is weird because I think I should have, what- oh. Um. What is a soul tornado called.' Bryn felt like she would never find her mental footing. Everything was just- she’d only been awake five minutes and she already felt the need to retreat and process her thoughts.

“A ghost tornado.” She repeated dully.

'Well, the tornado part isn’t really important, I think. Just a big blob of souls that fused and it seems to be caught in the air currents?' A blob of souls that fused…

“A GHAST?” Bryn shrieked.

'Izzat what it is? Yeahhh, we should take care of that real quick before Mr. Crow- uh, Itzal Cavala- notices. His son got, uh, soul sucked by one of those.' Bryn was aware. Not only had she overheard the conversation before but it had been a fairly famous event- it wasn’t often that entire villages were devoured by a ghast. It’d taken a dozen magisters to tear the cloud of damned souls apart. When investigated it turned out to be caused by a corrupt dungeon manager hiding an illegal dungeon mining operation. Magister Cavala had killed him without a trial.

“I- the tunnels. Your tunnels- they’re confused. The souls can’t find you. They gather, they grow in both power and madness, then break free to devour the souls of others. It’s- we need to-” She needed time, she needed to think, she needed more air.

'Shh, shhh. Calm down, relaaax. I have some ideas. It looks like it’s trapped in there, we’ll just pop over and deal with it. No big deal, yeah? Grab the cat bed and follow me. I worked hard on that.' What. Cat bed. She turned and looked at the drake. It stood and yawned, very much catlike, then strolled past Bryn with royal indifference. 'Her name is Ms. Kittysaur.'

Bryn could do nothing but follow along with everything. Her mind was a muddled mess- she had so many questions she couldn’t focus on a single one. She stood, picked up the blanket and went to pick up the cat bed. It was the softest thing she’d ever felt. Bryn wanted a bed just like it. The dungeon pearl was moving, clouds of tendrils attaching to the ceiling and pulling it forward as the larger root trailed behind it.

'So tell me, you called her a drake. What’s that mean exactly?' Bryn mentally lept to the question, recalling her fathers lectures. She cleared her throat and unconciously began to imitate his tone.

“A dungeon’s creatures fall into five categories, depending on the dungeon’s stage of growth. The first is beasts, simple and unaltered. The second are the twisted. Thought to be the dungeons experiments, they are given a single mutation and then discarded. The third are monsters, they…” From the darkness floated a small lizard, clutched in a dozen tendrils. The pearl brought the creature close and a thicker tendril darted it, piercing its skull. It spasmed and grew still while a patch on the surface of the pearl began to glow faintly blue. The blue bubbled out and formed a sphere like the one that was spouting water and music.

'Oh, don’t mind me. I’m listening, just playing with some drake blood while I do. I like to fiddle with things, you know?' The still lizard grew tiny fangs, like that of Ms. Kittysaur. The scales turned black. Then it rippled and began to swell. Bryn stared in horrified fascination. 'Whoops, cancer. It’s fine, this happens all the time. I can fix it. Oh, he can’t feel anything- tucked his soul away for safekeeping.'

“Tucked his soul away.” This did not make Bryn feel better.

'Yeah. In a subcore. Got a whole bunch of them, though they can only really make essence.' The hundreds of questions Bryn had swimming through her mind multiplied into thousands. 'Anyways, the monsters?' The swelling of the lizard slowed, then reversed.

“Er, yes. The third category is the monsters. These beasts are more heavily altered, made to defend the dungeon, but all have flaws. They are unable to survive outside the dungeon, for all their killing prowess incapable of feeding themselves on their own.”

'Well, that’s just irresponsible.' The dungeon interjected. She forged ahead, clinging to the lecture like it was her last thread of sanity.

“Demons are the fourth. When a dungeon hits the limit of beasts it can support through essence alone it begins to perfect them, so that they may survive in nature unaided while the dungeon forms an entire ecology within itself…” Was this dungeon doing that already?

“The last are dragons. Each dragon is unique, the masterpiece of a dungeon- though the great dungeons may have several. They tend to have certain things in common however. The first is great size- size is a power all of its own. The second is incredible toughness, whether it comes from a shell or scales or thick fur. Third, they often have more limbs than is natural- great wings growing upon their backs or tentacles or scything claws.”

'How the fuck- it’s so goddamn complicated getting the blood to do that…' Bryn ignored him desperately.

“Fourth, they often have unnatural abilities coming from runes etched on their body by the dungeon. Fire breath or a corona of lightning or being transparent like water. Fifth, all are female and permanently pregnant.”

'Uh?' New roots grew from the pearl and stretched forward before plunging into the earth. 'Wait a tick. Switching out my roots- they only stretch so far.' They stopped moving and stayed in silence for a bit. After about thirty seconds the old roots dropped off. 'Alright, inserted back in. Continue, please.'

“The magisters say they have both male and female parts inside and impregnate themselves. These children are the drakes. Those born from pregnancy are the greater drakes, resembling them in form, but with half the size and none of the extra limbs or magical abilities, while those-” She was interrupted by a ‘shout’ from the dungeon that left her stunned.

'...Oh. OHHHH! THEY GRAFT THEM ON! THOSE CHEATERS- oh shit, sorry. Too loud? Too loud. You got jigglesoul. My bad, I apologize. Tell me when you’re okay.' An apology from a dungeon. Concern from a dungeon. One of the thousand things that had happened today that no one would ever believe if she told them. Bryn took deep breaths. It didn’t help the mental burnout. Time did. They walked in silence for a bit. She continued when she recovered.

“The offspring born from eggs are the lesser drakes, half again the size of the greater drakes, but otherwise identical. If two greater drakes breed their offspring are lesser as well. This drake- Ms. Kittysaur- is descended from the Stalker of Tyrnah, a dragon who carries a veil of darkness with her and has tentacles growing from her back. Little is known of her, she’s among the deadliest.” She gestured at the drake which was walking ahead as if leading them. The lizard the dungeon held looked almost like its child by now.

'Big mama means big babies, eh? Makes sense. Alright, next. What exactly IS mana?' This was a much harder question with a much less satisfying answer. Bryn slowly relaxed as she answered his questions- for all the strange, frightening, and bizarre things that kept happening, it seemed he was like a man- maybe he was even a former man. The images- memories? She had received suggested it. In any case, he had a scholar's soul. She understood scholars. Eccentric, but she could deal with this.

Then they reached the ghast. It was still small, thank the gods, barely a patch of squirming mist the size of a pig. 'Don’t worry, I have a plan. Throw a rock at it. It’s for knowledge.'

She was a fool. She couldn’t deal with this.