Six in the morning was early, too early, and it was a very tired Rowan who found himself standing at the academy gate, his shortsword strapped to his side as he awaited the party he was supposed to join.

Patting his chest for what felt like the fifth time in the last minute, Rowan confirmed that the brass adventurer pin was still there, firmly affixed to his lapel just as it had been when he left the dormitory this morning.

Kanna had been very clear about the importance of this pin, stating that without it he would not be allowed to enter the dungeon, whether the other members of the party vouched for him or not. Given that Rowan did not even know what the other members of the party looked like, let alone their temperaments, he doubted they would vouch for him in the first place, and so he continued to obsessively check that he had it on him.

“Porter?” a voice called out from Rowan’s left.

Turning, he saw a red-haired boy, his arm slightly raised as he looked towards Rowan. Behind him were four others, their expressions showing that they were keenly aware that with each step they took they grew further away from their warm beds at the academy.

“That’s me,” Rowan affirmed, striding forward to shake the boy’s hand. “Dillo, leader of the Frost Blades, I presume?”

“That’s us,” Dillo responded, sweeping his arm to indicate the four tired souls behind him. One offered Rowan a weary wave, while the other three seemed completely disinterested in him. Oh well, Rowan thought. He was not here to make friends.

“The dungeon we’re headed to is a two-floor Brass-ranked dungeon owned by the academy,” Dillo said, his tone business-like. “Our goal is to clear the monsters from the first floor, and to mine magic crystals from the second. Ideally we’ll also defeat the boss on the second floor. As our porter, you will be carrying any loot we may procure during the trip, as well as anything we deem necessary. In combat, we expect you to stand at the back and not interfere unless instructed to. In return, you will be given a one-twentieth share, paid in magic crystals. Are those terms acceptable?”

“They are,” Rowan replied, having been briefed on the terms he would be offered by Kanna. The only point of concern had been what share of the loot he would get, Kanna’s experiments requiring at least a thirtieth of the estimated haul. Thankfully, Dillo had offered him a better cut than they had expected, which meant he would be able to secure enough magic crystals for his prospective master.

“You have your adventurer’s badge?” Dillo asked, to which Rowan answered by pointing to his chest. Dillo nodded in satisfaction. “Then let’s go.”

The dungeon was a short walk from Faebrook, within the safe zone created by the academy’s wards. On the way, Dillo, apparently unaffected by the same morning lethargy as his companions, laid out what they expected to find within the dungeon, as well as the roles that each would be taking during their expedition.

Apart from Dillo, whose role in the group was the vanguard, the one responsible for keeping monsters from attacking the rest of them, the rest of the group consisted of two slayers, one healer, and an archaeologist. All five of them were from House Hafgufa, the same as Dugan, and their party had been formed two years before at the end of their first year at the academy.

From Dillo’s cues, Rowan soon learned that the two slayers were Jaro and Patri, two cousins with a penchant for axes. The healer was Stenne, a tall boy with rosy cheeks who appeared nearly asleep as he walked, while the archaeologist was a blonde girl named Fiin, who Rowan had seen a few times when borrowing books from the library.

None of them said much to him, all perfectly content to allow Dillo to talk as the cool morning air slowly woke them up. Doing his best to pay attention, Rowan committed as much of what Dillo said as he could to memory; though, at the rate the boy was talking, even remembering half of what he said would be a monumental task.

Twenty minutes after their departure, Rowan was saved from Dillo’s endless stream of chatter by the appearance of a small watchtower, the sight of which caused the party leader to go silent as he quickly checked that his adventurer’s badge was firmly in place upon his chest.

“Halt!” a booming boice emerged from the watchtower. “State your business here.”

“Party Frost Blades here to enter the Brass-ranked dungeon,” Dillo replied. “We are six members including the porter.”

At these words, a ladder dropped down from the tower, followed shortly by a gruff man wearing chainmail under a tabard bearing the crest of Faebrook Academy. A guard, Rowan deduced, instantly recognizing the bearing of the man in front of him. Shrinking back slightly, he did his best to appear inconspicuous, not wanting to give the guard any reason to deny him entry to the dungeon.

“You all have your badges?” the guard asked.

As one, the members of the Frostblades all pointed to their badges, Rowan following suit a second later. Seeing them, the guard nodded. Now that he was closer, Rowan could see bits of egg stuck in his moustache. Apparently, they had interrupted his breakfast.

“Alright, let me grab the key,” the guard told them, disappearing back up the ladder with a bit of difficulty. A moment later he was back, an orb the size of a fist clenched in his hands. It did not look like any key Rowan had ever seen, but clearly, that was what it was, as the guard led them towards an unassuming rockface on the side of the hill and thrust the orb towards it. As he did so, the rockface rippled, disappearing to reveal a gaping maw that led underground.

“You’ve got three hours to clear the first two floors of the dungeon,” the guard told them as the last of the rock disappeared from the entrance. “Standard adventuring rules apply. You can take anything you find, but make sure not to venture beyond the second floor. Third floor and below are for Bronze-ranked adventurers, and your booking is only for the first two.”

Pausing for a moment, the guard seemed to be trying to think of anything further to tell them. “Right, that should be all. Oh! One last thing, try not to die, will you?” The guard looked at them seriously. “You’re all pretty young, and the paperwork is a bitch to fill out, so try and come back alive, got it?”

“We’ll do our best,” Dillo promised.

“Good luck,” the guard responded, ushering them inside as he headed back to his watchtower, presumably to finish the breakfast they had interrupted.

The interior of the dungeon was lit with crystal torches, small crystalline structures embedded in sconces that provided a dim illumination for them to see by. Forty paces from the entrance and the daylight had already receded from view, the light of the crystals the only thing lighting their way as the party proceeded into the dungeon.

Rowan was not afraid of the dark, having often operated after daylight hours while performing some of the more nefarious things he had done to survive, but he had to admit that there was something about the dimly lit passageway that scared him.

Back in Taureen, there was always light shining from somewhere, be it torchlight, moonlight, or magelight. That light had been the symbol of civilization, and depending on the lights he saw, he had always known what to expect. Torches meant guards, which meant run. Magelight meant mages, which meant stay away, and moonlight meant freedom under the stars.

Here in the bowels of the mountain, however, the only light came from a source he had never before seen, and it added to the alienness of the act he was undertaking. Here and now, he was descending into a dungeon with a party of adventurers. The fact both thrilled and terrified Rowan in equal amounts, and it was with difficulty that he suppressed the feelings bubbling up inside him.

This is just another job, another rich man’s mansion. Get in, grab the goods, and get out. Simple. Repeating that mantra within his mind, Rowan did his best to calm down, his mind on high alert as he kept a watchful eye for traps.

The rest of the party had by now come awake, the four formerly sleepy members now watchful and wide-eyed as they advanced in a diamond formation. At the front stood Dillo, his shield raised in case of ambush. To either side of him stood the cousins, Jaro and Patri, axes held loosely as they surveyed the stone walls for any signs of hidden passageways. Between them was Stenne, his head on a swivel as they advanced, while Fiin took up the rear, her right hand glittering with a pair of magic rings.

Rowan trailed behind, making sure to stick close to Fiin lest he be separated. The guard had not sounded like he had been joking when he had told them not to die, and Rowan did not want to test out his master’s assertion that the dungeon would not be overly dangerous, at least not this early in the expedition.

“Thimps, dead ahead,” Dillo warned, settling down slightly as he hunkered behind his shield and advanced. Gripping their axes, the cousins followed, the rest of the party keeping their formation as Rowan craned his head to get a look at their enemy.

Bracing themselves, the party prepared for their first encounter.