The Grand Dungeon City of Kess was filled to capacity as the sun rose over the floating island that was home to more birds than people on any average day. The oblivion-filled maws of the great wall were shut to new arrivals, the runic circles were wiped away with extreme prejudice, and the tiny world was as it was the day it was built.

That lasted as long as it took for the clock to turn over and remove the general travel cost. Then, nothing could stop the arrivals new and old from swarming the city like a plague of locus.

People were pushing further and further in until they were shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and sometimes fist to skull as they tried to reach the best viewing spots for the day’s main event.

Even with viewing windows enchanted across the entirety of the city and broadcast to every open home across the aether network, people wanted more than that. They wanted to be on the walls, pressing against the time compression bubble, watching the Runners below scatter and fight for their very lives as their kingdom’s next generation of champions were born.

They wanted to be part of a history they could tell their children of, but they weren’t the only ones watching and waiting.

There was one man above it all, above them all. A man with slicked-back silver hair dressed in a gaudy sequined suit lined with silver and gold leaf in just such a way that some part of him always seemed to catch the light and bring more attention to himself. With his silver cane tipped in sapphire, the man fit in more with the royalty than the ragamuffin, but the man belonged to everyone. His smile was for the people, his hope for the Runners, and his strength was for the kingdom of Kess.

He was Darwin the Everchanging.

He was a hero.

He was [Keeper of the Dungeon].

And at that moment, Darwin was the second most powerful man in all of Kess.

There atop the bubble on a platform of runes and etching older than he, Darwin surveyed over all as if it were his kingdom: the people, the walls, the city.

It was all his to protect, to command, and oh so much more.

As the crowd roared below, Darwin chided himself silently as his smile grew to a mile wide. To think, he almost turned all this down! This was his element, wizened by time and trial or not! The benefits of his new position far outweighed the problems as he tapped his cane against the platform, sending a ripple of power out across the floating island with no more effort than it took to breathe.

Of course, everyone was far too busy with their position jockeying to notice. No, they didn’t notice such a subtle gust of unnatural air pressure in all their chaos, so Darwin changed tactics. The hero cupped his hands to his mouth like he had done so many times to warn his party of danger.

It was one of his favorite skills.

Unlike what one might expect from the man, the next sounds to come from Darwin’s mouth boomed across the city as if he were no further than a stage-whisper away.

“Attention, attention!” the man called with a voice equal parts silver and saccharin. “This is Darwin Maya, Master of Events for this Run. Please, quit your ass-ended arguing and find your places, we will begin within the hour! This is your only warning, so take it as you will.”

With that, every screen in the city came to life with an hourglass that was slowly bleeding sand from top to bottom.

Of course, the fighting, jockeying, and deals reached a head with that warning. Frantic people pushed another shoulder here, another face there, a child rode up on a pair of shoulder, and all the while, the man leaned on his cane as a smile quirked at the sides of his lips.

This was going is going to be a hell of a year, Darwin thought to himself as he watched someone begin handing out orange fizz and other alcohol to those that had found a proper seat on the wall. Soon and seemingly from nowhere, there were enough peddlers of the stuff to choke out any chance of sobriety.

On his order, of course.

He was the Master of Ceremonies, the [Keeper of the Dungeon], and the party had to start somewhere.

It would be the last time some of them saw their lovers, their children, their brothers, their families ever again.

They should have one, last, happy memory before the first-floor river began to run red.

If Darwin was right, and he usually was, it was going to be a hell of a year...

Or ten.

Mists below, he hoped they didn’t wipe before he had too much fun.