“To anyone who can hear me - I ask of you, please, find a way for me to live. To save my life, or to come back as something else, I don’t care. Please. I don’t want to die.”

Amy turned over in her bed to throw up again. Not that anything came out anymore. She gasped after the wave of dry heaves passed her by.

It was another on her list of desperate attempts. She was a scientist, after all. While she didn’t believe in a god of any kind, she was in favor of testing. She put her heart and soul into each attempt, no matter how she thought it’d turn out.

Begging random deities, though, was at the bottom of her list. She didn’t have much time left.

It was a cruel testament to human perseverance that she wasn’t dead yet. How could such a delicate balance of chemical reactions continue under these conditions? Her skin hung loose and limp from her brittle bones. She couldn’t eat anything anymore - her diet consisted of broth, and she could barely keep that down. Her hair, nails, and a handful of other fast-growing cell types had long since perished from the brutality of chemotherapy.

Cancer sucked.

Time passed slowly as she lay in her bed. Her mother came to visit her every day, but they’d run out of things to say. Her mother was endlessly capable of talking about nothing, leaving the room full of the pleasant sound of her voice. She was kind of glad that her father had never had to see her like this. She’d gone from being an admittedly small part of an amazing chemistry research team to dying from accidental exposure to a rather intensely carcinogenic creation. It was downright embarrassing.

Other than her mother, she’d mostly stopped having visitors. Her brothers had said farewell months before, and her boyfriend had decided it was too hard to stick around.

She couldn’t blame him too much. She didn’t want to be here, either.

But there was nothing to do but wait. She couldn’t even play video games.

From the time of her prayer to any who could hear her, it took three days before her heart grew silent. By then, she was almost too exhausted to be afraid.

Almost.

She clung to her consciousness with every scrap of will she had, fueled by her fear. She refused to fall into oblivion, even as she felt utterly certain that she would.

And… she didn’t.

She blinked in confusion as she found herself standing on a field of pure white, that seemed to stretch only a few dozen feet away. It gave the impression of standing in a spotlight within a void.

Am I dreaming? she wondered uneasily. It would be an added layer of cruelty to dream of dying that vividly. She’d been certain it was real.

Three pedestals appeared before her and she screamed in surprise, falling on her rear.

Things should not just materialize out of thin air. Things only did that on TV.

She stared at the pedestals for a long moment while her heart stopped racing. Slowly, she pulled herself to her feet and gave them a closer look.

On each pedestal was an object. One held a sword, the second held a mask, and the third held a book. She had a powerful feeling of importance about this, making her uneasy.

Her choice was so obvious it didn’t even register as a choice. She reached for the book instantly.

As soon as her fingers touched its leather binding, all three pedestals disappeared, and a figure emerged. She squeaked out a small sound again, but was marginally less surprised this time.

He was a man - a perfect blend of the stereotypes of “geek” and “over-enthusiastic scholar.” He looked older than her, maybe in his thirties. His glasses were comically oversized, and the passionate excitement on his face could have fit on an eight year old. Unruly brown hair framed his thin face, and curiosity shone from his eyes so intensely it felt tangible.

Still, despite his unimpressive appearance, there was something unnerving about him. That feeling of importance emanated from him to such a degree she felt cowed, even though his familiar look should have put her at ease.

“Greetings, greetings!” he said, as soon as he appeared. “Oh, I’m so terribly excited to meet you!”

“...oh,” she said, confused.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “My name is Biblio, the demigod of books. So very exciting, yes, may I know your name?”

“Your name is Biblio,” she repeated dully. “The demigod of books. Did… what… what?”

“Oh, poor thing, you must be a bit overwhelmed, I’m sure,” he said, looking honestly apologetic. “Dying is a rather traumatic event. Do take your time.”

She blinked at him. She needed to sit down. There were no chairs, but the floor seemed perfectly fine.

As she sat, he held mostly still. He was fidgety, and looked like he was full to bursting with questions.

“My name is Amy,” she said after a minute. “Amy Barnes. I’m a lab tech.”

“Amy Barnes,” he said, sounding almost reverent. “Lab tech! Oh, my my my. What is…? Oh, but forgive me, I’m not here to ask you things.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, curiosity beginning to force its way past shock.

“To tell you things!” he said happily. “I’m sure you have ever so many questions - gods know I would - but I’m afraid there have been quite a few restrictions placed. There’s so very little I can tell you, but I will tell you all that I can.”

“Restrictions?” she asked. “What restrictions?”

“The primary gods,” he said, offhandedly. “They want to ensure there is as little bias as possible, after all. This is the most exciting event of the century! The millenium, even! Maybe even longer!”

“Right,” she said. “I… I died, right?”

“Yes,” he said, looking confused. “We’d assumed you knew you were dying. Was it a surprise?”

“Nope, I knew I was dying,” she said. “I was just making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Oh, that is quite sensible, very sensible indeed, yes, yes,” he said, nodding. “You are not hallucinating! You did, in fact, die. Though we don’t know what killed you.”

“Cancer,” she said.

“Cancer,” he repeated. “Hmm, yes, the word doesn’t translate perfectly, but I think I understand.”

On the list of things she was curious about, that didn’t make the top ten at the moment.

“Can you tell me what happened, please?” she asked.

“But of course!” he said. “You see, the gods can only interact with mortals in a few very limited means - to prevent cheating, you see - and one of those means is by the fulfillment of earnestly made prayers!”

“Oh,” she said. “So, the prayers I’d tried…?”

“Quick, aren’t you?” he said, looking pleased. “Indeed! Now, normally, we wouldn’t be able to do much about it, because your world is the domain of a solitary god - he’s quite jealous, you see, and tends to object rather severely when other gods attempt to interfere. But you, Amy Barnes, you weren’t religious at all! We felt it in your prayer - you had no attachment to that god. That meant we could snatch you away, in your moment of death! It’s the first contact made with your universe in thousands of years!”

“Snatch me away…?” she repeated.

He nodded vigorously, “Yes, yes. You’re in our universe now! The world of Yaelsin, it’s called. Lovely name, isn’t it? We can only fulfill prayers made in earnest, according to their wording, and only if they align with pre-existing desires. Quite limiting, you see, yes? But! But your prayer, Amy, your prayer was exquisite - it was earnestly made, and while ‘anything’ is something we cannot fulfill, you made a list of options! The pantheon has been in quite the flurry these last few months, arguing about how to handle it.”

“Months?” she said. “How long have I been dead?”

“About four months,” he said. “We kept you unconscious while we made plans. I say ‘we,’ but as a mere demigod, I’m not a part of the deliberations.”

“Can you tell me the plan they decided on?” she asked.

“Not entirely, but in part, yes,” he said. “You will be returning as a dungeon - quite excellent, yes?”

She wanted to interrupt him to ask what the hell that meant, but she figured it’d be best to answer one question at a time.

“Yaelsin has been rather stagnant for some time,” he said, sighing forlornly. “The gods have come to an effective stalemate. Any suggestions for disrupting the stalemate are assumed to be laden with bias, and so have been shot down. You, though, Amy Barnes - you are a true unknown! You come from a world about which we know nothing. You have no knowledge of the gods of Yaelsin. Your personality, your leanings, are entirely unknown. You are known to have a resistance to religion, which makes it seem like you’re less likely to align with the first god who finds you, making things seem even more fair. You are the finest opportunity for a new game since the gods reached stalemate!”

“A… game,” she said, distaste clear in her voice.

“The realm of mortals is the playing field of the gods,” he said, smiling apologetically. “It is simply the way of things. You needn’t worry about that, not really. No gods may directly interfere with you ever in your life, and are forbidden from indirect interference for an adjustment period of one year.”

“Let me get this straight,” she said, rubbing at her face. “I died. I was snatched away by actual gods, of another universe. This was because of my prayer, and because I’m an unknown. You wanted an unknown element, in hopes of disrupting the current stalemate of the gods, in a way that could not have been manipulated by any of the current gods. Right?”

“Most excellent, yes, yes,” he said, beaming at her with pride.

“And I’m talking to you, because I picked the book?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, quite astute indeed!” he said happily. “We didn’t know who should represent us, so we selected three options. I’m so very glad you picked me!”

“Right,” she said, rubbing at her face again. She felt completely overwhelmed. “Let’s go with the next big detail - what is a dungeon?”

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid,” he said.

“Why not?” she asked.

“Well, we don’t want you to act like other dungeons,” he explained. “There’s plenty enough of those! You will have the normal instincts and abilities of a dungeon, though, so no worries about that! And, of course, you will retain all of your memories, skills, and knowledge. It’d be rather pointless if you were just an ordinary dungeon, after all, yes? Ha ha!”

She blinked several times.

“But dungeons aren’t alive,” she said.

“Really?” he asked, marvelling. “Your god makes dead dungeons? Whatever is the point, then, I wonder?”

She blinked at him again.

“I appreciate the information,” she said cautiously, “But I have to admit, I’m curious why you’re telling me anything at all. Why not just reincarnate me, and see what happens?”

“Oh, we considered that, yes, yes,” he said. “But you see, I’m afraid, most dungeons don’t survive their first year. We have chosen a rather nice starting location for you - not too nice, of course, that choice involved quite a bit of arguing - but even so, we were worried that, in your confusion and panic, you might make poor choices. If you died early, then the whole game would be over before it began! So, we hoped to have you calm and ready before you start.”

“What usually kills dungeons?” she asked.

“I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think I can answer that,” he said, looking honestly sorry.

“Can you tell me what wrong decisions you’re hoping I’ll avoid?” she asked.

“Um… no,” he said, thinking. “I’m not supposed you tell you anything at all about the ‘being a dungeon’ part. I can only tell you a little about the context around the situation.”

She frowned. Biblio - what a silly name - seemed quite honest and forthright. She was pretty sure that, as much as he might want to help her, he wouldn’t bend the rules. The demigod of the mask, though? If that was a god of deception or something, he might manage to twist the interpretation to help her a little, if he thought it’d bias her towards him.

“There’s one thing I’m really unhappy about,” she said, sighing heavily. “I’m sure, as much as I love books, I’d have met you one day, no matter what. The other choices, though? The mask, especially? I really should have picked that one.”

“Oh,” he said, looking unhappy.

“You can’t blame me for being curious, can you?” she asked, smiling at him. “I mean, wouldn’t you want to meet more demigods, if you had the choice?”

“Well, yes, but, the choice was already made,” he said.

“But, couldn’t you go back to them and ask?” she said sweetly.

“That, um, that wasn’t part of the plan,” he said uncertainly.

“But wouldn’t it be good for the gods, if the pantheon looked reasonable?” she asked. “I mean, obviously it was acceptable for me to speak to the demigod of the mask, else he wouldn’t have been there. You wouldn’t want me to think poorly of the gods, so early in my new life, would you?”

“I, um, I suppose I can ask,” he said, looking uneasy.

He disappeared. She fidgeted for several minutes.

Another figure appeared. He was incredibly handsome, and as dignified as Biblio had been approachable. The smile he gave her jolted right through her body - the sort of smile that would make throngs of teenaged girls swoon, even though he looked like a strange blend of middle aged and young. Ageless, perhaps.

Biblio’s enthusiasm had taken the edge off of the deep feeling of importance, but this man embodied it. He looked as though he were a full god, graciously permitting a favored priest to call upon his time.

“Amy Barnes,” he said, his voice as smooth as the finest silk. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Prosopon, the demigod of personas.”

“Ah,” she said, smiling to cover her unease. She felt vastly out of her league. “I appreciate your willingness to speak with me.”

“How could I refuse such a charming request?” he asked, looking amused. “Now, then, why don’t you tell me the real reason you asked for me?”

She flushed a little and stammered.

“I just want a better understanding of who I’m working with,” she said awkwardly. “I figured two demigods would give me a better sense of it than one.”

He smiled again, and she suppressed a pleasant shiver. His smile was so warm and inviting, but it would not be a good idea to develop a crush on him.

“Clever approach, my dear,” he said. “I fear that Biblio has already advised you of most everything that can be said, and so I may not be able to help you as much as you might wish.”

“Perhaps not,” she said. “But, I wonder, will I be meeting you and him again in a year?”

“Directly? No, not any of us,” he said. “But I suspect you’ll find a few who favor personas within the ranks of the god of guile.”

“That’s the god over you?” she asked.

“Alas, I cannot tell you anything about the structure of the pantheon,” he said with a rueful grin. “I merely wished to let you know where you might look, if you wanted to find those who serve beneath me.”

“Much appreciated,” she said, and he dipped his head in a graceful nod. “Sir, I am worried about something. Will I be forced to be a tool of the gods?”

“A reasonable concern, my dear,” he said. “But allow me to reassure you - the gods have no more power than they are granted.”

“So they can’t get into my mind, or force me to do anything?” she asked.

“Correct,” he said. “Only if you pray for a god to have access, will they gain such a treasure.”

“Why would anyone do that?” she asked.

“The gods do not have to answer prayers,” he said with a wry smile.

“But they can,” she said, and nodded thoughtfully. “So people trade their, what, faith? For power and other benefits?”

“Just so,” he said.

“Because the gods can only act through people, he said?” she asked. “So that’s the only way they can ‘fight’ each other?”

“You are perceptive, my dear,” he said warmly.

“So how do I figure into all this?” she asked.

“You, specifically?” he said. “I fear I am forbidden to say.”

“Have they ever done something like this before?” she asked. “Brought other people back as dungeons?”

“A few times,” he said. “Most recently was a few hundred years ago. It is impossible to find a resident of Yaelsin who is free of bias with the gods, of course, and so a continent was given five dungeons. Each soul was chosen by one of the gods who chose to engage in that game.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“They all died within ten years,” he said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Anyone who is affiliated with one god becomes the natural enemy of another,” he said. “Each dungeon was the reincarnated soul of a high priest. They had great power, for their allegiance. Each gained as many boons as their patron gods had the power to grant. Yet, it was not enough.”

“Power, at the cost of being a target,” she said with a frown.

“Just so,” he said. “Dealing with gods and demigods is distinct from aligning yourself with one. I would, of course, never make any pretense of giving you advice, but I feel it is useful to understand the nature of your situation.”

“Can you tell me the difference between gods and demigods?” she asked.

“Alas, any specifics about the hierarchy or politics of the gods are forbidden,” he said, looking remorseful.

“You said the dungeons died within ten years,” she said, and he nodded. “How long would they have lived, had no one killed them?”

He smiled, and his eyes glinted with amusement.

“While I am forbidden from telling you about dungeons in general, I suppose I can tell you that those, specific dungeons were entirely ageless,” he said. “Immortal, if not slain by specifically malicious intent.”

“Was there anything special about those dungeons?” she asked.

“Hmm,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Why, I fear I cannot think of a single thing out of the ordinary about those dungeons, other than that they were reincarnated humans.”

“And Biblio said I’d be ordinary, for a dungeon?” she said, getting excited.

“Naturally,” he said. “How could the gods be convinced to actually agree on any alterations to the standard? It’s a wonder they agreed on the standard in the first place - only the gods themselves could create such magnificent beings as dungeons.”

She sighed with pleasure. Immortality… if she played her cards right, she would never have to die again.

“I really appreciate you talking with me,” she said, gratitude suffusing her voice.

“I am glad to hear it,” he said, with a faint bow. “It has been an absolute pleasure talking to you. I fear the rest of the gods are growing displeased at our discussion. Are there any further questions I might address, before I am whisked away?”

The time pressure made her freeze up. She had so many questions… she could talk to him for days straight before she ran out. What to ask?

“Is there anything I can do, or should do, to prepare?” she asked.

“You are permitted to contemplate and rest for as long as you require, before you begin,” he said. “Beyond that, you will bring nothing with you but your knowledge.”

“Could I make a deal with you before I go?” she asked impulsively.

He laughed, and the sound was so alluring she had to withhold a sigh of appreciation.

“Would that I could, my dear,” he said. “But, unless you swear fealty to one of the gods, we are forbidden from making direct deals with you at any time in your life. You may only negotiate with our priests; and even then, only after a year has passed. Why, there won’t even be any priests on your continent for a year.”

His smile grew slightly strained. Amy blinked at the realization that the air around her felt… tense, somehow. As though she was immersed in a pool of irritation.

“With that, my dear Amy Barnes, I believe I must say farewell,” he said, bowing lightly. “I look forward to seeing what you achieve, and have the highest hopes for your success. Good luck.”

With another charming smile, he disappeared again, and she was alone on the plane of light. That weight of irritation around her had faded somewhat, but hadn’t disappeared entirely. Prosopon of personas had made a risky move, inviting the irritation of the other gods in exchange for her gratitude.

She’d intended to take whatever he said with a grain of salt, assuming it would be pure manipulation, but she couldn’t disregard the gifts of knowledge he’d given her. She assumed it had to be true - surely the rest of the gods would have objected more severely if she’d been lied to.

No, she was convinced that he’d been playing straight with her. She was honestly grateful, and would find a way to thank him for it, someday. Biblio, too, though mostly because she couldn’t help but appreciate a demigod of books.

At the moment, she had time to think. She tried to guess what a “dungeon” was. There were a number of meanings, but none of them involved something that was alive. What was she going to be? What was she going to lose?

I suppose it isn’t worth worrying about. I don’t have enough information to figure it out. And, besides, I’m tired of sitting around just thinking.

“I guess I’m ready,” she said, looking up at…

… darkness?

She couldn’t breathe. She needed air. She scrambled forward and dug away the earth, desperate for air.

It moved so easily, and felt so soft beneath her hands. It was scarcely seconds before she broke through and sunlight poured in. She gasped in pleasure.

As the fear faded, she remembered that she wasn’t supposed to have hands. She looked down at them.

Only… there was nothing there. There was no body at all. How was she looking around? How had she dug at the dirt?

She took a deep breath with non existent lungs. Or maybe she was just centering herself. She brushed aside the thought. Most dungeons died within a year… this meant she was in danger and had to figure things out quickly.

She looked around and saw a beautiful turquoise gem. It was precisely the same shade as her favorite color, and for a moment, she marveled at its beauty. It was large, for a gem - perhaps the size of the tip of her finger, and perfectly spherical.

After memorizing the perfection of its glistening facets, she turned her attention to the area she was in.

The tunnel was tiny, only about three feet from the gem to the surface, and perhaps a mere six inches wide. Amy realized with a start that the tunnel began at the gem.

Was she a gemstone? A magic gemstone?

She wanted to sit down again, but had no body. She gave in to the feeling anyway, just to see what would happen.

The world dimmed, and she found herself inside the gem. It felt like she was laying down on the softest bed imaginable, or perhaps in a jacuzzi. Perfect relaxation.

As pleasant as it was, she pulled herself back to the tunnel. She had to figure out exactly what she was and what she could do.

She’d died once already. She wasn’t going to do it again.