I reached the nexus chamber quickly. Old Biscuit had been missing scarcely an hour, there had to still be time to save him. Between his healing light and those blasts of energy, he would not go down quickly, or quietly.

The mist had condensed in the minutes since our confrontation, leaving the air clear, and the beast's slime trail was still visible on the walkway – an easy way to track it, though only as far as the nexus.

After reaching the whirlpool, the fish had evidently abandoned the land, braving the swirling waters rather than circle all the way around the edge.

Wary of an attack from one of the tunnels, I called on my new power, Glazer Blade.

The powdered sugar all across my skin began vibrating, gathering, skittering across my surface to my edges, where they bunched together to meet my will.

The twin blades formed slowly on my left and right sides, the two triangular sword blades growing like creeping frost, until each was as long as my legs, broad at the base, tapering to a narrow point.

I could twist and move them where their base rested against my skin, and I could alter their gross shape, but beyond that my control over them was limited. I could manage a thrust or a slice, which was enough for now.

I used what was left of my powder to line my legs with serrated edges, and capped off my feet with a pair of pointed sugar-glass tips – brittle, but sharper than my wooden feet ever were on their own.

I was ready for battle. Now I just needed a foe to face.

I ran up the near wall and leaped off, soaring over the whirlpool and landing lightly on the other side. My puff body technique removed even the slight jarring from my impact with the ground, and I was running the same moment my feet hit the platform.

This was where the fish's trail went cold, but I still remembered which tunnel it had first arrived from, and it was that which I ran down.

As I moved down the tunnel, I began to see slippery areas, where slime had recently covered and not yet completely dried, a sign that perhaps I was on the right path.

I wasn't sure I would be able to find the monster's lair – what if it were underwater? – but I would at least follow this lead to its conclusion.

I traveled down the tunnel for what felt like an hour, an enormous distance given the speed I was moving, so far that I reached its end.

I discovered that the tunnel opened on the banks of a river, the gated mouth gulping greedily at the fast flowing water, drawing a portion of it off to feed the city's waterways.

From what I could see of the surroundings, the tunnel had brought me far out of the city, into a green and lightly wooded countryside. I could hear some hustle and bustle coming from somewhere nearby, but nothing like the clamor of the city.

This was freedom, if I wanted it to be. Freedom from the city, freedom from its pigeons. But not freedom from obligation.

I'd succeeded at escaping the city, but that was not my goal. The way out was here if I needed it, but would I ever be free, if I left this thread dangling behind me?

I reluctantly turned back into the tunnel. I'd have to search another–

Dough... Boy...

I froze. That had been Old Biscuit's voice. Weak, pained, but unmistakable. It sounded close enough that I should have been able to touch him, but he was nowhere to be seen.

I crouched by the channel and pushed my top into the water, looking beneath the surface. There was nothing there.

Dough Boy... Help me.

The same voice again, despite the water. Did this mean Old Biscuit was still alive?

I pulled myself out of the water and began running back down the tunnel, leaving the daylight behind.

I passed by the same signs as before, my crystal clad feet drawing scratches in the same recent slime, but I had no more luck finding the beast's lair than before.

I reached the central chamber and stood there, perplexed. Perhaps it was in one of the other tunnels. It would take hours to check them all.

Where are you, old man.

As if in reply, I heard a long wail, audible over the roar of the nexus, a cry in Old Biscuit's deep but reedy voice.

It was coming from the black hole at the center of the whirlpool. The beast's lair, and its larder, lay beneath the maelstrom of the nexus, in whatever deep, dark place the water drained into.

A part of me quailed at the thought of entering that dark place. What if it were flooded? My sweet flesh would not survive, my weapons would dissolve away to nothing. What if it were bottomless? I could be falling forever, or I might find some distant floor, the impact battering and crushing me.

I shook myself and forced myself to think.

If whatever lay below the hole had been completely flooded then Old Biscuit wouldn't have been able to shout for help. Just being under water for that long would have turned his body to mush, so I could guess there was somewhere dry to land somewhere below.

If Guppy made its lair down there, then it had to be able to get back up, and I was confident in my ability to out-jump any fish. I could be fairly certain of getting back out.

All that was left then was to make the decision, to jump down, into that swirling blackness, into the eye of the storm.

It wasn't merely a choice between risking my existence or slinking away. This was a choice about who I was going to be. Would I be a bun who ran and hid, or a bun who faced colossi and leviathans. A bun who survived, or a bun who risked everything for greatness.

It wasn't even a choice. I'd picked my path, made my peace, and had the Mystic Art which reflected that.

My body felt light as I leaped from the platform. I left cowardice behind, like a burden, on that platform. Free of it, I soared over raging water, then into darkness.