Morgan stood awkwardly, trying to figure out his balance with two enormous, completely foreign appendages sprouting from his back. He glanced over to where Bronwyn and Olivia sat, talking animatedly about their experiences. Olivia glanced at him, smiling reassuringly when she caught his gaze. She’d come through the racial advancement with only a few noticeable changes—her eyes smoldered more brightly, she was a little taller, though still shorter than Bronwyn, and overall just more beautiful. “Lucky,” he muttered, barely catching himself as one of his wings twitched without warning.

He looked at his status sheet again, wondering why he’d gotten a bloodline designation and Olivia hadn’t. Right there, under his name, it said, “Human (Anemoi Bloodline) - Advanced 2.” He didn’t even know what “Anemoi” meant, but Olivia said it was something to do with Ancient Greek Mythology. She couldn’t remember their role in the pantheon precisely, but she thought she remembered them having something to do with the wind.

They’d talked in circles trying to make sense of everything. Maybe Olivia would get a bloodline at advanced rank. Maybe not. Perhaps it only came out if it was particularly strong in an individual. Were the Anemoi really a type of human or Fae hybrid? Were they some other elder race? Were other mythological beings rooted in reality, originating from a time when Energy was on Earth? All they had were questions, though Olivia said she thought she’d be able to find a lot of answers back at the academy. If they ever got back.

Morgan concentrated again and tried to “flex” his wings. He could feel and move them, and they were incredibly strong—nothing like you might imagine new, never-before-used limbs would be. The problem was in controlling them. He supposed it was like getting your first pair of legs as an adult. Trying to walk might come as a challenge, and the wings were no different. When they were furled, folded on his back, they were alright. He felt like he had a living backpack on. When he unfurled them and spread them, if he didn’t anticipate their movement, they knocked him off balance. When he flapped them and drifted off the ground, his heart raced, and he wobbled and panicked and fell to the marble floor. He’d only tried once.

“Morgan, you wanna see what else is in the chest?” Bronwyn called.

“Yeah, but shit! I need to get a feel for these wings. At least enough to keep from knocking myself over every time I accidentally twitch one.” He growled, almost doing exactly that when he turned to reply.

“Alright, we can wait a while!” Bronwyn sat back down next to Olivia, and they held their heads together, talking quietly. Morgan couldn’t hear them, but he saw the smiles on their faces, and a paranoid part of himself wondered if they were laughing at his predicament. Another part of him was glad they were happy.

“All right, you unruly bastards,” Morgan said to his wings, bracing his legs and slowly unfurling them, opening them wide. He thought they had to be impressive, each stretching ten or so feet from behind his shoulders. He decided to try walking around with the wings open wide, then in various states between open and furled. When he managed to pace back and forth in the enormous hall with wings folded, open, and every state in between, he changed things up, doing the same thing with only one wing open and the other folded, and so on.

Morgan realized he was taking a long time, but he couldn’t imagine going into another fight and having to worry about twitching a wing and knocking himself over. Bronwyn and Olivia had moved on to their own distractions and didn’t bother him, so he decided to keep working on it.

Hours later, when his shoulders and back were aching from the efforts and his stomach was starting to growl, Morgan decided to take a break. He was confident he could, at the very least, keep his wings folded and not worry about involuntary spasms. He’d even managed a few gliding leaps, covering dozens of feet and catching quite a bit of air. He was starting to get excited about the potential the wings symbolized. When he walked back over to the chest and his two friends, Olivia looked up and said, “That was looking a lot better, Morgan!”

“Yeah, it’s going to take some work, but I’m starting to see the possibilities.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to, like, really fly?” Bronwyn asked, looking up from her hatchet. She’d been adorning the haft with a glimmering, multi-colored Energy bead that Morgan knew was one of Olivia’s.

“Yeah, I think I will. I’m scared to flap again while I’m in the air, but eventually, I’ll have to get the nerve to practice it.”

“Do you think you’re lighter than before? When that orb drew out your bloodline, did it make your bones hollow or something?” Olivia asked.

“God. Good question; I don’t know.” Morgan shrugged.

“Come here,” Bronwyn said, standing up. Morgan looked at her quizzically but took a step over to her. She smiled at him, then wrapped him in a hug. He wasn’t sure where the affection was coming from, but he wouldn’t complain. He reached his arms around her to hug her back, but then her arms tightened, and she grunted, lifting him off the ground. “Good lord, he might be lighter than a normal person his size, but it wouldn’t be by much!” She dropped him back to the ground and let go, laughing.

“Jeez! I thought you were going to hug me!”

“Awe,” Olivia laughed. “Poor guy!”

“Alright, alright. Let’s see what’s in this chest.” Morgan walked past Bronwyn and looked into the marble chest. He noticed, right away, another piece of the armor he was wearing—a helmet. Next to the helmet was a glittering, multifaceted blue gem the size of a baseball, and next to that was a folded bundle of silvery chainmail.

“What do you think?” Olivia asked from where she sat. “I’m interested in the gem, not any of the armor.”

“I figured I’d check out the chainmail since the helmet looks like it matches your armor, Morgan,” Bronwyn added.

“Sounds like you guys have it sorted out. I’m fine with that,” he said. “Who wants to go first?”

“Bronwyn,” Olivia said.

“Olivia,” Bronwyn said at the same time. Morgan looked from one to the other and snickered.

“You go, Bron! If we only get one item, you need armor more than I need a gem!”

“But . . .” Bronwyn started, but Morgan gave her a shove.

“I agree. Get some armor other than that shitty spiked leather stuff you’ve been wearing. I’m always afraid I’ll bump you and get a tetanus infection.”

Bronwyn sighed and tucked her long hair behind an ear, moving hesitantly to the chest. She looked from Olivia to Morgan again, then reached in and lifted out the gleaming chainmail. It was silvery and sparkled in the white lights shining above them. She let it unfold, hanging from her hands, and Morgan saw that it was just a hauberk, though it had long sleeves and looked like it would protect her all the way down to her thighs.

“Good news, the other items are still there,” she said. Then she tugged the chainmail hauberk on, struggling to pull her thick mane of hair through the neck hole. After it was hanging loosely off her shoulders, she held a hand against it and concentrated, then it glimmered and shrank to fit her body, forming itself around her curves. “Moonsteel chain hauberk,” she said. “It has similar enchantments to your plate, Morgan. I can barely feel that I’m wearing it!”

“Nice.” Morgan leaned into the chest and picked up the helmet. It was light and looked like it would cover the top of his head, making him worry about how it would stay put, having no strap or anything. He studied the mirror-like metal finish and the silky blue, padded interior and reckoned it would be comfortable if nothing else.

“That armor is gorgeous, Bronwyn,” Olivia said, still looking at her friend.

Morgan shrugged and put the helmet on top of his head. It was too small. He touched a hand to the top and channeled some energy into it, and it immediately slid down over his skull. He felt it stretching to expand down the back of his head and over his ears and, remarkably, over his face. The only thing he noticed as it covered his face was a slight dimming of the bright overhead lights and the faintly hollow sound of his breathing.

“Morgan! That’s cool! Your whole face is covered by metal, even your eyes. Can you see?” Bronwyn asked.

“Yeah, I see just fine and hear too. Does it look cool?”

“Oh my gosh, he’s worried if he looks cool, Bronwyn.” Olivia giggled.

“Yeah, it looks cool, Morgan,” Bronwyn said, also laughing. Morgan chuckled at himself, then felt around his neck where the helmet met with his breastplate. Sure enough, the two pieces had melded together, just as his vambraces and breastplate had. As he had with the other armor parts, he had an intuitive feeling for how it worked now that he’d bonded with it. He touched the smooth faceplate and gestured upward, and it *snicked*, receding away, leaving his face exposed.

“Now we can see your pretty blue eyes,” Olivia said with a teasing grin.

“Watch out, or I’ll tell Issa you’re flirting with me,” Morgan replied, deadpan.

“Oh, she knows better than that,” Olivia said, nonplussed.

“Yeah, good point. Well, see what your gem is!” He gestured to the chest and held out a hand to help Olivia up. She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her to her feet. Then he backed away and watched as she picked up the big blue gem. She turned it over a few times, studying it closely, then shrugged and Morgan, watching with Void Vision, saw her trickle a little Energy into the item. Her eyes went very distant, and she stood still for a long time, and Morgan saw yellow gold bursts of excitement emanating from her. He turned off his Void Vision and watched as a slow smile crept over her face.

“Well?” Bronwyn asked, leaning close to her.

“It's a history. It's filled with images and narratives about the city where we found this dungeon. Guys, it tells about the peoples’ destruction and why this dungeon is here.”

#

“Thank you for accompanying me back to the atrium, Tiladia. I had a wonderful time at Miss Issa’s party,” Ykleedra said as the spirit whirled about her, following her to the entrance of her burrow.

“You’re quite welcome, Miss Ykleedra. I wonder why you felt you had to leave so soon?”

“I’m working on a project, and I didn’t want to leave it unattended. I hope to surprise Morgan with it when he returns.”

“Perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

“No!” Ykleedra hissed, then recovered herself, “No, Tiladia! I want to surprise you too. Please wait until it's ready before you come in. I’ll tell you when, okay?”

“Of course, Miss Ykleedra. Please call upon me if you need anything at all.” With that, the spirit spun and departed the atrium, and Ykleedra sighed, turning back to her burrow. She felt terrible about deceiving Tiladia; the dragon spirit had been nothing but kind and respectful and had taken painstaking measures to be sure never to intrude on Ykleedra’s privacy. Was she doing the wrong thing by not telling her about her siblings?

“No, I don’t think so,” she whispered as she examined the eggs. No, eggs were too easy to destroy. People would be more sympathetic when they had to look into her sisters’ eyes and hear their cries. Let them come into this world, and then Ykleedra would seek guidance from someone, perhaps Tiladia, or maybe the human woman, Maria.

She wondered about Tiladia. How much could she sense? She was part of this tower and seemed to know when someone was outside the door. Were the eggs too inert to draw her attention? Would she notice when the children come forth from their shells? “If so, I’ll beg her to be discreet. I’ll explain my love for you. She’ll understand—she told me about her children and how she’d guarded her eggs with her life . . . does she already know about you?”

She gently felt the eggs with her tentacles, gauging their warmth, trying to sense her sisters’ moving within. One of them felt warmer than the others, and Ykleedra held onto it for a long while, thinking positive thoughts, and hoping she’d be able to make all of this work somehow. She was just turning to go to her nest when the egg shuddered, and, with a delicate crackling sound, a wet, sleek, black bit of chitin poked through the shell.