---Cale Exsmith, Head Overseer of Queensport POV.

I stare at the flickering flame of the candle. A finger width of wax remains. I have burnt down three others, yet she is still to return. I can console myself with the fact she insisted. That doesn’t assuage the fear I have in the pit of my stomach, as we have never been apart for longer than three days since we became a couple. Burn a candle at dusk, she bid me, and before the end, I will return that night. If not, do the same the next night.

A brine ladened gust of wind flings the balcony door open with a crash. The candle flame bends over, hangs alight for a heartbeat, and then snuffs out. Fortunately, I have a backup and the low glow of the lantern on my desk wards off the dark of night. I reach across and lower the lantern wick in the oil reservoir. Light returns to my office, framing a robed figure in the balcony doorway. A gloved hand grasps each doorway jamb. I am sure my wife has returned, yet she doesn’t enter. Why does she hesitate?

The robe’s hood falls back, and night-black hair spills and flows over her shoulders. I want to greet her, yet the words are stuck in my throat as lines of worry crease her forehead. Worse is her set jaw. With a flourish, the robe falls from her frame and hangs on the peg beside the doorway. Her linen shirt and pants are dry, yet perspiration stains, yellow against the white, are obvious. Physical labour? Other stains, brown, black, dirt and oil, further blemish the cloth.

She rips her shirt and pants off to reveal her magnificent lithe body except where her breast wrap and loin cloth provide modesty. Without hesitation, she strides towards and is shortly before the water basin, dipping the rag and then wiping down her body. I join her and, with another rag, wash her back. Her breast wrap and loin cloth drop to the fall, and my cleaning area expands.

“It isn’t just the sweat and dirt, husband,” she whispers. “It is the raw fear of death.” I feel her chest hitch and wrap an arm around her waist while my washing strokes become gentle caresses.

After a time, her body moves. She reaches for a clean robe and hugs and sniffs the clean wool garment instead of dressing.

“Thank you,” she says.

I take the hint, drop my washcloth in the water basin, and step back as she wraps her nakedness. She swivels to face me while tying off her robe and forces an unconvincing smile on her lips. She knows I will know, yet she still tries to reassure me that everything is alright now. I run my fingers through her hair to comb the longer strands away from her face, ignoring the grit. Her eyes are full of tears threatening to overflow.

Gently kissing her lips, one peck and then another, I wait for her to explain or speak. Her arms wrap around my neck, and we are cheek to cheek. Her heart is thumping violently enough in her chest that I can keep count. I resist words of comfort like you are home now and safe. She will know this if she believes this is the truth.

“Sailorport, husband.”

I run my hand down her shoulder-length hair again, stroke after stroke. She leans her head into my efforts, and her trembling calms. When did her trembling begin?

“It looks normal, but it isn’t.” Warm droplets splash on my neck. “There are humans, sailors, sail-makers, storekeepers, even ladies of the night, yet they aren’t real… They exist, yet their talk is… like acting.” Her arms strangle my neck. “I know I make little sense.”

I sweep her off her feet and princess-carry her into our bedroom. Taking a deep look into her eyes, I lower her shivering body onto our bed. She wipes her eyes with the backs of her hands, and we share a warm smile. Balancing on one foot, I attempt to remove my boot and fall flat on my bottom. Her tinkle of laughter is a joyful reward for my antic. Intentional, of course.

“Foolish husband, sit on the chair and give me your leg.”

I position the chair opposite our bed and raise a leg to my now upright wife. Hand under the heel, one tug, and she removes the boot from my left foot. We repeat the play for the right foot. Placing both feet on the wooden floor, I stand and step towards my wife. She looks up, and I tuck a stray length of her hair behind an ear.

“Thank you, husband.”

I slide onto our bed, and she rolls over to accommodate me like we have done many times before. Once I settle, she rolls back, her head pillowing on my shoulder, an arm draping across my chest. I feel her eyes on me and look down. I fall into their twin depths as I did when we first met.

“While invisible, I followed them, trying to make sense of the numbers. There are too many for the number of buildings, yet eventually, Sailorport made sense. Two different parts of the town make one. The older walled half has strange humans, too many for the number of buildings. The new half has new buildings, bustling with Kingdom sailors, Beast Kin, and others.”

“Others?”

“Small horrid leathery creatures with snouts. Three females, similar yet different, with wings, command them. It was they who somehow sensed my presence. They who…”

Her words fail, her breathing becomes heavy, and I feel her fingernails dig into the side of my chest. I lean down, kiss her forehead, and wait.

“The three wielded the same magic as I detected in the Snake Kin Prophet, yet they exuded confidence.” She nuzzles her face into the crook of my neck. “Confidence isn’t the right word, husband. Absolute faith is the right word. I am certain they are worshippers of Aphrodite, powerful ones at that.”

“Is the old port truly operational?”

“The new side, yes, and more. Tall, grey-skinned human-like creatures work stone, and as we always knew about but could never exploit, there are woods and the possibility of fertile ground nearby. All we have is sand, which ends at the feet of a mountain-high cliff.”

“What of the Kingdom port to the west?”

“Abandoned. They only had sand, and I am certain they needed supplies like Queensport. I fear our fate will be like theirs.”

I rub my wife’s back. “The ships have already returned, few, I admit, but a start. After half a year, no more desperate Captains and their crews half mad with thirst and hunger limping into our port terrorising the already desperate.”

“Their tales of sea monsters, the great loss of ships and crew. Will the Empire recover?”

“We have nowhere to run to, so we must ensure Queensport not only survives but thrives. Your discovery of the freshwater cave was the start. We simply need to find a food source to secure our future beyond fish.”

I feel her face screw up against my neck, and I smirk at her reaction. Yet fishing kept us alive. Even those who had never fished before did so or contributed to the effort in other ways. Help or starve was the mandate, which extended to visitors high and low alike—desperate times. My hand checks my belt on impulse. Two notches I lost around my waist. Fawn Exsmith tenses her entire body against mine. My words to divert her were only a temporary reprieve. It would seem.

“Continue your tale, my love,” I whisper.

Her words flood out from between her lips. “They locked many of the cottages, yet the one I ran towards to hide in wasn’t. I only realise this now.” She sucks in a deep breath. “I am such a fool.” She slaps my chest. I wonder why I should suffer punishment but hold my tongue. “A normal cottage, stove, table, and chairs, with a single bed off one side. Then I overhear a conversation. Someone is coming to the door of this cottage. By some miracle, I spot a trapdoor. Quickly, I am through and climb down the ladder. I descend enough to close the trapdoor above me. Multiple pairs of boots tramp on the wooden floor above. Darkness surrounds me.” I feel her body squeeze up against mine, and when not enough, she throws her left leg over to hook mine. “I climb down the ladder step by step. As I think the ladder will never end, a ripple rolls over me as one of my boots lands on the basement floor. A message penetrates my mind.”

{You have entered the Gateway Dungeon of Arsu.}

“I take my boot back and hug the ladder, and another message appears in my mind.”

{You have exited the Gateway Dungeon of Arsu.}

“What is a Dungeon?” I whisper.

“I didn’t know then, husband, and I am not much the wiser now, yet it took all my self-control to hold my water. I am afraid to admit I shamed us with my sobbing husband.”

We are a team, have always been a team, so I am glad she said ‘us’ and kiss her forehead. I mutter, “No wife, nothing to be ashamed of. You were all alone in the dark. Trapped?” This is a gentle enquiry, a hint to continue and talk past this point.

“Yes. I could descend and enter the Dungeon, whatever that meant, or face certain capture by climbing the ladder. As it turned out, no amount of hammering on the trapdoor summoned those in the cottage. It was as if they were deaf. So, I descended.”

I whisper, “Or their part was done, wife.”

She swallows, and her body half climbs on mine. Then a tiny whimper escapes from between her lips, and her story continues using a thin voice.

“With both boots on the floor of the cellar, a dim light grew from the roof and walls, and before me stretched out a corridor. Square, wide enough for three people to walk side by side and half my height again in head clearance. I lost time down there, husband. The one tunnel became many. Doors would open onto them, either dead ends or lead to another door into another room or corridor. Some rooms had several doors leading off from them.”

I couldn’t fully understand her fear. Trying to escape from an underground maze would be a challenge, yet there was light, and when she left, she took sufficient food and water for three days, so only time was against her. Perhaps that is the cause. She ran out of food and water. Lost?

She shudders in my embrace, and I look into her eyes. “I am trying to remember, husband. A moment.”

“Take your time,” I offer in a sweet, caring voice. There must be more to this maze-like place. Am I prepared to listen? To believe?

“There were creatures, husband. Some humans, mostly… others. The small creatures with scales occupied multiple rooms, like an underground village, then other creatures, some like Beast Kin, others fantastical, like some broken mind, combined parts of several creatures into one. This isn’t easy to describe. When I slew all the creatures in a room using my magic, I searched the rooms, and some would have nothing while others would have precious metals or weapons, jewellery, pieces of armour.”

Her eyes are full of wonder now, the fear, during the telling, forgotten. I notice small earrings decorating her ears for the first time. How did I miss them until now?

“Best of all was the messages. I am undecided if they were from the Dungeon or just simply recognition of my survival efforts and improvement despite myself.”

{You are no longer a Level Zero Human, having graduated to a Level One Adventurer in your most proficient profession: Magic User. You may use the title Prestidigitator. Your previous study in the magical arts suffices to grant you the following benefits: Spell Casting: Cantrips [blade ward, minor illusion, ray of frost] Level One Spells [burning hands, disguise self, mage armour, quick retreat] The spell message becomes a Cantrip, and you keep your previous knowledge and use of the following spells once per day: [clairvoyance, detect magic, dispel magic, fly, invisibility, levitate, protection from scrying, push, warp wood]}

She recites the message, word for word, and then tries to explain. The Cantrips are new magic. Simple gestures conjure lower, although not always harmless, magical effects. The Level One Spells include two spells [detect magic] and [push] she already knew from the arduous year-long study in the Empire’s greatest Wizard’s School, Citadel of the Seekers. I hold back my cursing as this was the grand place that near destroyed my future wife.

“At least a year of study for some of my spells, two or more years for others. Frustrating failures, my mind could not grasp the intricacies and then this message. My mind gently fills with the theoretical and practical linkages of the knowledge. The knowledge was there, husband. How could I have ever doubted myself? Believe them, right? Thought myself worthless and excepted my dismissal so easily. Broken and on the streets.” I feel the warm glow of her cheek against my neck. Her fury surfaces to complement the growl in her voice. “What is more, this teaching means I could memorise the spells, like usual, but I could cast the same spell twice or more between overnight nights of sleep if I didn’t breach my daily limit. This flexibility was to be my lifesaver, husband.”

Her head lifts from my neck, eyes wide with wonder. Her words are once again strong, with an undertone of excitement. The transformation in her mood is reassuring. Yet I fear there must be more.

“Exploring the passageways was dangerous as various creatures would patrol for intruders, and I remained invisible, tip-toeing around until I thought I knew what happened, when and by whom. Which creatures owned certain sections, and so on. My confidence in this almost proved my undoing, yet [mage armour] and [ray of frost] proved my best combination. If all else failed [quick retreat] would separate me from my attackers, and once again, from a distance, I would slay them before they killed me.”

Her body shakes, and I cuddle her even more. “You are home now,” I offer.

“You don’t understand, husband, I… enjoyed the slaying. I knew each kill would grow my power, and each treasure would grow our wealth. Bringing on death has never been… me. You know that husband, but these creatures weren’t human, and somehow, that excuse washed away any hesitation. To begin with, I fought tooth and nail for survival and then, as my power grew, I decided to quit skulking about in the corridors. I listened at the doors, and when I heard nothing, I entered. Some were empty yet contained evidence of occupation. Some I laid in wait for the residents to return. Others I knew held too many enemies. After short work, another message.”

{You are no longer a Level One Magic User and have graduated to a Level Two Magic User. You may use the title Evoker and cast an additional Level One spell per day. Transmutation magic is your major, secondary are divination and abjuration, while illusion is tertiary, given your previous study in the magic arts. Spells from these areas will always be easier for you to learn and become proficient in.}

{With your rise to Level Two Magic User, your previous lifestyle and skill set are now available to you, Rogue Level One. You may use the title Knave. Your previous skills of Stealth and Thievery are now available as well as your skill with a rapier.}

After she explained the message, I couldn’t contain the celebration in my voice. “Your shady past comes back to reward you, wife. What Level of Magic User are you now?”

She bats her eyelids, and I stifle a chuckle. My mind flashes back many years to a dark alley and my poor interpretation of events. At the time, it seemed like a desperate and lonely guttersnipe fended off several irate merchants and their sell-swords with shouts of thief and curses of ill fortune. I caught the runaway, which caused them to cheer until the hood of her cloak swept back in the scuffle. Her mop of black hair sprung free, and her deep, dark eyes captured my heart.

“My past resolved a mystery. Whenever I held my rapier, my spells would fail. After the system message, I could wield my rapier to strike down any foes and cast my magic.”

I open my mouth to reply, close and then, in a weak voice, ask, “Level?”

“Level Four, a Theurgist. My existing spells became slotted into this new system, and my prior studies credited to gain new spells, like [read thoughts] and [arcane lock]. Oh, also another Cantrip called [guidance].”

“All of this from killing in this Dungeon?”

“Most times, the killing was a way to a means, husband. The Dungeon would offer quests. Achieve this or fetch that, negotiate between two factions. The last quest was the rescue of two children. Not only did I free the children, but in doing so, I found a way out of the Dungeon. Seeing the new wallless part of Sailorport, the children led me to their father. His reward was generous, including passage on his ship to anywhere in the known world.”

“Do you think this quest deliberately allowed you to escape?”

After several heartbeats of silence, she nods. “Yes, husband, our suspicions agree. I am deliberately trapped inside the Dungeon, and then at the end of my three days of food and water, I conveniently receive a quest that leads me to freedom.”

“Could you have stayed longer?”

“I will never know. The [arcane lock] spell allowed me to hold up in a room to rest, which I badly needed after a day and night. I selected the smallest room I could find with a single door, which entered another room, not a passageway. I thought such a room was most likely to be a storeroom and seldom entered.”

A breath of air whistles over my teeth. “You had no way of escaping.”

“No.” Her head shifts, and our eyes meet. Her eyes are full of thrilling triumph. “On more than one occasion, I needed to use my rapier and once, I used my teeth. Perhaps the Dungeon knew of my situation…” She hitches her chest. “I can’t explain to you fully… I felt most alive when closest to death. The desperation of the situation was the same as all those years ago when we first met in that dark alley. That is why you must hold me. I am most afraid of myself. I want to go back, and I want you to go with me, husband.”

--------------------------

A loud screaming shriek breaks our overnight sleep, and half-awake, we rush out, barefoot, to the door and onto the balcony. One of the strange creatures has returned, part lion, part eagle swooping low across the port. None of Queensport sling stones or release arrows, they have learnt well. They force any new arrivals to duck and hide as well. After a time, the creature flies off, out to sea.

We share a relieving evil giggle. The creatures were a blessing and a curse during their historic visits. They would take horses before any other animal and only hurt those who tried to prevent the theft. The arrangement working out well in the early days of the great fleet arrivals. Horses, especially gelded battle mounts, were useless additions to the town. They drank too much water and required fodder, when all we could offer was sand. Worse, they typically belonged to the important people, like demanding petty nobles oblivious to our realities. Many of them and their retainers died while defending their prized animals. Queensport took to naming the strange flying visitors as a sort of affection grew towards them because we all understood the slaying of each horse was a help, fending off our thirst. As far as we know, five still survive. Now fully grown, it would seem on the horse's flesh they consumed. They would need to fly elsewhere now, though.

Returning to my office hand in hand, I glimpse a curve of one of wife’s full breasts as her robe slips open. She smirks at me. I feel my face warm for an unknown reason. We are married after all, yet somehow, she makes me feel guilty for peeking. There is a knock on the door.

“Noble visitor, Head Overseer,” the loud booming voice of my guardsman calls through the door.

I wait for my wife to secure her robe. “Allow him to enter as soon as he arrives at the door.”

Several heartbeats later, a fine young strapping male, in steel armour and weapons, silk clothes elsewhere, strides through my doorway. Two weather-beaten veteran guards escort him in equally fine armour, their gauntlets rest on the pommels of their swords.

“I am the Duke,” he declares.

Somehow, he believes I should know him, or of his family. This can mean only one thing. “Unless my memory is faulty, you should be older?” I raise an eyebrow.

“That would be my father. His misfortune became my boon. I am the new Duke, and I am here to claim fame and fortune by capturing, if possible, slaying if no other choice one of the rumoured beasts. Griffons, I believe they are called.”

My wife’s arm is around my waist, propping me up in more ways than one. She realises quicker than I, a potential opportunity to manufacture another purpose for the continued existence of Queensport.

“There are only five, my Lord, and they rarely frequent Queensport, the recent fly by rare…”

“They grave horseflesh do they not?” I nod. His superior knowing smile irritates, yet with well-practiced effort, I maintain a straight face. “Then I was wise to hold my second ship a distance from the coast.”

I believe that distance, however far, won’t be enough, given the first visit of a griffon in months.

He continues, “In our stroll about before visiting, we noticed a substantial section of Queensport is vacant, which should eliminate any resistance to my retinue occupying and fortifying the quarter.” He slaps his soft leather gloves, which I have only just noticed, against his thigh. “After all, my father always said our family, in essence, owns Queensport, so I won’t tolerate any objections.”

With that said, he swivels about; his two guards falling in behind him as he heads for the door.

He pauses, waving his gloves in the air. Without turning, his body or his head, he adds, “There will be others. The death of many nobles because of these griffons has riled the royal court. Sons and, in a few rare cases, daughters will follow in my footsteps. I wish to succeed before they arrive, and I expect you, in your official capacity, to delay and stall them. I also expect your wife to act as my guide. My father had a healthy respect for her talents, and I wish to avail myself of them as well.”

The door slams shut before my wife, and I can recover… we hug each other and don’t release for a long time.

Young, noble hotheads, full of bravado, gold, and naivety! How many noble lines will end on this forgotten beach in this forsaken continent?

“How long do you think before our benefactor returns to demand my presence?” asks my wife.

I stroke my beard. “He will need to sail out again on the tide until he meets his other ship and returns. A good day, at least.”

“What if his second ship is Griffon food?”

I chuckle. “Yes, that may delay him for at least another day. Why wife?”

“I believe I must guide you through the Dungeon and perhaps take two of your most trusted with us…”

I grab her shoulders. “What of his stated aim to use your talents?”

“All the more reason to increase my power and increase the number and type of spells I can cast. I am certain there would be one or more which could cool any of his less than noble designs for me.”

---First, Priestess of Aphrodite POV

“Do you think it wise to allow the human female to escape?”

The plain square room, underground, offering no escape by flight not my choice, yet the Dungeon sent one of its human denizens for me. I needed to trust her and, if possible, reward her for saving my tribe. She is also a declared ally of my Goddess, so why do I fidget so much talking to a voice in the air, without a face to look on? What is so strange about that?

“It is in my nature, unfortunately. I toy with the visitors to Sailorport, to enable quests and the like, yet I can’t enslave any for fear they will be missed. Rumours will then spread, and they will abandon your Goddess and her followers, or worse, blame them.”

I spread and flap my wings. This cage of a room is not something I like. “I don’t presume to know my Goddess’ divine plan, yet a friendly instead of warlike introduction is her preference.”

“My plan is to entice one. She will return with more. Some of those can die while some can survive. I have learnt what humans prize most and I have such things in abundance, yet I need to ensure reward matches challenge and risk.”

“She will be back,” I say with confidence.

“Yes, her heartbeat was rapid when awake. So careful. I will save some of your Goddess’ forms, though, for tougher or larger groups of visitors. I also sense that the Stone Giants are now returning to their grand tunnel. Enlarging and improving what already is a monument to them and their worship of Aphrodite.”

I quirk my head. “Does the Stone Giant tunnel make your purpose, well, lack purpose?”

“Possibly, but again, I can’t change my nature. I am to protect the Beast Kin, challenge the humans and prevent them from reaching the Beast Kin lands until my partner, the Morning Star, Azizos, prepares the Beast Kin for the uneven meeting. One consistent thing I have been able to glean from the minds of my denizens is the fact the human population is huge, several times, tens, or hundreds of times that of the Beast Kin. In a big enough open field, one side charging towards the other, they would certainly slaughter the Beast Kin.”

Possibly I glimpse a fraction of my Goddess’ plan. “My Goddess wishes to unit human and Beast Kin under her worship, take away an automatic reason for them to become suspicious of each other and hopefully see strengths in our differences?”

“Yes, she has worked the original contest to her advantage. For example, my denizens inform me this slither of coast isn’t enough to sustain a large human population, so if the original contest was still the aim, many would die in my Dungeon before they would break through.”

I add with haste, “Buying time for the Beast Kin to improve and grow in power, ready for the ultimate confrontation. But now, this limit in human population arriving means Beast Kin and her faithful can mass her religion here and, from a position of strength, introduce them to her worship.”

“Yes, but more than that. The humans they convert to accept Aphrodite as their Goddess will survive and carry her worship back to the human lands.”

That makes a great deal of sense, I suppose. We are to establish a Major Temple on this side of the mountains for that very reason. “What of the Goddess’ forms living in the wild, like the Griffon?”

“They are bait!” I think for the first time I catch the Dungeon giggling? “Humans have different motivations. One would be wealth, and I provide precious metals and stones for them. Another is fame and the slaying or capture of your Goddess’ previous forms can provide them with that. Others wish to trade, and your tunnel will allow that, without the humans knowing how you transport goods over the mountains, although a secret like that would be difficult to keep for long.”

I have an answer for the secret; I think. “We are going to place a gigantic door on the tunnel, with Stone Giants guarding the entrance. So, even if found, only the rarest of trusted humans will ever be able to enter.”

P.S. If you have read this chapter on any website except Royal Road, the website has copied my story without my permission.