Friendly Fyre: Chapter 2 - Rather Unexpected

“Unexpected” feels like a bit of an understatement. I am certainly surprised. More than a little disbelieving. Yet the proof is in the pudding, as they say, and I cannot deny the reality of this new body simply by deciding it is not so. 

“Alright then,” I say, allowing myself to listen to my new, unfamiliar voice. I suppose I should try to get used to it. “What to do from here?”

As much as I desire answers about this body and how I got here, my immediate needs are clear: food, water, shelter. 

I cup my flame between both hands, bringing it closer to my chest as I revel in its warmth and marvel at its existence. I suppose shelter is partially covered. At least I’m no longer at risk of freezing to death in this place. But what is this place?

Cautiously, I gather my taloned feet beneath me and push myself to my feet. I immediately stumble backward and threaten to fall, overbalancing from the unexpected weight of my wings. I flap them instinctively, like pinwheeling arms on a tightrope, the gusts of which threaten to snuff out my wildly flickering flame. Hunching forward, wings spread to either side, I recover. 

“This will certainly be an experience,” I mutter. 

Glancing to my left, I watch and feel my wing flex with no small amount of awe. The feathers are a fiery display of colors, starting with the deepest maroon at the base and brightening to an intense yellow at the tips. I splay the wings wide, arcing them up above me as high as I can reach. These things really are a part of me. I’m controlling them. 

The feathers at my wingtips brush against something in the dark. I lift my fire above my head, but its small shell of illumination barely reaches an arm span in any direction. I suppose I’ll need a bigger flame for more than that. 

Hadn’t Echo mentioned something along those lines?

“Echo,” I say, folding my wings back in to tuck the long leading-edge feathers behind my back (and away from my flames). “I had another fire spell I could use, didn’t I?”

[Affirmative,] Echo says. [Blaze: Summon a flame of variable size and shape capable of moving with the caster’s intent. Mana cost: 10 per cubic yard per second.]

“And how much mana do I have to work with?”

[Check,] Echo says, my stats reappearing from where they’d slowly faded from my vision and mind. [Mana: 199/200]

That missing point must be from my Spark I currently have going. 

Ten mana per second is a lot if I only have two-hundred altogether. A resource I’m hesitant to burn through if it’s the only thing keeping me from descending into hypothermia. 

“Is there a way to recover mana?” I ask. 

[Affirmative. Various spells and items may replenish a target’s mana pool. Additionally, this user passively recovers mana at a rate of 1 per minute.]

That’s convenient.

“If memory serves, doesn’t the Spark spell deplete mana at a rate of one per minute?”

[Affirmative.]

Then I can effectively keep it going forever. That’s one small comfort. In that case, one large burst of flame to get an idea of where I am won’t hurt anything.

“Let’s try one of those Blaze spells then,” I say, focusing on the fire in my hands. If this works how the previous one did, all I have to do is envision it, right? I mentally push on the fire, imagining it growing larger, brighter. 

[Blaze spell activated,] Echo says. 

The flame swells to the size of a watermelon. Alarmed, I hold my hands out at arm’s length, but the flame doesn’t engulf them as I’d feared. Instead it seems to be moving exactly as I intend it to, staying carefully away from my fingers.

In the corner of my vision, my mana starts to tick away. 

Right. No time to marvel now. 

I pull my hands back, and the fire continues to hover before me. I shape it larger, pushing it higher in the air as the heat begins to sting my face. Larger. Larger. In just a few seconds it’s the size of a kitchen table. My mana plummets, so I mentally throw the ball of fire as high into the air as I can manage, then disperse it in the shape of an expanding ring, the fire racing away from me like a pulse of radar. I quickly spin around, taking in my surroundings. The room momentarily bursts with color, as bright as sunlight. Then my fire collides with the far walls, extinguishing itself, and I’m wisped back into darkness. 

[Blaze spell ended.]

[Mana cost: 53]

For a brief moment, however, I caught a glimpse of my surroundings, and my heart squeezes in fear. I’m certainly in a cave, that much is clear. The cavern extends radially around me by about sixty feet, and is peppered with stalactites and stalagmites. More importantly, however, are the objects which litter the floor. 

I breathe into the silence, ears ringing as the vision of the room lingers, burned into my retinas, like hundreds of grinning ghosts. Finally, I raise a hand. 

“Spark.”

The small flame reappears above my fingers. I crouch down to the smooth stone, running my free hand over the surface. Perfectly smooth. Spotless, too, like I’m at the epicenter of… something which blew everything else away. 

Balancing like this in a crouch, my wings naturally unfold to either side, countering the slight tilts and shifts of my body. One of my wingtips, extended into the dark, brushes against something on the ground there, and I hear the wooden tinkling of small objects falling over one another. Like a cascade of pebbles. Only, from the glimpse I caught earlier, I know they’re not pebbles. 

I cautiously step toward the edge of the clearing I now know surrounds me. Beyond this flat bed of rock is rough slate, stalagmites, and…

I hold my light over the ground, the spots of white almost seeming to glow against the contrast of their dark surroundings. 

…Bones. 

Hundreds of bones. Maybe thousands. The skulls are easiest to pick out, round like stones. But they don’t all appear human. Some have horns, while others are much too large or small, and squashed or stretched. I pick my way carefully around my small death-free island. Now that I’m really looking at the skeletons, only some of them seem to be human. A few have wing structures—possibly harpies, like me. Others seem to be made of some material that’s not quite bone and have… far, far too many legs. I suppress a shudder at these remains. 

After making it all the way around the circle, it’s clear I’ll have to pick my way out. There’s no clear path through the chilling graveyard I find myself in, and even if there was, I need to explore this cavern. Without water, I’ll only be able to survive here a few days at most. Another bright light would help me explore the area, but—I Check my mana, and find the Blaze spell reduced it to 112. No, this little Spark will have to do for now. 

“Sorry, friend,” I murmur as I step carefully around the remains of the nearest skeleton. My talons slide and clatter noisily over the loose rock. My wings open once more to help balance me, and I try not to marvel at them, how instinctive they’re becoming, as I focus on where to place my steps next. 

Glints of metal shine occasionally among the stones and bones. Perhaps this was a battlefield from long, long before. The cave smells of must and earth rather than decay. That gives me hope that there must be some open-air passage out of here—and also fills me with concern that these remains have been left to be lost to time. Whomever fought here—would their people not have tried to reclaim their remains? If they made no attempt to lay them to rest, then why? Was this location too remote or inhospitable? If so, that doesn’t bode well for me. 

I make it to a wall without stepping on too many bones, cringing each time I feel them break beneath my talons, and then begin to trace it around the room. The quiet has become eerie, or perhaps that’s just my imagination now that I know what surrounds me. I’m quite certain I’m alone, but even so it’s hard to shake the unsettling feeling of being watched while lost in some ancient necropolis. 

I trace the wall for what I estimate to be two thirds the way around the room before coming upon something unusual. The wall is crumbly and loose instead of the smooth limestone I’d become accustomed to, and as I move my light over its surface, it’s clear this space has been filled in, naturally or otherwise. Giant rocks and slabs of stone block what might have been a tunnel out of the cavern. Perhaps there’s still a way around this rockslide. Searching the sealed exit, I’m not paying near enough attention to my feet, and trip over something on the floor. Alarm flashes through my mind. My wings shoot out to catch me. One of them immediately strikes the wall, which only serves to leverage me over and expedite the fall. 

I collapse to the ground in an unruly heap, wincing as I check to make sure nothing’s broken. The bones in my wings seem hardier than those of a bird, however, and in the end the only thing injured is my pride. I move my Spark over the ground, searching for what I’d tripped over. 

Another skeleton is buried in the rubble. The lower half of their torso has been swallowed by the boulders, but their upper half is uncovered and largely preserved. Something glints in their hand. 

A large blood-red gem rests atop the bones. Perhaps a garnet. But rests isn’t entirely accurate. The jewel seems to have… seeped around the bones. Melted somewhat back into the rocks. Dozens of veins zigzag away from the gem, embedding themselves in the limestone floor like lines on a circuit board. How strange. 

My fire flickers on the surface of the precious jewel as if a second fire burns within its depths. Staring into that light, I’m overcome with a strong sense of familiarity. Like I’ve seen this exact stone somewhere before. Like I know it. 

The feeling is troubling. “What are you?” I ask the ruby. What made it so special that this person died clutching it?

[Check,] Echo says, as if I’d been asking her. [Dormant Dungeon Core. Psionic Touch available.]

“What?” I say. 

[Dormant Dungeon Core,] Echo repeats. Apparently she isn’t well versed in rhetorical questions. [Psionic Touch available.]

“That means it can think?” I ask. “You said Psionic Touch only worked with creatures that could think.”

[Affirmative.]

A thinking rock. Of course. Why not?

What could a rock have to think about? And I suppose more to the point, would it know anything that could help me get out of here?

It’s the first interesting thing I’ve come across so far. I suppose it can’t hurt to try to speak with it. Perhaps it will know something about my circumstances. Still holding the fire in my right hand, I reach out my left to touch the stone. The surface is cold and hard, just like any other rock.

Psionic Touch, I think, willing myself to cast that spell. Triggering this one doesn’t seem as intuitive as wishing a fire into existence, but mentally saying the name seems to do the trick. 

[Psionic Touch activated.]

[Cost: 1 mana per 5 seconds.]

Oh right, I forgot about that part. I need to keep a closer eye on the costs of these spells. At this rate, it will eat up my remaining mana in roughly ten minutes. Which means I’ll need to switch off my Spark if I want to stretch that number at all. Not a problem, just… an uncomfortable thought to be alone in a dark room full of bones while speaking to a strange entity in my mind. But I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. For now, I’ll play it by ear.

At first, nothing happens. I’m just touching a rock, trying to mentally speak with it. The thought makes me laugh. How absurd this all is! But I give it a mental nudge anyway. Hey there. Are you, um, alive?

And then I feel it. Something stirs in my mind. A presence slowly unfolding. Sensations roll into me in abstract waves. It’s tired. Confused, but curious. It’s wondering what roused it from its slumber.

“That would be me,” I say, amazed that I’m actually speaking with a gemstone. It really can think! Fascinating.

The Dungeon Core’s mind shifts, noticing me. It’s becoming more solid in my mind now, more alert, as if it’s shaking off the vestiges of sleep. 

Mana, I can feel it realize as it focuses on me. All at once, its budding consciousness swells into a storm of thoughts and emotions that crash into me. There’s mana! Oh, it needs mana so bad. It’s desperate. Disoriented. Eager. Ravenous—

I gasp, snapping my hand away, and the mental presence vanishes. 

[Spell ended.]

My mind spins as it tries to process the stone’s words. It’s nothing like speech with a person; my mind can only try to interpret it that way. But at its core, it’s such a chaotic thing, a swirl of emotions and impulses, no clear structure to its turbulent thoughts. And for one fearful, irrational moment, I felt I was about to be swept up in them.

“Echo?” I ask, hesitant to touch the stone again. “You said this thing is a Dungeon Core. What precisely does that mean?”

[A Dungeon Core is an entity capable of infusing essence of itself into its surroundings, thereby gaining the ability to manipulate and transform the affected landscape into a sentient dungeon.]

I raise both eyebrows. I suppose I should be beyond feeling surprised by anything I learn at this stage. Nothing should be stranger than waking up in a new body, with feathers and wings and the ability to summon fireballs. 

Although a stone which can create a living dungeon does stretch one’s suspension of disbelief. 

Curiosity draws my hand back to the stone, but practicality has me pulling it away once more. “It can’t hurt me, can it? It’s just thoughts.” Then something else occurs to me. “Am I inside a living dungeon right now?”

[Negative. The Dungeon Core has expired its mana supply, and is therefore incapable of enacting its will on its surroundings.]

That’s a relief. “So alive, but dormant,” I surmise.

[Negative,] Echo says. [The targeted object does not meet minimum requirements to qualify as ‘alive.’]

“Rather, it’s sentient,” I correct myself. 

[Affirmative.]

“And sapient?”

[The degree to which the Dungeon Core is capable of logic and reason could be debated.]

I chuckle at that. It did seem quite driven by its instincts. Pity. I thought maybe I could ask it to open a door or turn on a light or some such. I give the rock a sympathetic look. “Looks like you and I are stuck in here together.”

Not in any hurry to experience the unsettling swirl of emotions that come from touching the Dungeon Core again, I decide to leave it be for now and continue to map my surroundings. My mana hasn’t recovered from the earlier Blaze, as the Spark spell consumes mana at the same rate I recover it, but all it will take is enduring an hour or two in the darkness to restore that amount. For now, I rely on my Spark to finish my lap around the cave, careful to avoid tripping over any other precious and sentient jewelry. 

There’s not much more to uncover, however. The room is roughly circular, littered with bones, and, as far as I can tell, only has the one blocked exit I found. Briefly I entertain the idea of trying to fly to see if there are any exits higher up along the walls. Feeling rather self-conscious, I flap both of my wings, stirring up a wind and scattering some of the smaller bone fragments. I push harder, flapping them with all my strength, but I don’t even feel my feet begin to lift from the floor. I quickly stop the absurd endeavor, chastising my own foolishness: I knew that wouldn’t work.

I’d rightfully identified the wings as too small to provide sufficient lift the moment I’d first laid eyes on them. Are they merely ornamental, then? A vestige of evolution in the process of generationally dwindling?

These are not useful things to be wondering about while stuck in a cave and at risk of gradually succumbing to dehydration. 

[Spell Level Up,] Echo abruptly speaks, causing me to jump. [Spark: Level 2. Mana consumption reduced to 1 mana every 2 minutes.]

Well that’s nice, if not a bit strange. Levels? I recall seeing something like that on the Stats Echo provided, now that I’m thinking about it. But in all my years of reading, I’ve never encountered a magic system that seems so quantifiable. 

I think I like it.

Eventually, I make my way back over to the blocked exit, hoping to find a way to loosen the stones and clear a path through. I step carefully around the Dungeon Core as I search, tugging on rocks and shining my Spark through every crack and crevice. No luck, however. The collapse of this tunnel clearly happened a long time ago—judging by the skeleton half buried in the rubble, as long as all of these fallen warriors. The stones might as well be cemented in place. I look back toward the ceiling. If I can’t fly up there, perhaps I could climb?

No, not up these smooth walls. I’m more likely to get myself hurt. Then what’s the answer?

My gaze falls back to the Dungeon Core. 

“Echo. You said that stone is dormant because it doesn’t have any mana, correct?”

[Affirmative.]

“And gaining mana would reactivate it?”

[Affirmative.]

“And if it’s activated, you said it can manipulate its environment?” I press further. “As in, shift the earth itself?”

[Among other influences, affirmative.]

I chew my bottom lip, having serious doubts about the soundness of this plan. I know nothing about this thinking rock. It could as easily be friend or foe. But given everything else at my disposal—which is to say, nothing—and the time ticking down to my inevitable demise, I’m not left with many alternatives. 

I crouch beside the stone, hesitating before I touch it. I know it poses no physical threat, though a mental one remains yet to be determined. But if nothing else, I can always pull my hand away—and if for some reason I can’t do that, the Psionic Touch spell will eventually end on its own anyway once my mana is extinguished. It should be safe to touch the thinking rock. 

The thought makes me lean back, and I huff out a laugh. How peculiar it is I’m already growing used to all this strangeness. Yet, how intriguing! The mystery of all these new things sends a thrill through me. When was the last time I felt so excited to explore, to learn something new, to solve a problem? 

If only my life didn’t hang in the balance!

Even so, I can’t help but grin as I reach for the Core, my fingers buzzing in anticipation.

[Psionic Touch activated.]

Once more, some thing springs into my mind, whirling with a dozen thoughts and instincts at once. Elation, suspicion, hunger, urgency—I push back, imagining a wall between us, and surprisingly, this works. The Core’s mind suddenly feels distant and muted. Cautiously, I shift the form of my imaginary wall into that of a screen: a filter through which its mind can pass. This time, instead of the foreign thoughts blinking through my mind in a turbulent mess, the flow becomes more laminar.

Can you hear me? I think toward the Core. Can you understand?

There’s a spark of recognition. Yes, it understands me. Its mind eagerly presses toward me, and I can sense it sensing my own mana. Starved. It is starving!

I know, I tell it. I can help with that. I pause. At least, I think I can.

The Core swells with elation. Yes! It needs mana. Any mana. Now, give it now!

“Bit demanding, aren’t we?” I chuckle. 

I will, I tell it. But I need your help. If I give you mana, would you be able to open a way out of here for me?

The Core hungrily accepts. Easy! Trivial. Effortless. It can shape mountains, with enough mana to power it. It will show me! I will be so impressed. 

I smile at its enthusiasm. At least it’s cooperative. And it doesn’t seem to have any ill intent. More like a starved animal than a calculating predator. But I haven’t actually established that I can hold up my end of the bargain. 

“Echo?” I prompt. “Can I lend mana to this Dungeon Core?”

[Negative,] Echo says, and I grimace in disappointment. I should have thought to ask this sooner. [You do not have the correct class or skills to disseminate mana to other targets, living or otherwise. However,] she adds, [this entity is capable of forming a Pact with another creature.]

“Pact?” I ask. 

[A Pact involves sharing resources between two targets,] Echo explains. [In this instance, the Dungeon Core would gain access to the user’s mana reserves, while the user would gain access to several of the Dungeon Core’s skills and abilities.]

Seems like a fair trade, not that I’m in any position to bargain. I can mentally feel the Dungeon Core’s presence pacing at the edge of my mind, like a dog impatiently waiting for its bowl to be set down.

Well, why not? There’s no other way out of here that I can see. And I’m sure this sentient rock is just as eager to leave this place as I am. 

“Alright, then,” I tell the stone, mentally echoing the thought. “Let’s form a Pact.”

The Core perks up at those words, practically vibrating with anticipation. I can feel it extend a portion of itself toward me, and I bridge the gap, completing the mental handshake. The moment our minds touch, an electric thrill passes through me, and my perception of the Core abruptly shifts. 

For a moment—just a fraction of a second—a pane of reality seems to shift. Like a mask slipping away. Like briefly conceiving a three-dimensional cube for the four-dimensional tesseract it truly is. The Dungeon Core is a small, tiny jewel—and then it’s a vast canyon of unfathomable depth. A black hole of bottomless hunger. Fractaling shards of existence threatening to pull me into its infinite potential. 

And then it’s merely a gem once more. 

My mind reels with shock. But before I have a moment to process all this—or voice any newly raised concerns—Echo speaks up. 

[Pact initiated.]