The cave walls, flashed over with white light, returned to their natural shade. Bubble peeling off of him, Joel gasped mouthfuls of refreshing air. Air that was no longer—   

“There, there, breathe slowly,” said the voice behind him. A hand patted his back. Free of the bubble, the damp smell of earth flooded his nostrils. Two breaths were enough for the cave to stop spinning. 

Joel spun, elbowing away the hand as he brandished his dagger.

The man wore a disarming smile that ridged his tanned brow. Wrinkles travelled all the way down to the short ruddy beard with streaks of white. His hair was tied back tight in a small ponytail. Draped in the grey uniform of Perellan prisoners, the taller man rolled a glass orb in his hand.  

“Peace, there’s no cause for bloodshed between us,” said the man as he squinted. He pushed his wireframe glasses up. A crack ran through one of the lenses, reflecting the fading light of the orb. The stranger motioned to the fallen, now-still weapons nearby before looking at the dagger pointed at him. “You do some tidy work.”

“Who…?”

“The name’s Wirbald. Your friends sent me over. Good thing they did too.” The wiry man glanced at Joel’s fractured arm as it swayed. “It seems I expanded the barrier in time.” 

Wirbald. The ex-guildmaster.

“That was from before,” Joel replied defensively. He didn’t know why he said that. “The others are okay, then?”

Wirbald stiffened slightly. “The young lady is unconscious. Your companions administer a remedy in hopes to soothe inhaled fumes.”

Still heaving, Joel’s dry mouth wilted between breaths. “Thank you for helping me.” He lowered his blade, tucking it into his belt. “Could we head back to them?”

As if sensing his anxiety, Wirbald replied with an ambivalent shrug. He jerked his head — motioning Joel to follow him — as he turned, still guided by the dim light of the held orb.   

Walking behind him, Joel could tell that Wirbald had spent time as a prisoner. His loose wool tunic hung over his gaunt state. A makeshift bandage was wrapped around his arm, and one of his ankles seemed twisted awkwardly — though he tried to hide it.  Slow but steady, the former guildmaster trudged a few paces ahead. 

“You moved with a degree of skill back there,” Wirbald said over his shoulder. “That dagger looked comfortable in your hand.”

Great. Small talk. 

Joel wasn’t in the mood for it. Suppose that almost suffocating to toxic fumes does that. He shook his head; it was the pain getting to him after all. There wasn’t a need to antagonize the man who’d just saved him.

“I learned it from an elf.” It was a kind of truth. He did learn it to slit Bhas’ throat in their desperate duel. The thought of the feral lunar elf worsened his mood, as he instinctively massaged his collar.

Wirbald let out a hearty laugh. “Not easy to coax mentorship from an elf. I’ve attempted to sip at that chalice of knowledge myself. A drink worthwhile, no?”

Joel replied with a humorless chuckle, only half listening. Gritting his teeth, he activated [Second Wind] by tugging on his smashed arm, the knowledge deposited into his mind. The maneuver stretched the arm out so the shattered bits of bone didn’t jab into his muscle fibers any longer.

His eyes tracked the HP portion on his screen.

—

…

[HP: 81%]

…

—

 

Clenching his hand, he could finally feel his fingers again.

As they continued to walk down the tunnel, the echoes of their steps made him jump periodically. The endless chase of the miasma’s storm of weapons had frayed his nerves.

Had he really run off this far from the others?

“Surprised that you and your companions made it all the way here. You’re all so young. Though it pleases me to see the Freewalker League’s quality remains consistent throughout the guilds.” Wirbald smiled back like a proud father. “That bladecraft will carry you far. I’ve seen assassins with clumsier finesse.”

Joel let out another light-hearted scoff. “Thanks.” Honestly, he’d never been good at taking compliments —  even more so when he had such customization available from the [Homebrew] feature.

It felt like cheating. It was cheating. 

And he still had to get bailed out, saved by strangers over and over again. He couldn’t even repay the debt with his new companions properly. 

He really had no goddamn shame, huh?

Wirbald’s voice cut through the fog of self-wallowing. “There they are.”

Tilting to his side, Joel peeked past the talkative mage and spotted the silvery-white light of Sivren’s miracles ahead. Though still yet far from its warmth, his shoulders finally relaxed.

Sivren’s face brightened, illuminated by his glowing amulet, as they approached. He was kneeling next to Al, who was cradling Alis’ head. She was clearly breathing, though sweating profusely and twitching as if she was in the middle of a nightmare. The satchel bag of antitoxin vials lay out next to her.    

The hug caught Joel off-guard as Sivren pulled him into an embrace.

“You’re alive. May the Lady bless you for holding them off,” he said gratefully, still hugging tight. “Had you not, I’m afraid that Alis.. My miracles were beginning to fade.” 

Joel stiffened, returning the hug with an awkward pat on the back. “Still got your dagger, by the way.” He lifted it from his belt, flipping and catching it blade-side to hand it over. “Thanks, Sivren.” 

“Call me Siv,” the half-elf replied as he took back the dagger to its sheath. It disappeared into the sleeves of his robes. “You get slashed anywhere? Require antitoxin?”

Joel gave a tired shake of his head. “Just need a second to catch my breath. Alis alright?”

“She’d inhaled the miasma so it might take longer to purge. We’d need some time to rest.” Siv cast an apprehensive look toward Wirbald.

The older man nodded sagely. “I’ll be able to afford you a handful of hours. All of you can regain whatever strength you can muster.” He put up a finger, pausing to wipe his glasses clean upon his sleeve before continuing. “I can’t waste any time so I’ll search ahead for the miasma’s source. Be careful. I’ve had to stretch my barriers thin. In order to extend them to the limits I have, I haven’t reinforced the tunnel walls.” He knocked on one of the stone walls that flanked them.  

Their confusion must’ve been clear as Wirbald sighed. “In theory, the stone wall could be penetrated. Something to be mindful of.”

“Will we be able to pass through the barriers?” Joel asked. It felt like something he should’ve remembered from his countless hours of playing First Fantasy.

“Now that I know you’re all here, aye. It’s safer that way if there's a need to flee.” Wirbald held his orb out; the glass sphere floated up and shuttered a trailing flash of light. The walls went blindingly white before dimming. “Every hundred paces and I shall reapply the barrier, in case some gas seeps in.” He smiled as he scratched his beard. “And that way, you’ll know I’m still able bodied. Think of it like a slow heart beat.”

That was all fine and dandy. But it left the million dollar question…

“Where are the Freewalkers you were accompanying?” Siv said, his tone carefully curious.

Deepening his wrinkles, Wirbald grimaced. “Dead. We got caught out by insects of the giant variety. That’s why I mentioned being careful regarding the tunnel walls. The foul creatures burrow quite well.”

“Bronzeback beetles?” The words tumbled out before Joel could scoop them back.

Were they so tough that Tier 3s and a former guildmaster wouldn’t be able to withstand the bronze bugs? Another one of those unfamiliar changes? From what he recalled, the wolf-sized beetles were manageable, even at lower levels.

The mage raised a brow. “The very same. You’re well-informed. Creatures crossed from one of the Convergences, if the tales are to be believed.” Wirbald made a chopping motion with his arm. “Deep burrowers. Their carapace and horns cut sharper than a headsman's axe. Quite deadly in tight spaces like this.”

Joel ignored Siv’s gaze, the curiosity radiating off his cerulean eyes. “Isn’t it better for you to stay with us? Safety in numbers. Once we gather ourselves, we can head out together.”

Fixing his glasses, the ex-guildmaster shook his head. “Like I said, I won’t be able to extend and hold the barrier forever. I’ve already been down here for days.”

“Then we head back to resupply and recover,” Joel replied, exasperated. Several feet away, he saw Alis’ breathing steady and relief cross Al’s handsome face. “Tackle this at full strength. It’s not worth dying over.” 

“The old fool won’t allow me another attempt. No, the baron’s offer is only guaranteed with success here.” Wirbald held out a thin hand to stop their protests. “More critically, I fear that the miasma will travel to the surface by that time. It’s a labyrinth of caverns this far down. Each and every crevice is impossible to plug, even with my skill.”

“Surface?” Siv’s soft features crinkled as his brows furrowed. “Past the mine? Into Perellan prison?”

“Aye. Less than a day for the mess to seep there, I’d gather.” 

Joel and Siv looked at each other, the worry communicated in a glance. 

“Exactly,” Wirbald continued, straightening his prison tunic. “From there, it wouldn’t take long to spread into Wardenhal proper.” He cut them off, before they could say anything, tone turning stern. “Just rest. I’ll return within the hour and we’ll discuss plans then.”

“At the least, allow me to pray for healing.” Siv pointed down at Wirbald’s twisted ankle. His delicate hand was already clasping his amulet, glowing with light. With a whispered incantation and an outstretched hand, silver-white glow surrounded the ankle. The joint gently shifted into the proper position. 

“Much better,” said Wirbald, leaning his weight properly down. With a sigh of relief, he tipped his head to the half-elf. “Lady’s blessings upon you, friend.”

Siv returned a gracious smile. “Her blessings upon you as well.”

The older man thumbed towards Al, who was still tending to Alis. “See to their well-being. Keep watch for trouble.” He then pointed down to the tunnel entrances in front of them, specifically at those shining with his barriers. “I’ve already searched for those ones, so if you do go looking around, avoid retracing the dead-ends. I pulled my barriers back to conserve myself from the Siphon. Also, it allows me to track where I’ve ventured fruitless.”

Siphon? Joel would have to ask about that later.

It still seemed like such a poor idea to let Wirbald wander off by himself. He was clearly the most powerful among them; the expansive barrier was proof enough. Furthermore, they still didn’t know what they were really contending with. After all, it seemed like something was controlling the miasma. By the time Joel lifted his head to voice his concern, the mage had already run down one of the tunnels. 

“Every hundred paces!” Wirbald shouted back as he vanished down a turn.

“Rest,” Siv said, patting Joel’s shoulder. “I’ll prepare something warm to eat while we can.” 

Joel sat against the wall from where he stood, thankful to relax his tired legs. If he had any illusions towards getting sleep, they were dashed by a burst of light that flashed through the tunnel — Wirbald’s ‘heartbeat’, if hearts beat once every two minutes. 

Even with his eyes closed, it was like someone passing a flood light across his face. Rather than waste more time trying to sleep, Joel rose to his feet to help Siv with the food. It took a quarter of an hour to get the fire going and the water boiling. 

Using the same dagger that Joel had desperately fought with, Sivren peeled thin slices of salted meat into the small pot, its water boiling loudly. Taking dried berries and oats, he dumped handfuls in while stirring. 

It made a strange concoction, a gray porridge that resembled wet cement. But the savory aroma of the stew made the mouth water and the stomach rumble. Al joined them as Siv handed them bowls. 

“You okay?” Joel asked. He scooped some of the meat-berry porridge into his mouth, too hungry to wait. Thank goodness it tasted as it smelled, not as it looked.

“I’m fine,” Al replied in a tired tone that suggested otherwise. 

“Has Alis’ fever been going down?” Siv crossed his legs as he filled his own bowl. 

The former knight nodded. “She’s cool enough to wake but I thought I’d let her rest.”

Siv made an appreciative noise between his bites.

“Does that have something to do with her magic?” Joel had been wondering about that for a while. The pause between the others told him he was on the right track. “I mean she does use a lot of fire and all that. I don’t know much about magic.” 

Another half-truth, it was a bad habit that he couldn’t seem to stop.

“Ever since we were young, Alis had a talent for magic,” Siv said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Unlike most, wielding the arcane was second nature to her. Without any mentorship, she played with blobs of flame in ways mages would’ve trained years for.” 

Al grinned. “I remember that. She’d throw little puppet shows with them. Tarchon and I loved them.”

“Tarchon?” Joel raised his brow.

“My elder brother.” Al’s terse answer told Joel to not press further.

Siv saved them from an awkward silence. “Alis had a peculiar affinity for fire, but there’s a reason why magic is taught. It’s meant to be controlled and guided by steady hands.”

“She was plenty capable on our way here.” Joel rubbed his palms close to the tiny campfire. It was nothing compared to the wave of flame Alis had unleashed before. “We wouldn’t have made it without her.”

Siv shook his head adamantly. “It goes beyond that. Almost everything and everyone contains a sliver of the arcane. When a mage attempts to bend the fabric of reality, they give up a bit of themselves to exert their will.” He tossed wood shavings into the fire. “Give too little, you don’t receive the impact you want. Burn too much, you can lose worse than an unwanted effect of your spellcasting. This is what we call the Siphon, though you might have heard it by other names.”  

“So that’s what happened?” Joel pointed over at Alis’ slumbering form. “Alis used too much magic then?”

“No,” Al said, his voice still subdued. “She has no access to the Siphon. Or, at least, doesn’t know how to yet.”

“What?” Joel tilted his head, confused. “I think there’s some burnt weapons back there that suggest otherwise.” 

“Magic isn’t a perfect exchange, no matter what the scholars try to peddle.” Al tousled his golden hair. “There’s ‘waste’ with every spell one casts. The best mages can mitigate this slippage into the Siphon. But like our physical bodies, excess needs somewhere to go.” Al appeared surprisingly knowledgeable about the subject. As far as Joel could tell, the former knight didn’t wield any magic. 

“Al has the right of it,” Siv said as if reading Joel’s mind. The half-elf wrapped his cloak tightly around himself. “Mages like Alis are known as the Untethered. In their own ways, they have to endure the consequences of overusing magic.” He gave a concerned look at his sister as he prepared a fourth bowl. “She shouldn’t have panicked earlier.”

“I think we are all a little guilty of that, Siv,” Al said, compassion softening his face.

Joel ate another spoonful. The warm food made him sleepy, though the bright flashes of Wirbald’s barrier would still deny him rest. 

It was strange how calming everything felt. They were trapped in a cavern with poisonous miasma everywhere and possibly murder beetles. He shouldn’t feel this comfortable. 

It showed how far a small campfire with a few gathered companions — maybe even friends — could go. He found himself smiling, in spite of their dire circumstances. 

Alis’ feeble voice echoed out. “You lunks save any for me?”