Waiting was boring. It had to be said. 

Joel had spent twenty minutes wound up like a bundle of nerves before the boredom got to him. Thankfully, Siv had spent some time healing him; the warm glow of his miraculous magic soothed Joel’s damaged arm. All that remained was a dull ache as his HP ticked up to 90%.

Since then, he’d started to count the passing pulses of light. Seventy-eight flashes passed over the tunnel walls before he heard it. A faint off-key tune rang from down the tunnel. It wasn’t a language Joel could understand but he remembered the jingle. 

Wirbald. 

Alis and Al were already standing while Siv was stirring the small foodpot. 

Joel noticed that Al was holding his greatsword, though it was sheathed and gripped by the scabbard. Still, not wanting to add to that vibe, he played it cool and remained lying on the rucksack.

The wiry man appeared around the tunnel’s corner, his levitating orb illuminating his approach. Cutting short his tuneless melody, sung in some incomprehensible language, Wirbald greeted them with a wave.

Bowl of porridge in hand, Siv intercepted the former guildmaster. A disarming smile, similar to his sister’s, appeared across his soft features.  

“Find anything?” he said, passing over the bowl.

“Nothing notable.” The former guildmaster received the food with a grateful nod. The way he gulped it down betrayed his hunger. “Excellent, excellent,” Wirbald murmured, content. He wiped his mouth with the back of his ashen sleeve. “Though I was able to clear two tunnels rather thoroughly.”

How meaningless that might be wasn’t lost on Joel. He assumed that the others thought the same, that the cavernways were endless down here. A spiraling labyrinth of a rock and stone — they’d be lucky to have a week to try and scour it all, let alone a day.

It was nothing like he’d experienced in early access. 

From what he recalled, the Wardenhal dungeon was a Bronzeback beetle infestation that broke into the prison colony’s mine. The floors were evenly laid out in a uniform manner, letting the player know exactly how they were progressing. The experience was no more than an hour of gameplay, no more than a handful of descending levels until you reached the dungeon boss — the hive’s ginormous queen. 

“If all of you are recovered,” Wirbald motioned to Alis. “Then I would appreciate any aid in searching for what is coughing up this ghastly fog.”

“Any ideas as to what the source could be?” Siv asked, handing over an uncorked waterskin. 

Joel thought back to when Alis had mentioned dragons that could shape their smoke.

Please not a dragon.

“I am playing with a few theories.” Wirbald’s paper dry lips cracked as he drank deep. It was becoming clear how deprived the mage had been down here.

“Such as?” Al asked curtly.

Joel almost winced. Did he have to sound so irritated?

With a satisfied sigh, Wirbald covered his mouth and let out a small belch. “Excuse me.” He took another gulp from the waterskin before continuing. “Well, I’ve read of similar experiences in encounters with certain elementals.”  

“Elemental?” Alis said, her curiosity clearly piqued. “It’d have to be quite powerful to maintain a magical effect of this magnitude.” 

“There are primordial beings with such capabilities,” Wirbald replied, corking the waterskin. “Some can even express their might through control over a second element.”

Alis couldn’t contain her excitement. “Sagani? You believe there is a sagani here?”

Joel could see that he wasn’t the only one confused as Al scrunched his face. 

“Possibly. It would explain the miasma as a fusion of earth and wind.” The mage turned to Siv, giving back the waterskin with a thankful nod. “A wonderful meal. All the compliments to the chef.”

Siv returned a genuine smile before rising back to his feet. The half-elf patted off the dust from his robe. “Should we be off then?”

Joel slid the covered Seahorn sword into the rucksack’s side, strapped down by buckles. It was close enough to the back to blend in with the bedrolls and other pouches while still being accessible. 

With a grunt, he squatted under the rucksack and lifted it. The ground felt steady under his soles. Rest, combined with the fact he no longer was fighting for air, made the oversized backpack feel considerably lighter. 

He dropped to the back of the march, joining Alis. Meanwhile, Al walked a half-pace behind Wirbald, wisely refusing to turn his back to the mage. Only Siv walked level with Wirbald and his glowing orb. They happily chatted with one another with a levity that felt out of place. 

“What’s a sagani?” Joel asked Alis casually, loud enough to not appear scheming. 

Alis dabbed her brow with her sleeve, moving her golden bangs out of the way. “A titan of elemental magic. It’s better said that they are the elements themselves more than simple masters of them.”

Joel gulped. He didn’t remember any giants during his time. 

“How big are we talking about? A building? A hill?” he said, trying to not sound too timid. He’d need more than Boreth’s old blade to overcome that.

Alis shook her head. “By titan, I’m not referring to their size,” she said, casting a wary eye over her shoulder as she walked. “It’s to their capacity to wield magic. You’ve seen how devastating it can be.” They’d both experienced it with the way that the toxic miasma chased them.

“Powerful sagani have complete mastery, both in control and understanding, over two elements,” the half-elf continued, avoiding a stalagmite that crossed between them. “It’s an incredible feat of magic. Might not be a Wellspring’s worth but still a considerable arcane force. More importantly, they aren’t mindless monsters. Sagani can be reasoned with.”

“Doesn’t that make all this worse?” Joel blurted out. 

Alis didn’t respond or look towards him, though he saw her lips purse together. 

If whatever was causing the miasma was sentient enough to reason with, it could very well have a reason for what it was doing. A possible complication. Another headache for another time.

Whatever it was, they had to find it first. 

While he was with them, Wirbald had stopped utilizing the rhythmic pulses of lights. An alert was useless with the mage accompanying them. Instead, Wirbald’s glass orb acted as their guiding light, floating a few feet ahead. 

The passageway opened into the room of tunnels, where Joel had ventured off to. Wirbald’s glowing orb was unnecessary here. Some of the entrances were sectioned off, illuminating the cavern walls with lit barriers — markers that they’d already been searched. The cavern opened wide enough that they no longer had to march in formation, allowing them to spread out and glimpse down the open tunnels.

Wirbald nearly stumbled, slipping on his own feet before Siv caught him by the arm. 

“Sorry about that,” Wirbald said, his wrinkled brow damp with sweat.

Siv carefully steadied the older man. “Shall we take a moment to find our breath?”

“I’m fine, I’m perfectly fine,” Wirbald repeated. “Holding the barrier so long is… distracting me. I’ll be more mindful as we continue.” He winked playfully. “Doesn’t help that they’ve worked me so dreadfully hard in the mines.”

Alis and Al shared a look of acknowledgement; they moved to opposite ends of the older mage nonchalantly. It looked suspiciously close to a flank. 

Joel didn’t like that. 

The open space gave them an advantage but it wasn’t time for a fight. They still needed Wirbald. As if to signal his disagreement, Joel backed off and leaned the rucksack against the far wall. The gesture must have been lost on the others because Al, hovering in Wirbald’s blindspot, gave a nod to Alis while moving closer. 

Al gripped the hilt of his greatsword with deceptively casual ease. The sleight of hand was done in the manner of someone who’d grown up with swords. Nothing gave him away other than the slight sound of his leather glove tightening. He might as well have cocked a shotgun with the way Wirbald stiffened.

“You’re certain?” Wirbald said somberly.

Siv tilted his head, taking a cautious step back. Feigned ignorance from the way the smile didn’t reach his eyes.  

“It’s true that I am not anywhere close to my full strength.” The former guildmaster took off his glasses, cleaning the cracked lens with the hem of his shirt. He returned the spectacles to his face before digging in his pockets. “I don’t even have a proper spellbook.” 

Wirbald pulled out a folded piece of parchment, held between his two fingers. “They didn’t trust me with more than this.” He fanned himself with it. “A single sheet of precious vellum. I’d dare say it’s a travesty. Might as well tie my hands together while they are at it.” An over-exaggerated sigh escaped his lips. “What’s a wizard to do?”

Silence was their response; no one wished to make any frantic movements.

Wirbald took the opportunity to continue. “Now then, is this nonsense truly necessary? If this old man wanted you all dead, I would’ve left you choking outside.”

Joel pulled off one of the rucksack’s straps from his shoulder. With a slow glance, he checked on the Seahorn sword, still covered by cloth, still strapped to the pack’s side. But, more importantly, still within arm’s reach. 

Unwrap, draw, lunge, strike. Four movements, at least. Two seconds, at most. 

“Let’s not act the fool anymore,” Wirbald said, spinning around. Every aloof turn was an insult. The wiry old man stopped suddenly, staring straight at Joel past the cracked glasses. “I’m well aware of what you saw.”

Any plan of action disappeared in a flash. Joel’s blood ran cold, enough to shock a twitch through his sword hand, but he reeled back the fear.

“You’re the one who went through the barrier, correct?” the older mage asked, not waiting for a response. “I can catch a glimmer of whoever, or whatever, passes through my barriers. Allowed or otherwise.” His dark eyes didn’t move from Joel. “You’re surprisingly empty, did you know?”

What did that mean?

Sweat stung Joel’s eye as he matched the gaze. It felt like the worst time to blink.

Al came to his rescue with a firm question. “So, why’d you kill them then?”

“Is one not even allowed to defend themselves anymore?” Wirbald asked, shrugging his shoulders. The gaunt wizard seemed to stand taller, back no longer crooked. “They wanted vengeance and the gods deemed them unworthy of it.”

“Vengeance? They were from Rosnay?” Al didn’t mince words.

“They were,” Wirbald replied, a self-satisfied smile forming.

There was no charade anymore. Alis already had her charred wand at her side while Al lowered his stance, hands ready to draw the sword. Even Siv held a hand in his other arm’s sleeve, exactly where Joel had seen him hide his dagger. 

Wirbald’s dark eyes narrowed as he clenched the folded parchment into his fist. 

Joel’s nerves were on fire. The anxiety formed an itchy feeling in his throat. He wanted to shout and scream, his body trying to trick him into recklessness. His hand reached behind him, slowly creeping towards the side of the rucksack. Even without the bubble helm, his heart sounded like a bass drum in his ear.

“Please don’t.” The old man’s expression suddenly softened like a parent who realized they’d gone too far in disciplining their child. His voice had dropped to a whisper. “I don’t want to hurt any of you.” 

“How can we trust you?” Alis shouted, raising her voice but not her channeling focus. Her knuckles were white around her shaking wand.

“What I’ve done… Nothing I say will relieve you of that doubt,” Wirbald replied with a sullen shake of his head. “We are at a crossroads.” He looked to Siv. “I can only beg you for some faith in this mage.” His spectacles reflected light as he turned to look at each of them as he spoke. “Give me aid and no harm from my hand shall befall you. Trust me.”

Nothing but his word. That meant different things to everyone. It reminded Joel of Boreth, bound to some godforsaken oath.

So much for that. Words were wind. He felt the smooth hilt of the old cutlass. What about words unsaid? To wield something in honor. That’d matter less.

“I’ll trust you.” 

A trio of faces — bright with surprise — darted his way. Shock froze them.

Joel ignored their stares, only returning Wirbald’s gaze. “You promise that you won’t kill or abandon us?”

Finally blinking, the tired mage nodded.

“I don’t know about that,” Al started; his grip was locked on his hilt.

“What else are we going to do?” Joel said, trying to be less obviously irked. “Maybe we beat him. Then maybe we have enough air to get back. Then what? That isn’t going to stop the poison from seeping onto the surface.” 

He felt like the only sane person. As if they hadn’t already discussed this all before. What had happened to the plan — not fighting until needed? If anything, he’d expected Al to keep a level head, but the former knight seemed the most apprehensive. 

“What’s your plan?” Joel asked Wirbald quickly, hoping to calm the tension. “Keep searching?”

Wirbald sighed again. “What else can we do? If I had access to my proper spellbook, hunting down the source wouldn’t be so troublesome.” He glanced towards the several tunnel entrances yet unimpeded by his barriers. “Though, if all of us are of one heart,” he continued, sparing a look to each of them. “We could cover more ground if we split the search.”

“Sounds like a good way to get us separated.” Alis’ voice was ice. “Nice and easy for you to pick us off.”

“I wouldn’t need to pick you brats off. Don’t you get that by now?” Wirbald spat bitterly. “Are we going to continue arguing in circles? Time is against us.” Alis’ face flushed to a shade of crimson that rivaled her flames. The ex-guildmaster sighed again while his shoulders relaxed, unaffected by her furious glare.

Siv intervened. “Even if we chose to search separately, couldn’t we search as four while you search elsewhere?” The half-elf lowered his hands to his side. “A compromise.”

“Each of these tunnels can break off into several directions,” Wirbald replied. “At the minimum, searching in pairs would be ideal.”

“The numbers are uneven for that,” Al stated, suspicion still reeking from his tone. 

“How astute.” Wirbald rolled his eyes. “Considering our individual capabilities, perhaps it would be better if three of you stayed together while one went with me.” 

It was a polite way of saying they were weaker than him. No one could argue, uncomfortable as it was. 

“Since no one is clamoring to be my partner,” Wirbald said, clapping his hands together. He turned back to Joel, pointing his forefingers at him. “Why don’t you come along with me?”

Joel bit the inside of his lip for courage.