‘Finally.’ After an hour of experimentation, the Core had learned the use of [Erase]. It was like [Absorb], but significantly cheaper. Two days had passed, and the [Golem] had taken several more trips to collect materials. Although there was not yet a net gain of mana from its journeys outside, the Core enjoyed unlocking new items from its expeditions. It had also discovered an interesting feature of its earthen friend: the Core could see whatever the [Golem] did, even when outside!

‘Pick that up. And that. Ooh, shiny. Oh. You can’t carry any more.’

If the [Golem] had any capacity for emotion, it might have been annoyed.

The Core looks over its three newly completed rooms. The path to the first is a narrow crevice against the floor in the back of the “entrance.” Any intruders will need to lie prone and crawl in order to proceed. From there, two branching hallways lead into squarer, more unnatural-looking rooms. It has furnished one of them with [Tables] and [Chairs], two of the decorative options it recently discovered.

If a human or an elf were present they would derive some amusement from its childlike attempts at interior decorating. The Core has no intuition of the proper placement of furnishings: the table is upside down, and the chairs have been precariously balanced atop its legs.

‘Excellent,’ the Core thinks with pleasure, admiring its sculpture. ‘I am an artist,’ it declares to no one in particular. ‘Golem, do you think so?’

The [Golem] wisely remains silent.

The Core checks its mana. With the addition of the three new rooms, its mana cap has increased to 3800, and it has 3228 points for use.

‘I wonder what these [Treasures] do.’

The interface has been silent more often, frequently ignoring the Core’s incessant requests for more information.

It selects the [Geode] from the Golem’s first expedition and places it in the central room. The [Geode] costs a surprising amount of mana, at just over 500 points. It spawns in above the floor with a flash of multicolored light, hits the ground with a crack, and splits open.

‘Oh!’ says the Core, surprised. The inside of the [Geode] is lined with jagged blue and violet crystals. ‘Not just a boring rock, then.’

The Core shivers – really shivers, its crystal wobbles within its enclosure – as it feels the sensation of its Gate opening. ‘Morning is here,’ it thinks. ‘Golem, please – ’ 

But it does not finish its sentence, because the familiar flow of Dungeon mana freezes like vitrified ice and a sensation of dread paralyzes the Core.

Adventurers have entered the Dungeon, says the interface.

#

“We’re here.” Karst slides off his horse and hitches the mare’s lead to a young sapling. His breath turns to mist in the crisp morning air.

“It’s underwater?” says Fel, surprised.

Karst glances at the cave entrance. “Huh. Guess so. Can you swim?”

Fel nods.

He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “This could complicate things. If the whole Dungeon is underwater, we’d need to come back with better gear. Enchanted breathing apparatus, for one.” Karst rummages through his saddlebags. “Take this,” he says, tossing something over his shoulder without looking.

Fel catches it and turns it over in her hands. A leather...something. It has a tight strap on one end, and a bulky block of copper below two thick glass lenses on the other. “What is this?”

“A mask,” the man grunts. “Small Dungeons don’t have a lot of Ether, so we won’t need the full garb, but you don’t want to breathe the stuff in.”

“What’s Ether, anyway? I’ve heard about Mrota’s Ether poisoning the lands but…no one really said what it is.”

The man stops in the middle of producing several weapons from his pack and side-eyes the girl. “Do I look like a fuckin’ [Magical Theorist] to you, kid? I’m a [Wayfinder], for the gods’ sake. It’s magic Dungeon shit. All you need to know is it’ll burn up your innards. Seen too many fools die that way. All cocky-like, ‘ah, don’t need one, we’re just doing the first floor,’ yeah? Well, they’d clear the first floor of Valor or the Spire or Ashhollow, and while they’re divvying up the boss-loot, bam,” he says, snapping his fingers, “their lungs collapse and you watch ‘em suffocate to death while coughin’ up blood.”

Seeing Fel’s expression of horror, he waves his hands and hastily adds, “But young Dungeons like this one aren’t like that. You don’t really need a mask, but since we’re spending a few hours in here, ‘sbest to have one so you don’t start sneezin’ everywhere and wake up tomorrow with a nasty cough. C’mere,” he says, motioning for her to come closer to the arsenal he has laid out on the forest floor. “Take one,” he says.

Fel picks up a dagger. “Know how to use it?” he asks, arching a brow.

“Stick the pointy end in the monster?”

The man chuckles. “Yeah. That’ll do.”

“What...um, what kind of monsters will there be?” Fel looks back at the shadowed forest, as if an [Imp] or [Werebeast] would leap out at any moment and attack.

“Mm. Good question. Most times you see young Dungeons fieldin’ [Goblins], they’re decently clever, well-rounded, adaptable. Most [Goblins] can’t swim, though, so this Dungeon? I’d wager it chose [Anurakin] or suchlike. Squishy, no natural armor, but muscular and good with tools. If we look by the pool here we might see their tracks.”

“Right. Monsters can go outside. Like Mrota’s.”

“Yeah. Now new Dungeons like this, their critters can’t go very far or stay outside very long. Almost everything in a Dungeon is made of...Ether…” he trails off, frowning at the muddy ground by the pool. “Well that’s different.” He crouches down and studies a footprint.

Fel peers over his shoulder. The print is wide, almost perfectly round, and has a deep, uneven texture reminiscent of stone.

“Poor choice of starter creature, here. That’s a Golem print,” says Karst. “They can’t survive in the water for too long. And what’s that mean, kid?” he says, looking at Fel expectantly.

“The cave...isn’t all water? Just some of it. The entrance, probably?” asks Fel.

“Mean what you say, kid, by the ancestors,” groans Debhlin. “But you’re right. We’re looking at a submerged entrance and an aerated cave. Feel that?”

There is a gentle warm breeze coming off the cave-pond. “Yeah.”

“That’s the Dungeon crap I was talking about. Stuff’s warm out here, but when we get inside, it’ll be freezing. Get used to it. Since your [Wisdom] isn’t too high – and your wisdom, too, since you’re here – your mana will drop as well. Keep an eye on that. If it gets too low, you pass out, and I can’t bring you back through an underwater entrance unconscious. Are we clear?” Fel nods and he stands, clapping his hands together.

“I’ll go first. Follow right behind, stick to my heels.” He leaps into the pool feet-first.

#

Adventurers have entered the Dungeon.

The Core watches helplessly. When the first “adventurer” emerged from the Gate, the Core had tried to [Absorb] it but found it could do nothing. Its mana was completely frozen. All attempts at activating an ability were countered by an unyielding conceptual barrier and fizzled out. ‘Golem!’ it cries, and the [Golem] rushes in from the other room.

“Ahh, there you are,” says the human. “And the Core.” Its gaze settles on the crystal, which begins wobbling violently, agitated smoke battering its walls.

His companion, a smaller human holding a dagger, emerges from the water and puts a strange leather thing on its head. Now the pair marginally resemble each other; with their expressive faces obscured, the two humans look very much like [Golem], albeit shorter.

‘One [Golem]. Two intruders.’ The math is simple. Core is outmatched. It waits to see what the intruders will do.

“It’s just staring at us,” says the smaller human, watching the [Golem]. ‘Are...are the humans frightened too? No,’ it decides, ‘not quite. The small human is nervous but the big one is confident.’

“Won’t bother us, probably,” says the large human, adjusting the leather thing on its head. “After all,” it says more loudly, “we are just here to take a look around. We are not here to destroy the Core.” It is looking directly at the crystal.

“Can it understand you, Karst?” the small one whispers. Perhaps it believes, if its voice is small, that the Core cannot hear it.

The large human called Karst makes an inconclusive up-and-down movement with its shoulders, speaking in a low, calm voice. “Eh, maybe. Some Cores are dumber than animals. Others are pretty smart. But all Dungeons can pick up on intent well enough. As for the [Golem], well, we’ll wait here and see what it wants to do. No sudden movements, Fel. We can kill it if we have to but I’d rather not make it mad. Young Cores are impressionable: give ‘em violence and that’s all they’ll know. I don’t think the [Administrator] will be happy if this place becomes a second Mrota.”

‘Golem, move aside,’ pleads the Core. The [Golem] blinks owlishly at the Core but relents, retreating into the corner.

The smaller human, Fel, approaches the Core and it feels another surge of fear. The [Golem] jerks, about to intervene – 

“Idiot! Don’t even think about touching that.”

Large-Human-Karst rushes over and pulls the young one’s arm back roughly. “Do you have a death wish?” it snaps.

“Wha – I just – ”

“You so much as brush against that crystal and you’re cooked crispier than waterfowl at a holiday dinner.”

Small-One-Fel stares at the Core’s crystal with wide eyes and stumbles backwards. The Core is also surprised – and feels pride welling up from within. It did not know it was so dangerous. ‘You see that, Golem! I’m scary!’ it says giddily.

“That’s the source of all the Ether in this Dungeon,” says Angry-Large-Karst. “Doesn’t matter how young it is. You touch that and you get a thousandfold dose. Now, if you’re out of stupid ideas, I’m going to look around these other rooms. Follow.”

After inspecting the Core’s other three rooms – Small-One-Fel made an odd noise of approval upon seeing the Core’s furnishings, which tickled its ego – the pair departed, and the Core was left alone with its [Golem].

‘I’m not dead,’ it says, disbelieving. ‘That...wasn’t so bad.’

Intruders were still terrible but maybe those two were all right. Even if the small one wasn’t very smart, at least it had liked its artwork.

‘Golem!’ shrieks the Core. ‘Stop it! No! Bad!’

The [Golem] pauses with the [Geode] halfway to its open mouth.

‘What are you doing?’

Slowly, and in defiance to the Core’s very clear orders to not eat the shiny rock, the [Golem] lifts the [Geode] to its mouth and bites into it with its stone “teeth.” The Core can only look on, dismayed, as its unfaithful servant grinds the rock in a fine quartz powder.

[Golem has met requirements for Evolution: Crystal Golem.]

The [Golem] finishes its “snack” with a pleased chattering sound.

‘A…[Crystal Golem]? Um. Good job. But don’t do that again.’

The [Golem] stares blankly at the Core, and it imagines a silent request in the creature’s eyes.

‘Fine,’ it says, amused. 2500 points of mana are expended, and once again an argent thread extends from the Core’s source. The [Golem] begins to transform, releasing trapped steam from its earthen body and then crumbling to reveal a slender turquoise crystalline structure underneath. The crystal rapidly expands in layers until the Golem’s body once again possesses its initial dimensions. Its obsidian eyes remain mostly unchanged: the only noticeable alteration is their now mirror-like reflectivity.

[Golem has evolved to Crystal Golem! Crystal Golem is resistant to water and heat damage. Crystal Golem is vulnerable to light and impact damage.]

The Core wobbles excitedly at the sight of its new and improved friend.

‘Excellent. Now, your punishment for being bad. Go get more stuff. Shoo.’ The [Golem] dives into the pool and swims through the Gate with the agility of its new, lightweight build.

[Space and Experience Conditions met. LV1 milestone available.]

A “LV1 milestone?” ‘Interface!’

In order to reach LV1, the Dungeon must reach a soft cap of 2500 mana, spend 5000 mana in total, and encounter at least one adventurer. LV1–3 are unique milestones with specific requirements, says the interface. Each milestone prevents a Dungeon from growing too quickly whilst unprepared.

The Core thinks back to the two humans that entered its home. ‘What is my purpose, interface? What is a Dungeon?’

The interface does not immediately reply, and the Core is about to resign itself to yet another unknown of its existence when – 

A Dungeon is a mana-generating demiplane intersecting the four Elemental Realms at specific points in space, known as Gates. A Dungeon’s purpose is unique, but all Dungeons are given three general classifications known as Archetypes, which describe their Motives, their Fears, and their Methodology in turn. An Architect-Methodology Core will first attempt to solve problems through Construction-oriented methods, and an Ego-Fear Core is driven by an aversion to inferiority. A Core’s Motives are more dynamic and nebulous than the other two Archetypes, and have no special classifiers within the System.

‘Wow. That is a lot,’ thinks the Core, surprised by the interface's comprehensive answer. It does not understand most of the words, but the diversity of its sibling Cores is obvious. ‘Which one can I be?’

The interface says nothing, leaving the Core to confront an inner turmoil of identity. Its first question, its first thought, was ‘Who am I?’ Now it confronts something more frightening, a deeper question weighed down by responsibility: ‘Who will I become?’

#

Dungeon-Cores do not sleep or dream like mortals; they pass the time in a state of mind akin to meditation or a trance, sifting through memories and indexing them by location, utility, and emotional content.

This Core pauses, intrigued by the content of the memory now under review – its first meeting with [Humans]. There is something unusual about the way they communicate, a different-ness that perches on the edge of its consciousness, not yet solidified.

The [Humans] had special words, words without meanings that they used when looking at each other and moving the holes on their faces.

They are called names, says the interface.

‘I want one. How do I get a name?’ says the Core. It begins forming a plan to capture a thing – an animal, perhaps – and take its name. ‘Do animals have names? Will they be sad if I take one from them?’

You do not take names. You make them, the interface says with a hint of lifelike weariness.

Making ideas from nothing? The Core has never done this before. It has always had options, options the interface provides.

It reviews the memory once again. The small one that tried to touch the Core was named Fel. The big one that was unafraid was named Karst. Fel does not mean anything. Karst does not mean anything – no. Karst means “land with caves” but [Human] Karst was not a land, and especially not one with caves.

The [Golem] is named Golem. The [Core] is named Core.

‘No,’ it corrects itself again. ‘That’s not quite right.’ The [Golem] is a [Golem]. The [Core] is a [Core]. The Karst is not a [Karst], it is a [Human] with a special word.

‘Golem!’ the Core shouts psychically. ‘What do you want for your name?’

The [Crystal Golem] does an excellent impression of the interface. ‘I’ll choose it myself, then.’

The [Crystal Golem] ate a rock. It likes the [Minnows]. It is not very smart. Eats-Rock, Likes-Minnows, Not-Very-Smart. All of these describe the [Golem] without being the [Golem]. A cloud must have shifted outside, because noon-light breaks through the surface of the water and reflects off the [Golem’s] crystalline shell.

‘Sparkles,’ says the Core in a rare moment of inspiration. ‘You are Sparkles.’

Sparkles accepts the name magnanimously with a tilt of its head.

Core considers its own name next.

‘How about...The-Core-Who-Is-Very-Curious-And-Also-Scared-Of-Things-Which-Move-And-Come-Inside-But-Some-Of-The-Things-Which-Move-And-Come-Inside-Are-Nice-To-The-Core-Like-Golem-And-Fel-And-Karst-So-I-Do-Not-Make-Them-Stop-Working-Like-I-Did-To-The-Minnow-Except-That-Was-An-Accident?’ (Did the interface just whine?)

No, that was too long. And if the Core stopped being scared, or worse, stopped being curious? It would not be the Core’s special word anymore.

It recalls one of the flowers the [Crystal Golem] had collected when it was still an ordinary [Golem]. [Crested Iris], it was called. The Core liked the shape of it, the way its petals split off in three in cheerful amber and muted shades of violet. It had nothing to do with Cores, it was not a special word that meant “Core”, but the Core liked it anyhow. It had filled the cave with [Crested Irises] and had become sad when they had wilted in the friable, poor soil.

‘Iris,’ decides the Core-Now-Called-Iris.

‘I am Iris,’ repeats Iris.

[Null Core “Iris” - LV1]