Nikoli left us to our work.

  The forge roared low and steady, like a dragon breathing in its sleep. Runes danced across the walls, etched in flickering crimson light that didn’t cast shadows.

  Jakob headed toward the alchemy station, already muttering about ingredients under his breath. Harper followed behind him, a weathered notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. She peppered Jakob with questions as the Cendral picked through the various alchemic components—everything from chunks of monster bone, to various plants, and discolored liquids.

  For a long moment, I stayed where I was, hands on my hips, staring at the fabrication table like it might bite me.

  “You ever get the feeling we just signed a contract we didn’t read?” I muttered, not actually expecting an answer.

  I turned toward Nikoli, who loomed over his workbench, etching runes into the surface of the blade with slow, deliberate care. He didn’t hum, didn’t fidget, didn’t even glance in our direction. Just worked. Still, focused, intense. Like the sword was the only real thing in the room, and the rest of us were props in some stage play he wasn’t watching.

  “I still don’t trust him,” Temperance said quietly, suddenly at my side. “That man doesn’t blink. Did you notice? He doesn’t blink.”

  I hadn’t, but now that she said it, I realized she was right.

  “He’s definitely hiding something.” She continued glaring at Nikoli’s turned back. “This whole setup feels... curated. Like a trap disguised as an opportunity. And I am certain there is more to this story than he’s telling us. All this nonsense about saving face feels like a cover for something else…”

  I wanted to disagree with her, but I couldn’t.

  On the surface, the residents of Kringlegard had been far more inviting than the Holwers, but Temp was right. The warmth seemed oddly calculating and left me feeling uneasy. Maybe she was being paranoid, but once again, I reminded myself that the best way to survive the Backrooms was to assume that everything, everywhere, all the time is both lying to you and trying to murder you.

  “You’re probably right,” I replied, then added, “but we might not ever have another chance like this. Have any of you ever seen a Fabrication Workstation or a Mana Infusion Table before? Because I sure as shit haven’t. I’m not saying I trust him—he’s definitely working some angle—but I don’t see how us getting more powerful gear can possibly be a bad thing. Sure, this might be some sort of Trojan Horse, but it also might be a ‘Don’t-look-a-gift-horse-in-the-mouth’ type situation.”

  “This analogy has a lot of horses, Dan,” Croc said softly, before stealing a furtive look toward Nikoli. “Do you think he has some sort of secret bargain with horse people?”

  I pinched the bridge of my noise. “What? No. Don’t worry about the horses, bud. They’re metaphorical. Point is, as long as we play it safe, we’ll be fine. We should absolutely keep our guard up, but unless you’ve got something better to go on than a hunch, I think we should try to take advantage of this situation while we can.”

  Temp pouted and folded her arms across her chest in clear disapproval. “Just because I don’t have anything better than a hunch, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.” Her jaw tightened, and I could see resolve hardening in her features. “I’m going to go look around town and see if I can’t find out what he’s really up to.”

  “What?” I asked, caught off guard. “But what about the workshop? Aren’t you at all curious to try fabricating Relics and Sigil Stones? Just think about all the cool shit we might be able to make.”

  She reached up and patted me on the check. “That’s what I have you for. Besides, do you have any idea how horribly tedious that all sounds?” She pointedly glanced at my stumpy hand. “I would rather Molt and Mend every single one of my limbs simultaneously than spend a day in here, doing this. I will stay if you really need my assistance, but if not, then my talents will better serve us out there—gathering information.”

  I paused, my lips tightening into a thin line. “I’m going to be honest,” I said, “you going out there on your own sounds like a dogshit idea. You’re not exactly discreet and we can’t afford to have you picking fights with the locals or trying to waterboard information out of innocent townsfolk.”

  “I’m not an idiot,” she snapped. “And I can be discreet if I want too. Believe me, as someone who lived through the Salem Witch Hunts, I know how to keep my head down when I need to.”

  “Uh, I hate to point this out,” I replied, “but didn’t they eventually try to burn you at the stake for being a witch? No offense meant, but it seems like you maybe didn’t do such good job.”

  She glowered openly at me. If looks could kill, I was pretty sure I’d be dead where I stood.

  “Irrelevant,” she said after a beat. “The point is, I’ll keep a low profile, and I promise not to threaten anyone with violence. Unless there really is no other option,” she added quietly. That certainly didn’t fill me with optimism. “I’ll also have this.” She pulled one of the Etheric Walkie Talkies from storage and clipped it to her belt. The radios were almost certainly cursed, but they also worked across floors making them an invaluable communication tool. “If anything goes terribly awry, I’ll call for help. Satisfied?”

  I wasn’t. Not even a little bit. But I could see that she’d already made up her mind, and when Temperance made up her mind about something, there was no changing it. She was as stubborn as an old tree stump.

  “Fine,” I grumbled, “but for the record, I still think this is a dogshit idea. I can work on the Sigil Stones and I’m sure Harper can lend me a hand if I need anything. Just… Please don’t do anything stupid, okay?” I hesitated for a beat. “And take this with you.” I discreetly fished out a Doorway Anchor Plate and shoved it into her hands. “In case you get backed into a corner and need a way out. And take Croc with you. You need to have someone to watch your back.”

  “Wait, does that mean I’m going on a field trip?” Croc asked happily. “Because I love field trips! This is so exciting. Temperance, do you think we can stop at the market and get more of those fried apple thingies? The ones from the other day?”

  Temp rolled her eyes then reluctantly nodded. “Yes, I supposed we can get more of the apple fritters from the market. But if you’re coming, you’ll need to hide. Not sure if you heard, but Dan wants us to be inconspicuous, and that could prove to be quite difficult with a talking blue dog following me around everywhere I go.”

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Not a problem!” Croc said. “Inconspicuous is my middle name.” The dog paused, its ears drooping. “Actually, that’s not true. I don’t have a middle name. And if I did, I think it might be Gary. I like the name Gary. But I will do my best to be inconspicuous.” The mimic’s shape blurred and morphed, as limbs contracted and its body formed into a camping pack. “What better way to watch your back, than on your back?”

  Temperance just sighed and swung Croc into place with a grunt.

  “Don’t worry, Dan,” she said with all seriousness. “I know how dangerous this is. I will exercise the utmost caution.”

  “And I’ll eat anything that tries to hurt her,” Croc said, the lip of the backpack flapping as it spoke.

  She gave me a small reassuring smile. Well, reassuring for Temp. If anyone else had smiled at me like that, I probably would’ve shit my pants.

  Nikoli didn’t even bat an eye at her when she slipped out through the front door. He was completely lost to the work.

  Once she and Croc were gone, I turned my attention to the fabrication table.

  Nikoli had temporarily provided me with a pair of Relics, which I could use as a template for the Sigil Stones. The first was a Rare-grade called, The Yeti’s Paw. It looked like a shriveled monkey’s hand covered in coarse white fur, and it granted the user immunity to environmental cold along with partial resistance to all frost-based damage. The second Relic, Sinscreen 9000—Now with 87% more Absolution!—resembled a half-used tube of sunscreen and effectively prevented anyone from discerning personal information about the wielder.

  Just as Nikoli had done, I carefully placed the Yeti Paw onto the table and channeled a hair-fine thread of mana into the table. The geometric sigils, carved into the surface, began to glow with a hazy witchlight and a runic formation appeared in the air above the table. As a Rare-grade Relic, the sigil powering the passive aura was far more intricate than the Basic Camo Kit Nikoli had used during his demonstration.

  The pattern looked like a snowflake caught mid-fall—interlocking circles laced with jagged cracks that branched into angular spurs of frozen lightning. It pulsed faintly with arctic blue glow, each flicker cold and hungry.

  I stared at the sigil, examining it from every angle, attempting to commit the design to memory. Back before Noclipping, there was no way in hell I ever would’ve been able to do it, but thanks to the passive effects of elevated Grit and the Split Personality Sigil—currently embedded in my bathrobe—I could easily hold the pattern in my mind’s eye. Once I was sure I had the design down, I swapped the Relic for a blank Sigil Stone, which I gingerly placed in the center of the table.

  Using my engraver’s awl, I carefully began to carve the pattern into the surface of the stone, taking great pains to keep my hand steady, while ever so slowly feeding a trickle of mana into the sigil taking shape. It was extremely delicate work, and Nikoli hadn’t been lying when he said it was a time-intensive process. Not to mention temperamental. I got through roughly half of the design, when I accidentally extended one of the curved lines just a hair too far.

  The stone violently trembled on the table—light bleeding from the half-formed rune—before the stone melted into a puddle of sticky goo that smelled like rancid goat milk. I recoiled in disgust and wiped the slop into a bucket and even then, the smell lingered in the air.

  Nikoli tromped over, inspecting the mess with a critical eye. “Not as easy as it looks.” He handed me several more blank stones. “Is okay. No one gets it right first try.” He sniffed deeply. “Rancid dairy. This is good sign. Means you made it more than halfway.”

  I squinted. “You can tell how far I made it by the smell?”

  “Da,” he replied seriously. “Burnt rubber means too much mana infusion. Manure means, too little. Asparagus pee is unstable configuration. Body odor is sigil destabilization. Rancid dairy is partial rune formation.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “Try again.”

  I did, though my next three attempts also failed.

  Still, I got a little further along in the process each time.

  After nearly three hours and five attempts, I finally managed to get through the entirety of the runic transcription process. When I added the last flourish with my awl, the rune thrummed with power and the off-white stone changed color, becoming a soft, powdery blue that reminded me of a clear winter’s day while the finished rune itself burned with an ethereal silver light.

  I wiped a thin sheen of sweat from my forehead and examined the finished product.

  Chillblister Core

  Rare Sigil

  Type: Armor, Sigil

  Listen, icicle-nipples, we get it. You’re tough. You walk shirtless through blizzards and scoff at frostbite like it’s a minor inconvenience, instead of the toe-thieving menace it is in reality. I don’t give a shit what your buddy from Wisconsin says, blizzards are not flip-flop weather. But thanks to a little help from the Chillblister Core, you can finally give a frosty middle finger to winter.

  This legendary lifesaver comes complete with the patented VRD Thermal Reversal Enhancement Technology, rendering you completely immune to environmental cold. That’s right, no more chapped lips, rock hard nips, or frozen dicks. It also gives you 50% resistance against frost-based damage—just in case some frosty jackass decides to hurl a goddamned glacier at your face!

  All of the slots in my bathrobe were full, so I’d need to add the sigil stone to something else. Thankfully, I had a ton of other empty effect slots in the rest of my gear. Against my better judgment, I bound the stone to my wife-beater. The irony of a cold-resistant, sleeveless-undershirt was not at all lost on me.

  That took care of me, but I still need to think about the others.

  Now that I had the fundamentals down, the next four Sigil Stones went much quicker—though it was still a grueling process that took another two hours. Roughly thirty minutes per stone.

  Once I was finished crafting enough Chillblister Cores for the team, I immediately set to work on Sinscreen 9000. The runic pattern was completely different than the first, though just as complicated. It was sharp and angular like a maze of overlapping squares carved from knives. Unlike the last rune, this one burned with a bloody crimson light that set my teeth on edge and hurt to look at.

  I only made it a third of the way through the rune before I failed—and instead of melting into goo like last time, the stone exploded, launching chunks of shrapnel straight into my chest and face. The table absorbed most of the blast, but it was still a painful lesson in humility. Harper stopped what she was doing with Jakob the second she heard me yelp, then rushed over to pluck stone fragments from my skin and patch me up.

  My second attempt went marginally better, and instead of hurling stony shrapnel like a magical Claymore mine, it simply evaporated in a whiff of foul-smelling methane.

  But I was getting the hang of things and managed to craft a working Sigil Stone on my third attempt. Nope.exe blocked all forms of arcane examination, magical scanning, soul-peeping, aura-scrying, and Spatial Core violations—It’s like digital privacy mode for your entire existence!

  My undershirt still had one unused slot, so I added it in. An intense, almost feverish power washed through me and once the sensation passed, it felt like there was a strange void clinging to the surface of my skin, concealing me from unwanted eyes.

  Spurred on by my success, I fell into an almost hypnotic trance as I forged another four stones, this time managing to do so in just a little under two hours.

  As I finished the last one, I found Nikoli watching me with an unreadable expression plastered across his face.

  “You are natural,” he said, though I couldn’t tell whether it was approval in his voice or something else. Something darker. I brushed off my discomfort. Nikoli was strange, and it was hard to get a read on him.

  “Do you mind if I keep working?” I asked when he didn’t say anything else. “There are a few other things I’d like try out.”

  “Of course, how could I say no?” he replied. “Is not everyday such a promising crafter appears on my stoop. Take all the time you need.”

  I tried to ignore the greedy light that seemed to burn in his unblinking, unflinching gaze.