Wattyson’s eyes slowly opened. The crusts on his eyebrows were flaking off. The sun was in the wrong area. It was morning. The sounds of alchemist flasks cooking on a burner and whistling of a heated kettle echoed throughout the room.

  His eyes opened, then blinked rapidly. His face was every bit neutral as he let out a heavy exhale through his nose.

  “What are you doing?”

  He asked Arlene, who had been staring at him with a kettle and a cup in her hand.

  Arlene gave the kettle a slight lift—a nod to him. “Nothing. Just watching you sleep.”

  “That’s creepy.”

  “Shush. You’ve been asleep since yesterday. Up to speed we’re in Anire’s place right now. I rather not move you across town to the Treehouse Inn, plus you looked peaceful.”

  A small playful curve formed across her lips. “You can thank me, yours truly. I made sure Anire wouldn’t be examining you.”

  She watched the cryptid hammockian raise his arm to block the light—to shield himself from the harmful sunlight.

  “Oh? You’re a vampire now?”

  He clicked his tongue, then spoke in a grumbled voice. “Why are you saying vampire so openly? The sun is blinding me. Why is it shining onto me so harshly?”

  Her glance went briefly over her shoulder to the window. The sun was high in the morning sky. Its light was overflowing with radiant warmth, magnified by the window to target this cryptid’s vision.

  A chuckle escaped her. She stepped in between the light. Her hands gripped onto her waist.

  “Don’t be silly. It’s just a reminder for you to get up. Also… I know you fell asleep, so I don’t know if you’ve heard it. I told Anire. She knows.”

  She crouched down, watching him flinch again from the light.

  “I didn’t tell her much. Just the surface level, enough that’s related to the dungeon. I didn’t tell her about you or… whatever past you have. She assumes you know as much as I do.”

  A brief pause and she winced.

  “Though… I think she believes you know more than me. You know, you’re literally an anomaly to her.”

  He grabbed onto the hammock’s sheet and pulled himself up until he sat at her eye level. The hammock creaked adjusting to the weight. His head lowered just slightly, but his eyes were up. He was angling himself from the sun. His hand reached out to the cup Arlene was holding.

  “Can I?”

  “It’s decaf.”

  “I just need to hydrate.”

  A sip turned into a full drink. He gulped it down like he was in a hurry.

  She took the cup back.

  “Sheesh. The drink is not going anyway. I have the kettle right here in my hand. It’s nearly full too.”

  He wiped his own mouth with the sleeves which got Arlene to wince.

  “Where’s Anire?” He asked.

  Arlene jerked a kettle forward, narrowly avoiding his head. “In her take on a bedroom. There were more tables than bedding which is none at all. We just slept on the floor. I commandeered the comfiest spot where there’s actually air circulation.”

  “None at all? You slept here last night right? I mean I’m still here in the hammock.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you sleep?”

  She scoffed. “On the floor obviously. I use her body as a pillow.”

  She scratched the back of her head, reminiscing how soft Anire’s stomach was at first before the hard floor smacked her when the neko turned in her sleep.

  “Yeah it didn’t go well. I just use my leather bag instead. Much comfier,” she added.

  That answer of how Arlene slept last night somehow got him to twitch a smile albeit a miniscule one.

  Which of course, Arlene noticed.

  “You’re smiling?”

  “I’m not.” His tone was higher as he drank the coffee. He wasn’t even hiding it.

  “You are! Why do how I sleep last night humor you so? Why are you trying to hide your little joyful expression? You’re failing at it even!”

  She crossed her arms. “Why are you trying to hide it? If you want to smirk, just do so. It’s not like you’ve been hiding it back then either.”

  He placed the cup to the nearest table and threw his hand up. “It’s just my normal face, but the thought of you constantly falling off and hitting the floor just… brings me joy. Ah. The Chosen One, defeated by sleep habits.”

  Her leg stretched to hit one of the poles, disturbing the hammock’s sling. It wobbled him—shaking him about, but his head remained still.

  “Are you an owl or something?” She said with her eyes narrowed on him. “Were you an owl in your past li—“

  “What’s the plan for today? Are we finally going to leave Toulasi and go wherever it is you wish to go? Are we going to return to the Treehouse Inn first since you haven’t paid your due yet? Or perhaps we will go retrieve Horse so I don’t have to walk anymore?”

  He laid back onto the hammock, flicking his hand about like a play. “I would also welcome a day where I can lie down to rest and not be bothered.”

  She put the kettle down and clapped her hands, loudly enough her own ears flinched. “Well! Since you’ve asked and as your party leader, I have made the decision after a lot of deliberate thinking; We will go back to the dungeon!”

  Her head tilted, she clapped once more than placing her closed palms near her cheek. “I’m sure you wouldn’t mind of course! After all, you are my companion. This is also the first time Anire will be with us officially.”

  The statement made Wattyson widened his eyes by a margin. “Alright,” he said while getting up. “How do I leave this party?”

  She quickly sprung and pushed him down by the shoulders, almost capsizing him on the hammock. “Come on! Didn’t you find strange too? That dungeon?”

  One finger stretched out as she flicked her hand to him as if to make a point while her other free hand constantly pushing and shaking him.

  “That dungeon was clearly not ordinary. Mismatched environment. Walls that are constantly healing yet the floors aren’t. No dungeonsters at all except a few well… exceptions. And! There was a corrupted supernatural in there! Why do you think it went in there? Don’t you want to know?”

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I don’t,” he said while in motion. “We already solved it. We killed the werewolf. Whatever happens next is up to the mundane ecosystem.”

  “’Mundane ecosystem’,” she parroted in her deep voice yet remained high pitch while doing an air quote, “If it’s so mundane, why would a werewolf be there in the first place? I mean in my eyes; the mismatched condition of the dungeon is already way past mundanity. I think that is now firmly Supernatural.”

  A smirk played on her face as she rested her arms on the hip. She bent slightly over to him. Her eyes twitched into challenging him. “Unless,” she whispered, “you can tell me otherwise that it’s not?”

  Just as quickly she stood straighter, puffing her chest out. “I will only accept it if you truly know the root of this!”

  For the moment, only the sounds of beakers and lab burners filled the air from the other room. He stared at her, his face contorted of amused and reluctant. Eventually he sighed.

  Before he even answered, she was already celebrating in her mind. She had done it. She made him answer her. Perhaps a few more of these then maybe he would answer her more straightforward rather than dancing around it. The supernatural knowledge would come to her more at ease now.

  He shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Naciv?”

  That celebration died. “N-Naciv?”

  “He’s a vampire spy or investigator or whatever correlate with information and espionage.”

  A frown settled on her face. He deflected again! If he didn’t know, why couldn’t he just say ‘I don’t know’! She sucked her own lower lip.

  She exhaled out deeply to calm herself. “Why do you think Naciv would know?”

  “He’s supposed to know. It’s his job?”

  His voice was monotone, but to her there was this hint of mockery and teasing. His eyebrows raised ever so slight—that condescending look of superiority.

  “Well,” she said popping her lips, “I’m still a rookie in the supernatural way of thinking, but don’t you think he would tell you if he knew? I mean… he seemed shaken by the appearance of that big furry corrupted person.”

  She took tiny steps around that might as well be her spinning. “I do remember quite candidly that he was the one who got beaten up the most, yes?”

  “Yes, that was very entertaining. Your point?”

  Her pace stopped as she looked to him, placing a hand on her chest. “Well,” she lowered her tone, “I wouldn’t say it was very entertaining, but wouldn’t he not knowing it means that you by extension don’t know it too?”

  “I mean,” her eyes darted everywhere, “you were uhh ignorant on how dungeons work. Since, you know, you’re not an adventurer.”

  She quickly threw her arms up. “Which is not to say you never experienced something similar. I’m sure you have in your ‘Anathema’ day, but there is another half of the world you never seen before?”

  Ending it with a question even she was surprised by how it came out.

  Without waiting for him, she continued while standing straighter. “All I’m saying is, I want to know what’s the root cause for this whole dungeon debacle. This mess where top layers were all classical antique architecture suddenly turned machinery and workshopy nearing the bottom layers. I don’t have an explanation for it. The adventurer’s guild doesn’t either. Doesn’t it make for a supernatural reason?”

  The plead came, and she was holding her breath waiting for his answer. She would even concede and brought horse out to ferry them if he still complained. Only the gods knew how tiring it was to float all the time underneath the robe. She wouldn’t know. She had two good legs to walk.

  Nevetheless, he wasn’t answering back. His eyes were half opened and a neutral expression settled on his face. He put a hand covering his mouth. He was contemplating. She thought she made a compelling pitch by relating it to the supernatural. She wasn’t lying. Not really. She too believed whatever was happening at the core was likely supernatural related. That or the corrupted blood.

  The silence was interrupted by the sounds of metal clanking and glass breaking. All eyes turned to the hallway which the neko emerged.

  “Good morning, Wattyson~,” greeted Anire. She wasn’t wearing her lab coat, but rather a sweater with a bizarre tic-tac pattern. Arlene blinked twice, and upon further inspection. Those black spots weren’t fabric pattern—they were burn marks.

  Arlene quickly opened her mouth to ask, but she was interrupted by Anire.

  “Will we be dungeon diving today? Me and Arlene talked quite a lot last night about it~”

  She eyed Arlene. “Well? Has Wattyson accept it yet?”

  Arlene pulled a hand up to stop Wattyson from answering for himself. “He is considering it.”

  Anire scoffed as she walked to the balcony, opening the door to let the morning cold wind in more. “What’s there to think of? If he joins us, I will not be pushing him to drink any of my test vials for a month.”

  That line got Wattyson to be the most animated Arlene had ever seen in any morning of him. “Well why didn’t you lead with that, Arlene?” He stood up, holding onto the hammock’s sling to get up. “I’ll be waiting down stair.”

  Wattyson strode slowly out of the cramp space, past Anire, then scoop out very fast when he was in open path.

  “W-What?” Arlene shook her heads and pointed to where he was. “How did you do that?” She turned to Anire. “I have to appeal to what he finds incentive to work, how did you do it?”

  “Do what?” Anire was already crouched below on of the desk, prepping the potions, vials and other contraptions Arlene couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

  “On making him agreed. Do you know how stubborn he is?”

  “I do~ I just know what drives him.”

  “No you don’t. You barely know him.”

  “Exactly.”

  The answer left Arlene’s jaw hanging. “W-what do you mean exactly?”

  “Arlene~, you appeal to him to convince him.” She stood up hanging her rune-craft bag around her shoulder. Her ear flicked forward to point at Arlene, wiggling at her. “I appeal to him by negotiation. After all, people are simple~”

  She went to close all the lights on the floor soon after then stood leaning on the door frame. “Let’s go, Arlene. Wouldn’t want him to wait long enough to revert to being a grumpy cat~”

  The street was barely filled. It was early morning. The light poles lining the road were still on. The breeze pushed them from behind—propelling them forward.

  Arlene strangely felt a sense of pride from that. Her cape flourished forward with the winds. Yet in this exciting mood of her to clear a dungeon, the walk was strangely quiet. Anire was walking or rather skipping along the road. She was playing hopscotch with the tiles on the floor. Wattyson was in his robe and of course, floating. He didn’t have a staff with him. That Anire picked up.

  “Wattyson~,” she whistled, “did you not bring your staff?” She spun around. “Shall we return to retrieve it for your repressed reckoning?”

  Wattyson didn’t slow down, he continued on. He held his hand up and seemingly glanced at his own palm. “Oh,” he muttered. “It’s fine.”

  “Is it? Would you like to lean on my shoulder?” She hopped closer. “I heard you have a trouble leg~”

  “I’m fine. Go get Arlene to lean on you.” He sped up to be a step ahead. “Besides, I don’t need my staff. You already seen me use magic without it.”

  “Indeed I do,” she exaggeratedly flicked her fingers. “Though don’t you think it’ll help sell the idea to others how you use your magic?”

  “The only idea sold so far was apparently I’m a sage, which,” he glanced back over his shoulder, “admittedly does help to get what I want.”

  He reached his hand out into empty air, then a black circle formed around it. It looked like the circle had swallowed his hand then he pulled out an entire staff. The same one he always carried around.

  “H-How did you do that?” She said barely containing her excitement. “Can you do that again? You did that so abruptly I didn’t see how the mana flows? How do you feel? Where does those items go? How do you sto—“

  “Direct your question to my caretaker.” He was now clicking his staff and hastened his pace.

  She quickly hopped past him to Arlene. “So, how does it work, Arlene~?”

  Arlene brows raised. She didn’t know. She wished to know. It would’ve been very handy to keep everything there rather than the bag she wore right now. That look of Anire was filled with innocent inquiry. This was the time to be a dependable leader.

  “It’s… uhh… a work of one of the deity. Yes. One of them.”

  “One of them? I didn’t know Wattyson was quite a religious person to get a boon from one?”

  The question was innocent at best, but her eyes were filled with genuine awe. That drive for curiosity in her guilt tripped Arlene. She was going to drop a random deity name, but now she just felt bad for lying.

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “I didn’t know why I lie. I don’t know how that maginithingy of his work. It apparently a storage magic of his. A black hole or something. He just threw stuffs in there,” she mimicked it, “then grab whatever out. I drank an orange juice he pulled from there and somehow it is deliciously cold.”

  She went on. “He has like weapons in there. Staff is one. I think he has a rapier too; I remember him pulling one out to show me. I think that’s also where he put all his clothes, too. I bet there’re foods, supplies, waters, a hot dog stand, a musket, a spear—“

  All of those went over Anire’s head who seem to be in deep thinking. Nevertheless, Arlene kept going.

  “—A wagon. Maybe a dragon egg too. A Heavenly General of the Dark Lord’s army head or something.” She paused after a while. “Uhh.. Hello? Down to earth Anire? Are you listening?”

  “Oh yes yes.” Anire answered quickly then immediately mumbled, “A storage space that kept items in stasis likely. How interesting. Most storage magic doesn’t work like that. Time still moves on in those spaces. Not his. Very interesting.” Her grin widened. “Still, I can’t test that. Not without finding a way to break the mana ceiling first. One step at a time. I did promise no testing on him for a month after all~.”

  Arlene gripped her shoulder. “Within reason.” She let go and pointed to her playfully.

  “I know~ I know~. How responsible, Miss Chosen One~.”

  “I am. Thank you for noticing. We’ll be walking for half a day with a quick detour to one of the street stalls to get Wattyson something to eat for breakfast.”

  Her sixth sense was tingling. She quickly turned around to Wattyson. “And we’re not bringing Horse. We’ll be walking.”

  She didn’t wait for him to reply when she turned back around. Only hearing him grunting and likely mumbling curses under his breath.

  “Oh right.” She nudged Anire. “You brought your ID right in that umm interesting choice of clothing you got.” She eyed that sweater with burned patches.

  “I did~. No need to worry. There won’t be any bureaucratic issues or paperwork.”

  “Great.” Arlene patted her on the shoulder. “As you are officially part of the party now, let’s go clear this dungeon and find out what’s wrong with it.”