Back on Mors, right before the two brothers enter the dungeon.

  The principal’s office was dim, lit only by the glow of the 3D tabletop map. A dusty, flickering projector hummed in the background, but I barely noticed. My eyes were fixed on the map in front of me, where miniature illusions shimmered and moved like ghostlights. But oddly, I could also feel them, like some small part of them, were inside of me. It is hard to explain the feeling of being a place and a person, all rolled into one big ball.

  The elk came first. He stepped delicately into the bus loop zone, at least I am pretty sure the male elks were the ones with the horns. His breath is visible in the cool dungeon air on the map. He was beautiful. Wild. I had never seen such an animal before, I had never left the city. I could see and feel it running deeper inside. His muscles coiled under his hide like wire, and antlers wide as branches. I could just imagine what those antlers could do if they caught a person in the guts. I leaned in, eyes soft.

  “Wow,” I whispered. “It’s... perfect.”

  “They are good eating too, better than rats,” Bookbite smirked as he shifted from foot to foot. I could hear his long toenails clipping on the metal of his favourite filing cabinet.

  Then I saw the wound, it was high on his haunch. A shallow slash, leaking red into the illusion. Reminding me that this wasn’t a video game. I felt badly for the elk and my stomach twisted.

  Next came the hunters. Two figures in rough furs. One kept glancing back, nervous. The other? Bold. Loud. Too loud.

  “They’re following it,” I said, mostly to myself.

  Bookbite sat lazily above the map, from his perch, his arms crossed behind his head. “Aaaaand here comes your first real test, Core girl. Two adventurers, maybe? They are low-level, cocky, if they are adventurers. Low-levels like them should be in a group of at least 3 if they are extremely skilled. Most levels one to five come in groups of four to five. That being said. These guys are just the kind of idiots we like.”

  I frowned. “But... what if I mess it up? What if they die and it’s not fair? What if I hurt them too much?”

  Bookbite tilted on his butt, his long pointy ears giving a sarcastic flutter. “One: this is fair. They’re hunting something in a zone they don’t understand. Two: if they die, they’ll respawn. A little naked. Maybe minus a level. Probably minus dignity.”

  He spun dramatically. “Three: it depends on the Goddess. Maybe she gives ‘em back their underpants. Maybe not.”

  “Humans…” I bit my lip. “Still. It feels like... like something important. Like this will set the tone.”

  Bookbite sobered slightly: only slightly. “It is important. It’s the first time your monsters will taste blood. The first time you see what it means to rule a dungeon. But don’t worry.” He gave a toothy grin. “You’re not murdering them. You’re grading them. And this is remedial coursework.”

  Then he leaned in close, eyes twinkling. “Besides. If they wanted a fair fight, they shouldn’t have picked a dungeon owned by a traumatized teenage girl with vengeance issues.”

  I gave a breathy laugh despite myself. “Hehe, dork.”

  Bookbite got up, jumped down and walk around the map and pointed down. “Heads up. The elk just fell into the pit trap. Nap time is over, kids. Show’s about to start.”

  From above, the miniature illusion of the elk kicked and thrashed in the pit, its haunting cries echoing up through the illusion field like distant thunder. Blood misted the air as it struggled against hidden spikes.

  “Got it!” the bold hunter shouted, raising his bow triumphantly. “Did you see that? Rigal, we got it!”

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  Rigal, the quieter one, hesitated at my version of a parked car. His hand hovered near his weapon, eyes fixed on the pit. He didn’t cheer. His voice was a whisper Chloe could almost feel. “We shouldn’t be here…”

  I leaned closer over the map. “He knows,” I murmured.

  Bookbite rolled his eyes. “Of course he does. The smart ones always get a bad feeling. Doesn’t stop them from dying.”

  Then, a rustle. The forest at the edge of the bus loop shifted, not the wind. Not birds. Heavy. Hungry. They emerged, to my eyes, still stealthed two the two boys, not from the trees and cars, but around them. As if branches parting for their monstrous frames.

  Windigo-Moms.

  Gaunt, towering figures with thick, matted fur and long, elegant limbs that ended in clawed fingers. Their faces were a grotesque mockery of care; sunken eyes, stretched smiles, and cheeks stained with soot and ancient grief. One of the new ones had an apron tied to her front and it was dotted with sewn-in names of children long forgotten.

  “Oh no…” I whispered, clutching the edge of the desk, a part of me felt a longing. A desire to watch their blood spill on the ground. I could feel a lust fill me. I felt a heat of excitement building. The other side of me screamed that it was wrong to find joy in someone else’s pain, but that voice slowly vanished into the background. I was going to enjoy this.

  Rigal took a step back. “We need to run. Now.”

  But the brash hunter just laughed. “Run? From what? It is just—”

  Crunch.

  A claw ripped through the Rigal’s chest before he could continue. I gasped. Rigal screamed. On the map, the older hunter writhed as the Windigo-Mom lifted him effortlessly. Another approached. Then another. From my point of view, they didn’t fight like beasts. They punished like parents. Stern, merciless. I got an odd feeling remembering my father.

  “Bad boy,” Bookbite said mockingly, voice low as the dungeon registered the kill. “No recess for you.”

  Milo turned and fled, stumbling toward the front of the school. My eyes followed him across the glowing illusion. “He’s heading for the school,” I said, voice tight. This was going to be good. “Old Chloe, couldn’t do this.” I tried to tell myself more than my goblin attendant.

  Bookbite grinned, watching the boy streak toward the second of my zones. “Oh yes,” he said. “Let him run.” Then, with a grin like ink-stained chalk, he added, “Let’s see how he handles the kids.”

  I smiled and nodded, eyes never leaving the map. “He ran to the front doors,” I said. “Like that’ll save him.”

  Bookbite snorted a curl of paper flaking from his tattered clothes. “False hope is excellent bait. Makes the marrow sweeter.”

  On the map, the brash hunter, Milo, was barely a flicker now, swarmed under by the Chalklings.

  I leaned in closer, eyes locked on the image. My voice was soft. “He should have listened to his brother. Thought he knew better.”

  Bookbite gave a dismissive grunt. “Eh. My goblin brothers were like that. Stupid, all of ’em. Never listened to me either. Ate a wizard one time just ‘cause it sparkled. Blew up the whole den.”

  I didn’t laugh. I just watched. There was a long pause as Milo’s signal vanished. His cries faded into the flickering hallway static. Then I asked, not looking away, “Do you think they’ll send more?”

  Bookbite tilted in the air, thoughtful now. “Those two? They weren’t adventurers. Just scavengers. Curiosity and hunger got them, not glory.”

  I snapped my fingers and tapped the edge of the table. “But will more come?”

  Bookbite smiled with all his jagged ink teeth. “They always do.”

  A sharp chime rang out; clean and bright against the decay.

  System Notification: [You have levelled up. You are now a Level 2 Dungeon Core.]

  I exhaled, even though I didn’t need to breath; however old habits and I breathed for the first time in hours, sat back in the cracked principal’s chair. I felt… full. Not happy. Not sad. Just, satisfied. Disturbingly so. Like a cold hand resting just right inside my chest.

  I tried not to dwell on that.

  Outside the office window, the hallway quieted. Milo’s final gaze had landed on the ruined classroom doors. Where a child’s drawing of a smiling sun had been twisted into a mural of claws and jagged teeth. It hadn’t saved him. Nothing would have. Not here.

  I looked down at the elk again, still bleeding in the pit. A thought bubbled up.

  “What if I use the elk next time?” I murmured.

  Bookbite perked. “Oh? Thinking of a new pet?”

  I nodded slowly. “Something that looks like prey. But hunts using magic, possibly?”

  “Well, you did level up,” Bookbite said.

  “My character sheet is telling me I can make a new room, and I want to make a real monster.”