Dear Fredrick Farman,

  I’ll try to keep this short and to the point. I’m Will Walton, former member of the Heroes Party. I say former because my fellow party members tried to murder me. Thanks to illusion magic, they failed and I faked my death. Unfortunately they succeeded at murdering Elane Lopez. It was never goblins which killed her, but other Heroes. Elane’s murder was done because she learned about the very dungeon Andy Sattler hired you to be a scout for. In my case, they tried to kill me for a valuable treasure.

  I have no doubt if you do act as scout for this dungeon, they will kill you just as they had killed Elane. I want to investigate the dungeon in Zephyria’s sewers, but I need them delayed while I gather allies and make preparations.

  If you are willing to help me with delaying them, I have a plan outlined on the second page of this letter. It will require you knowing where the entrance to the dungeon is and grabbing an item I have stored at Zephyria’s Tinkerbank Treasury. You can gain access to my vault at the treasury with the passphrase ‘One man’s junk is another man’s treasure’. If though you aren’t willing to risk your life which I totally understand then all I ask is you please burn this letter and make sure my Adventurer’s Guild Badge is destroyed.

  Then get as far away as you can from the capital, perhaps even the kingdom.

  Will Walton

  “Overdramatic much,” Fredrick muttered as he glared at the paper in front of him.

  Of all the rotten luck. Fredrick crumpled the letter in his fist, then smoothed it out again, reading those damning words once more. Will Walton, gone—except not gone. And now dragging him into whatever mess the Heroes Party had created.

  His first thought was it had to be fake, the claims were too ridiculous. But then he took a closer look at the Adventurer’s Badge which came with it. He only saw Celestium a couple of times before when King Grier did public speaking. A ball of the crystal rock embedded in his gold crown, barely larger than a coin. He recognized the blue glow of the crystal, it was a hue of light one didn’t forget.

  The letter trembled in his weathered hands as he sat at the small wooden table that served as both his dining area and workspace. His apartment wasn't much—a single room above a cobbler's shop in the merchants' quarter, close enough to the Adventurer's Guild to be convenient but far enough from the noble districts to be affordable.

  The late afternoon sun filtered through the lone window, casting long shadows across the sparse furnishings. A narrow bed pushed against one wall, a battered wardrobe that held his scouting gear, and shelves lined with various maps and journals from his twenty years of dungeon delving.

  He could run. Pack his things right now, take the next carriage out of Zephyria, and never look back. Let Andy Sattler find another scout for his precious dungeon. But Fredrick knew how that would end. Some eager young adventurer, desperate to work with the legendary Heroes, would take the job. And if Will's letter was true—if they'd really murdered their own party members—that poor fool would end up just as dead as Elane Lopez.

  "Damn it all," Fredrick muttered, rubbing his weathered face. He could take the letter to Guild Master Harwick, let him sort out this mess. But Harwick was more politician than adventurer these days, all silk robes and honeyed words. The man practically genuflected whenever the Heroes Party walked through the guild hall doors. He'd probably hand the letter straight to Andy Sattler with a bow and an apology for the inconvenience.

  Fredrick's gaze drifted to the amulet on his table, its surface catching the lamplight. The silver chain was tarnished now, but the crystal at its center still held that faint inner glow. He picked it up, feeling the familiar weight in his palm.

  Two years ago, Elane Lopez had walked into the guild hall with a satchel full of enchanted items. She'd been different from the other Heroes—quieter, almost apologetic as she'd offered her creations to the adventurers there.

  "The party doesn't need these anymore," she'd said, her voice barely above a whisper. "We're getting better equipment from the dungeons now. I thought maybe someone here could use them."

  Most of the adventurers had grabbed for the rings and bracelets, the flashier pieces. But Fredrick had noticed the simple amulet she'd kept pulling back whenever someone reached for it.

  "That one special?" he'd asked.

  She'd blushed, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "It grants night vision for an hour. Not very impressive, but it was one of the first successful enchantments I made. I suppose I'm just sentimental."

  "Might come in handy for a scout," Fredrick had said. "Mind if I take it?"

  The smile that had lit up her face still haunted him sometimes. Such genuine joy at such a small kindness.

  He'd worn that amulet on every scouting mission since. And when Andy Sattler had approached him about exploring some secret dungeon, Fredrick had volunteered partly because of that memory. A chance to help the party Elane had been part of, to honor her in some small way.

  He rubbed the amulet softly, it felt heavier in his hand for some reason, then he placed it back on the table.

  "Damn it," Fredrick cursed, running a hand through his graying hair. First rule of survival as a scout: don't get involved in politics. Second rule: especially don't get involved in Hero politics.

  He picked up the letter again, flipping to the second page to see what this Will Walton had planned. As his eyes scanned the detailed instructions, his eyebrows rose higher and higher.

  "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered. The plan was either brilliant or completely insane. Probably both.

  “We appreciate your help in the endeavor,” Andy said as the six of them walked along a sidewalk next to the churning waters of the sewers.

  The great Heroes Party—Andy, Heather, Patrick, Jesse, Nick, and now Fredrick who was still internally questioning whether he should have made a run for it. It took all his strength to keep a straight face when Andy talked about making him an ‘official member’ if the dungeon run went well.

  The stench hit them like a physical wall—rotting vegetation mixed with human waste and something else, something fouler that made even seasoned adventurers gag. The sewer tunnel stretched before them, a yawning maw of darkness broken only by the occasional torch mounted in rusted iron brackets along the slime-covered walls.

  "Dear God," Nick muttered, pressing his sleeve against his nose. "I've fought corpse eaters that smelled better than this."

  The walkway they traversed was narrow, perhaps three feet wide, running alongside a channel of sluggish brown water that carried unspeakable filth toward the sea. Green algae coated the stone beneath their feet, making each step treacherous. Above them, the arched ceiling dripped with condensation and... other things best not examined too closely.

  They had arrived only a day after he followed Will’s plan. He already made arrangements to have people he trusted at the Adventurer’s Guild know the truth if today ended in his death. Hopefully though that wouldn’t happen, he really didn’t want anyone else burdened with these secrets he now knew.

  A couple of months ago, Andy agreed to show him the entrance because no scout was going to take a job to check out a dungeon without at least confirming the location. Thinking back on it, Fredrick had the impression Andy wanted to show off knowing about it too.

  He had travelled this way with Andy alone back then to check out the entrance of a dungeon he had no idea existed. In all fairness it was very well hidden. A doorway covered in runes which only appeared when Andy drew his flaming sword near it.

  Without it, there just appeared to be a stone wall in the very farthest reaches of the sewers. Fredrick even pressed his hands against it, feeling only solid stone. Either it was an illusion which even fooled touch or some sort of dimensional magic which could alter space and time.

  Andy gave some strongly implied threats of bad things happening to him if he leaked the location before they left.

  Based on what he was paid, Fredrick was expected to be on call to head to the dungeon in a moment’s notice. So for the last couple of months he had to turn down other jobs, but the pay definitely made it worth it. Now if only he didn’t feel like he just sold his soul to the devil.

  There was one last turn in the passages before they reached the entrance and Fredrick tried his best to keep his breathing steady as they turned a corner. Now would come the time to see if Will’s plan worked.

  The tunnel became wider, and gasps could be heard from the party of adventurers. Where before there was an empty tunnel, now a shimmering barrier of translucent violet energy blocked the entire passage. It pulsed with an otherworldly rhythm, casting dancing shadows on the sewer walls. And floating in the very center of the barrier, suspended in mid-air like a malevolent spirit, was an obsidian lock.

  The lock itself appeared to be carved from a single piece of obsidian, its surface etched with intricate patterns. A keyhole could clearly be seen surrounded by a swirling pattern as if it was at the center of a vortex.

  "What the hell is this?" Andy's voice cracked with rage, Fire-Friend already half-drawn from its sheath. Fredrick heard stories of how the sword could cut through steel like butter.

  “Be careful, I’ve seen this before in a dungeon,” Fredrick said, thankful those gray hairs of his would give him the illusion of being wise and knowing. In truth he felt like he was just winging it.

  “Well what is it?” Andy said, voice demanding.

  “Thalorin’s Tricky Lock,” Fredrick said grimly, taking a step closer to study it with his Appraisal skill.

  [Thalorin’s Tricky Lock—This is a rare item. This is considered a magical lock which when activated, will create a protective field of magic. It’ll be a ‘tricky’ challenge to get past the field or destroy the lock.]

  “This wasn’t here last time scout,” Andy said through gritted teeth. Looks like Fredrick lost being called by his name privileges.

  “I know and I’m as stumped as you are. I’d normally say we must have triggered something when we first checked out the dungeon, but dungeons aren’t supposed to do that. All the traps and defenses are supposed to either be at the dungeon door or past it.”

  “That’s true, we’ve done a lot of dungeon runs and I don’t remember us ever running into something like this right before getting to a dungeon entrance,” Jesse said, taking a step forward and studying it closely with him.

  Now here came the part where Fredrick prayed since this dungeon appeared to be so ‘special’ to Andy, he believed his special dungeon had extra safeguards. From the way the leader took on a contemplating expression and slid his sword back in place, it looked like he was reaching such a conclusion.

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  "Patrick!" Andy barked, his voice echoing off the sewer walls. "Smash that thing with your warhammer. We don't have time for games."

  Patrick stepped forward without hesitation, pulling his massive warhammer from his back. The weapon's head was the size of a small anvil, its surface covered in frost-blue runes that glowed faintly in the darkness. Ice crystals formed along the handle as he gripped it with both hands.

  "Stand back," Patrick warned, raising the weapon high above his head. His muscles bunched beneath his armor as he brought it down in a devastating arc.

  The moment the warhammer touched the obsidian lock, the world exploded in violet light.

  Patrick's scream was cut short as an invisible force seized him and hurled him backward like a rag doll. His armored body sailed through the air, arms and legs flailing helplessly before he crashed onto his back with a thunderous clang. The warhammer flew from his grip, skittering across the slime-covered stones before splashing into the sewage channel.

  "Patrick!" Jesse rushed to his side, reaching out with one hand. But when she tried to touch him, violet sparks danced across his armor, forcing her to jerk back with a hiss of pain.

  Heather followed after her, but kept her distance. She touched her holy symbol with one hand and raised the other, a beam of healing light shining on the fallen Hero.

  Patrick groaned, his eyes unfocused as he tried to sit up. Tendrils of violet energy still crackled across his breastplate, leaving scorch marks on the metal. "Can't... can't move my arms," he gasped, his voice tight with panic.

  "What did you do?" Andy rounded on Fredrick, Fire-Friend singing as it cleared its sheath again. The blade erupted in flames, casting wild shadows on the sewer walls. "You said you knew what this was!"

  Fredrick got the feeling Andy sure liked making threatening gestures with his sword.

  He raised his hands defensively, taking a careful step back from the enraged Hero. "I said I'd seen similar locks! Thalorin's locks are all different—they're custom-made by the wizard himself. Each one has unique defenses."

  "Then figure out how to get past it!" Andy's sword tip wavered dangerously close to Fredrick's throat.

  "Andy, calm down," Nick interjected, placing a hand on Andy's shoulder. "Threatening him won't help. We need to think this through."

  Maybe it was Fredrick’s imagination, but he’d swear he saw a flash of fear on Nick’s face. As if he was afraid of exactly what Andy was going to do to Fredrick with the sword. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to be the next murder victim of this party.

  Jesse kept her distance from Patrick, not wanting another shock. She went over to stand next to Fredrick.

  "The lock's still intact," she observed, studying the floating obsidian. "Not even a scratch. Whatever this barrier is, it's strong."

  Heather's healing spell appeared to recuperate Patrick, the violet energy having dissipated. "His arms are numb, but he'll recover," she announced. "That was some kind of paralysis effect mixed with a repulsion field."

  "A nasty combination," Fredrick agreed, his mind racing. This was going better than he hoped, but he needed to act fast. Patrick was already getting up, moving to pick up his warhammer and wipe the filth from its handle with a grimace.

  “Look before anyone panics, I actually have a guaranteed way to get past a magic lock like this,” Fredrick said. He pulled out a large glass bottle from his backpack. Inside was a glowing green slime, the monster swirling in the bottle.

  “This is a baby green slime, this breed of slime actually feeds off mana. Also they’re so small that magic locks and traps don’t normally recognize them. So the solution is simple, we just pour this little guy onto the lock and it feeds off the lock’s magic,” Fredrick said, removing the cork and pouring the green goo onto the lock.

  Everyone watched as the green slime suddenly took a ball-like shape around the lock, apparently intent to submerge with it as much as possible.

  “Well it looks like you’re finally earning your keep. How long do we have to wait?”

  “Yeah, well the thing is this lock is infused with so much mana it’s going to take the slime a long time before it leeches off enough mana to weaken the lock. I’d say two months minimum, maybe longer.”

  “TWO MONTHS,” Andy nearly shrieked, face going red. It was funny how someone famed throughout the kingdom could so easily become hysterical.

  “It’s like a kid eating at a feast table made for a dozen. The slime is going to eat the mana, be too full and stop, then resume again hours later. And keep going through the cycle until there is no mana left.”

  “Will never had this much trouble getting us past magic locks,” Jesse said, crossing her arms. Damn, was it strange hearing a compliment for the guy considering what they tried.

  “Will Walton was actually rather famous among scouts because he had a rare skill called Spellbane Lockpicking. It basically let him ignore the magical effects of a lock when using lockpicks on it. I on the other hand would get thrown back like Patrick over there if I even tried to get close to it.”

  Fredrick watched the reactions ripple through the party like stones thrown into still water. Andy's expression shifted from rage to something more calculating, his grip on Fire-Friend loosening slightly.

  "Spellbane Lockpicking," Andy muttered, almost to himself. "So the bastard wasn't totally useless after all." He let go of his sword hilt with deliberate slowness.

  Patrick wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. He'd recovered from the paralysis, but now he stood hunched, his massive frame somehow seeming smaller. The warhammer hung loose in his grip as if it weighed twice what it should. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible over the sewage flow. "Will would have gotten us through in minutes."

  Heather and Jesse exchanged a loaded glance—quick, but Fredrick caught it. There was something in that look, a silent conversation that spoke of shared secrets. Jesse's hand moved unconsciously to her bow while Heather's fingers found her holy symbol.

  Nick’s reaction was the strangest, he appeared… to be smirking. Specifically smirking at Andy’s back, getting some weird enjoyment in hearing the words and seeing Andy’s reaction.

  "Well, he's not here now," Heather said, her voice artificially bright. "So we'll have to make do with what we have." She turned that practiced smile on Fredrick. "Two months, you said? That seems rather inconvenient."

  "Magic doesn't care about our convenience," Fredrick replied, keeping his tone neutral. Inside, his heart hammered against his ribs. "The stronger the enchantment, the longer it takes to break down. And this..." He gestured at the barrier. "This is wizard-work of the highest order."

  “If you can’t find a faster way past this then we may have to look into getting a new scout,” Andy growled, crossing his arms. Fredrick gave his best nonchalant look as he shrugged his shoulders.

  “Go for it, but I doubt you’ll find a scout with a better solution. As I said, Will’s Spellbane Lockpicking skill is pretty rare. I doubt you’ll find anyone else having it at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  “What if… we made a new passage?” Patrick asked, glancing at a nearby wall. Andy’s eyes lit up and the girls got matching smiles. Nick frowned as he looked from Patrick to the wall.

  “Won’t work, but give it a shot,” Fredrick said, making sure to take a couple of steps away from the large Hero. Once again Patrick raised his warhammer over his head, biceps swelling and growing larger. Then with a grunt he swung forward.

  The warhammer made contact with the brick wall with a loud clang which pierced everyone’s eardrums.

  It wasn’t like with the lock, he wasn’t thrown back with purple violet sparks. But he did topple back and land on his armored butt, staring at the wall in bewilderment. There wasn’t so much as a mark to recognize the hit.

  Fredrick tried his best not to grin, as far as they were concerned, he wanted to help them get through.

  “Hundreds of years ago the capital city would suffer attacks from monsters which would literally dig through the earth to get past the city walls. Finally a king hired several wizards to enchant the sewer walls so nothing could break through them. They might be ugly, but those walls are impenetrable.”

  Andy’s face was turning red again, but this time Heather placed a hand on his arm with a look of resignation.

  “Andy honey, I think we’ll just have to wait. We can work on other objectives until access to the dungeon is available. Let’s not forget I also have a goal as well,” Heather said, a slight edge to her voice as she met Andy’s eyes.

  Andy’s brow wrinkled as he slowly nodded. It was obvious from his shoulders slouching he wasn’t happy, but he was accepting the situation.

  “Okay Fredrick, we’ll meet you here in two months for our dungeon run. But check on it every week just to make sure it’s still impassable,” Andy said as he and the others turned away.

  “You’re the boss,” Fredrick said, rubbing his chest. He could finally feel his pulse slowing, his old body not made for stress like it was used to. He noticed Jesse giving him a suspicious glance, but didn’t react.

  She probably knew he was afraid, hopefully she thought it was just the potential loss of a job fear and not fear of being killed in unspeakable ways.

  Well Will, you now have your two-month delay. You better make it count.

  ***

  I leaned forward in the saddle, wincing as the horse's gait jostled my stump. Three days on horseback had taught me exactly how much I'd relied on having two hands for balance. The chestnut mare snorted beneath me, seemingly unimpressed with my riding skills. At least she was sturdy and didn't spook easily—qualities I'd prioritized over speed when purchasing her.

  Horses were a luxury the Heroes Party normally didn’t use because monsters always like to go after them first. There were nearly a dozen horse corpses before Andy finally admitted either hiking or carriage would be used for traveling.

  Now though I wasn’t heading to a dungeon or a Demon King’s castle. I was traveling to find a potential ally and I needed to move quickly even if Fredrick went through with my plan. With the horse, I purchased a new but very ordinary short sword and food supplies.

  "You're quiet today," Osirus observed, perched on my shoulder. His white feathers ruffled in the breeze as we followed the winding road south toward Lasair Manor.

  "Just thinking," I muttered, reaching into my pouch with my good hand. I pulled out the remaining coins—three silver and seven copper—and grimaced. The three gold I'd spent on that letter had nearly cleaned me out. "Counting my meager fortune."

  "Caw! Is that all the treasure you have? I thought Heroes were wealthy!"

  I let out a bitter laugh. "Heroes, yes. Me? Not so much."

  The road stretched before us, cutting through rolling farmland that would eventually give way to the forests surrounding Lasair Manor. According to my mental map, we'd reach it by nightfall if we kept a steady pace.

  "Every dungeon we cleared, every treasure hoard we found, Andy always controlled the distribution," I explained, pocketing the coins. "He claimed it was 'strategic resource allocation' but somehow I always ended up with the smallest share."

  I remembered the Crypt of Forgotten Kings—our first major dungeon. We'd fought our way through twenty levels of undead horrors to reach the inner sanctum. The treasure room had been stacked with gold, magical artifacts, and enchanted weapons. I'd had my eye on a particular dagger—nothing fancy, just a simple blade with a minor enchantment for returning to its wielder's hand when thrown.

  "You don't need that," Andy had said, snatching it up before I could reach for it. "Your job is scouting, not fighting. Besides, Jesse could use this for her collection."

  Jesse hadn't even wanted it. I'd seen her toss it into her Inventory Box without a second glance, just another trophy.

  "After a while, I stopped arguing," I told Osirus, adjusting the reins in my one hand. "It wasn't worth the drama. They'd gang up on me, call me selfish, remind me how lucky I was to be part of the Heroes Party at all."

  "They sound like terrible friends," Osirus said, his normally boisterous voice softening.

  "They weren't my friends." The words came out harsher than I intended. "They were... I don't know. Colleagues? Captors? Something in between."

  Sometimes I collected things outside of the typical treasures the other Heroes cared about. Not weapons, armor, or gold, but more like strange knickknacks which no one else would want—a demon skull here or the fang of a wyvern there. Which was how I acquired Thalorin’s Tricky Lock.

  I wasn’t trying to steal from the party, I just didn’t see how anyone else would be interested in a magic lock. When I opened it with my lockpicks at the Fey Forest dungeon, I decided to add it to my collection because I found the ‘trick’ behind the lock interesting.

  The lock had some sort of powerful magic to produce magnetic forces. In other words, the lock and its magic field were only indestructible when it came to metal weapons. Here’s hoping Nick doesn’t help them destroy the lock with his signature Lightning Bolt spell.

  We passed a farmer driving a cart loaded with hay, who tipped his hat respectfully as we rode by. My disguise was holding well—I'd opted for the appearance of a minor nobleman, nothing too flashy but respected to the point of others not wanting to bother someone of importance.

  From anyone else’s perspective, I had gray hair and beard with a silver circlet. The fine red silk shirt and stained leather leggings finished the look. Now if only the fake hand everyone saw was real.

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, what did you say to the firebird when we met her?” I asked, thinking back on the musical sounds of their talk.

  Osirus puffed up his feathers with obvious pride. "I told her she was being exploited by that money-grubbing human," he explained, his blue eyes gleaming. "Three gold coins for one letter? Outrageous! So I explained how to break the magical binding spell they use on messenger birds."

  "Wait—you did what?" I pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop.

  "Caw! Those bindings are simple enchantments that force birds to return to their cages after delivering messages. Cruel magic that no respectable creature should endure." Osirus hopped from my shoulder to the horse's mane, facing me directly. "I showed Freya where the binding was anchored in her aura and how to sever it. After delivering your letter, she'll be free to fly wherever she wishes."

  I stared at him, mouth slightly agape. "So you... liberated a firebird worth more than most nobles' estates from the Bird Courier Guild?"

  "Precisely!" Osirus bobbed his head enthusiastically. "No more carrying messages for greedy humans who charge absurd prices while paying her in mere seeds and berries. Your letter to Fredrick was her final delivery before freedom!"

  "Great," I muttered, nudging the horse back into motion. "So now I've not only angered the Heroes Party, I've also stolen valuable property from a well-connected merchant guild."

  "You didn't steal anything," Osirus countered. "I merely educated a fellow bird about her rights. What she chose to do with that information is her business."

  I couldn't help but laugh at his logic. "Remind me never to leave you alone with anyone's pet."

  "Pets," Osirus spat the word like it was poison. "Another word for slaves. Birds are meant to soar free, not be caged for human amusement."

  We rode in silence for a while, the rhythmic clop of hooves against the packed dirt road strangely soothing. The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in vivid oranges and purples.