Book 5 - Chapter 43 - Two Destinations (Patreon)

Ranthia laughed and transitioned to yet another whimsical rhythm. Challenging Nylko hadn’t even been part of her plans for the day, but when she overheard the ass making snide comments about the newest dancer to join their ranks—a girl fresh from the stone tower, no less—she made her choice. After all, there was a decent enough crowd for it.

Nylko was good. Over the years, he had managed to defeat her thrice and somehow, in spite of his personality, he was generally well-liked in the City of Arts. And nothing grated quite like watching the crowd cheer with approval after each of his victories over her.

But Ranthia wasn’t just a dancer—she was an Adventurer first and foremost. And, as tempting as it was to indulge in a spot of violence, her experience allowed her to find a better way to deal with him. With every match, she had assessed him, just the same as she did with every other opponent she initially struggled with. And, as always, she found an exploitable weakness.

In a single dance, Nylko had an unmistakable advantage. She fully intended to eventually match that level of talent, but she wasn’t content to wait. Especially not when his advantage came with a strict time limit. Nylko likely had more classes dedicated to dance than she did, sure, but the true reason he overwhelmed her was simpler than that: the man had a limited repertoire of dances. Instead of pursuing the art of dancing properly, he had simply mastered seven or eight dances—at most—and was largely otherwise inflexible.

And the look on his face when Ranthia worked the crowd to keep their contest going? Fucking priceless.

Because the greatest difference between them was the simple fact that she loved to dance, whereas he saw the art as nothing more than a vessel for his own bloated ego. She could dance for hours and relish every moment. Him? Not so much. Because nothing would sour a crowd in the City of Arts faster than repetitiveness.

“It is generally considered polite to concede when you are outclassed.” Nylko hissed at her, brushing his vibrant red hair out of his face as he drew closer to her.

“Oh, I’m having too much fun to do that! Besides, you’re a fraud and I have zero issues revealing that to the crowd.” Ranthia sent a wink in his general direction to accompany her whisper, before she twirled away from him. There was some temptation to shout the words, but she wanted to see what would happen if he was forced to confront his own arrogance.

She didn’t have to wait long.

“I… concede. Rank 24 belongs to Ranthia.” Nylko offered the crowd one of the hollowest smiles Ranthia had ever seen as he bowed.

Eh, good for him, but she wasn’t done with her dance. She just raised an arm to the crowd as she continued, reveling in the simple pleasure of movement. The ranks truly didn’t mean much to her, even still, but she had to admit, it was nice to have an excuse to dance for an audience. Her eyes passed over the cheering faces of elves—most of them acquaintances—as she…

“Anthelleon!” Ranthia pivoted sharply to bleed her momentum.

“Congratulations, dearest sister. It seems I chose well for my day off!” The platinum blonde woman smiled broadly, holding up her overflowing bowl of blackberries and cream in acknowledgement of Ranthia’s triumph.

Or, perhaps, to ward off the aggressive hug that Ranthia was about to inflict upon her. Gods and goddesses, it had been almost a full year since she last saw her friend and chosen sister! A month before Mahvel turned eight—and unlocked his System—a visibly pained Anthelleon had pulled her aside and asked her to stop visiting until he finished adapting.

Because for elves, a child’s eighth birthday didn’t just mean they unlocked their System. It also meant that White Dove’s dormant curse within them came into effect.

And Ranthia, in spite of everything, was still an outsider. She was pretty certain that she knew exactly what the elven curse was—a driving need to be truly perfect—yet the Wardens promised nothing less than indiscriminate lethal force if she ever received confirmation of her theory. It was absurd, but she could understand the desperate desire to control their entire species’ greatest secret.

Meh. She willfully shoved her lingering bitterness out of her mind and heart and refocused on the moment, barely cognizant of the dissipating crowd.

“I’ve really missed you. How have things been going?” Ranthia asked, half-tempted to steal Anthelleon’s snack so she could finally get the pending hug out of her system.

“It has been… an adjustment. I think I can say that much safely. And more recently, after watching a play some of the older children put on, he adopted the word ‘unjust’ into his vocabulary and has used it against me at every turn. Which is why I needed a day away. His father can deal with him for a while.” Her sister’s smile turned more than a little frosty.

Of course, coming from an elf, ‘older children’ most likely meant adults by Reman standards, not that it really mattered. More than anything, Anthelleon needed comfort and solidarity.

“Somehow, this seems fitting for a kid whose first word was ‘loathsome’.” Unfortunately for her, she came to Ranthia.

“Remind me why I chose you to be part of my true family?” Anthelleon grumbled.

“Because I am very charming and you are a terrible judge of character.” Ranthia slid her fingers through her hair—dislodging considerably more sweat than she was expecting in the process.

[Sexy] demanded a fresh image, so she conjured one and activated [Manifest Chaos], even as her clean image joined Anthelleon in walking toward the nearest street.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Anthelleon quipped in response, favoring Ranthia with a proper grin again. “But enough about me, I am here to get away from maternal thoughts for a while! What have you been up to of late? Neyvern never tells me anything, aside from aggrandized tales of your joint hunts. But I heard that there is a new woman in your life, Verity?”

“Oh Xaoc, no.” Ranthia laughed. “Verity’s sweet, but she’s definitely too young for me. She’s just something of a student, that’s all. Besides, she has an intense aversion to physical contact, and I’m a very touchy-feely woman. Speaking of which, if you don’t put that stupid bowl down soon, I’m going to hug you anyway, no matter the mess it’ll make.”

Anthelleon chose to take the threat seriously and Ranthia made a valiant effort to force her sturdy sister’s bones to deform before they moved on.

“That is unfortunate. About Verity, I mean. I had hoped your dry spell had finally come to an end.” Anthelleon finally replied as they entered the Lodge.

“Isn’t it a bit early for booze?” Ranthia chose to ignore the comment. She wasn’t in a dry spell! She had largely processed her feelings about Avyna, and she was just waiting to pursue romance until after they talked—whatever the outcome. But it wasn’t like she wasn’t seeking the pleasures of flesh where she could find them. She’d just had a week-long casual thing with another dancer—Eriest—a mere…

…Okay, bad example. Anthelleon actually already knew about her. Had it seriously been that long?

“We shall require a full keg.” Anthelleon confidently announced to the ever-present barkeep while Ranthia grappled with her gods-awful sex life.

“What? No! We’ll start with four mugs. I’m not getting sloshed in the middle of the day.” Ranthia hurriedly interceded.

But seriously, there was a time that she could hardly last a week without savoring the feminine form! What had even happened to her?

Armed with six mugs—wait, when…?—Anthelleon sat down with her at their usual table.

“To my sister, rank 24 in dancing! And a sight for tired eyes!” Anthelleon clacked her mug against Ranthia’s before drinking deeply from it. …Nor did she slow down from there, eagerly quaffing the blackberry spirit.

“And to my sister. May her liver hold strong.” Ranthia deadpanned her own toast, before she took a far more modest sip.

“Aaaah. It has been far too long! I missed that flavor and the warmth of a good brew. Did you say something?” Anthelleon lowered her empty mug with a contented smile.

“Not a thing.” Ranthia lied. “Should I order us some bread…?”

“I still have my blackberries.” Anthelleon declined, before she grabbed a second mug. “But let us talk about you! You simply must get out there! There is another woman for you, waiting for your… embrace.”

“I know, I know. And I have been having my fun, where I can.” Ranthia chose to lie once again as she slowly savored her own drink, wary of just how quickly Anthelleon’s second was disappearing.

She loved Anthelleon, dearly, but she was not about to admit that she’d mostly been venting her passions with her own images ever since her class evolution.

“You know, there is a woman closer than you might think that would love to see what you and her could find together…” Anthelleon leaned in close and whispered the words into Ranthia’s ear, before finishing what was left in her mug.

Nope. No way, no how. Aside from terrible women with insufferable personalities, Anthelleon was probably unique in that she was the only woman on Pallos that Ranthia refused to bed, no matter what. It had nothing to do with their self-proclaimed bond as sisters, it was the simple fact that she knew Anthelleon better than that. Her sister just wasn’t even remotely interested in women, and the only way that she would pursue changing that would be if she was hurting—in which case she truly needed a far different form of love and care.

Which was a shame. Anthelleon was truly one of the most beautiful women Ranthia knew, but she refused to be part of her sister’s self-destruction!

“An, I think you need to slow down.” Ranthia tried to cover the third mug with her hand, keeping her voice both gentle and serious.

“What…? Oh. No! That is not what I meant, you loathsome woman! By your chaos god, why would you even assume…?!” Anthelleon set the mug down and leaned in close, grumbling. “I was speaking of Kyairne!”

Ranthia blinked. Kyairne was another Hunter that frequented the Lodge, but she had barely ever interacted with the woman. Sure, she was attractive enough, but it wasn’t like Ranthia felt some burning need to flirt with every single woman that she found physically appealing. Especially not while she lived amongst the elves. Even she wanted to do more than just fuck her way through her immortal life!

“I really don’t think—” Ranthia tried to argue.

“Use that hidden eye of yours and look at her, right now.” Anthelleon whispered one last time, before she rolled her eyes and picked up her drink once again.

As requested, Ranthia turned her [Divine Eye] back toward the corner table where Kyiarne sat with her usual group. And, just as she expected, all she saw was four elves picking at cheesy bread while they debated over a low-quality map, planning their next outing. But just before Ranthia moved her Skill away to give the group the basic decency of privacy, she saw Kyairne glance at her back.

After the fourth time the same furtive glance happened, she had to admit, Anthelleon probably had a point. She was so used to the bolder, more boisterous elves that she sometimes forgot that there were still shy individuals among them—even elves weren’t quite the monoculture they claimed to be.

But speaking to Kyairne could wait for another time. Ranthia fully intended to spend as much time with her sister as she could. Even if the woman seemed to be determined to overcome her vitality and intoxicate herself into a stupor.

In Teacher’s workshop, Clover sat—legs closed, she had learned her lesson—across from Verity, armed with a stack of papers. At long last, she was ready to help her… training partner. Terminology was hard! She really didn’t think of the woman as a friend. They had so little in common, and Teacher always said that having an emotional distance from a professional subject was a good thing!

Let’s go through what you want out of this one last time. After signing, Clover picked up the big paper with the diagram she’d drawn and passed it over to Verity.

After studying Verity’s unusual (and partially impossible) anatomy with Teacher, Clover had gradually worked up a plan for what to do. Then, once her plan was ready, she needed the levels to pull it off—because Verity’s own vitality would be resisting her every effort. But after helping First with her breathing experiments for the past year, Clover was finally prepared.

And she was confident that she’d get over her terror response to large containers of water eventually! Adding gills to lung-based breathing anatomy was hard. But at least her sacrifice had saved multiple research specimens from a darker fate than mere damage, discomfort, and terror.

But anyway, the subject’s body required a lot of minor changes. Verity had chosen to keep a lot of what White Dove had done—the colorful skin, the tusk, and the tail—but other things needed to go or otherwise get altered. She wanted more elven-typical ears, mostly for the improvements to her hearing, the muscles and nerves required to make her tail functional, the removal of her horn and the malformed proto-wings on her back, alterations to her eyes for both appearance and functional purposes, modifications to her hands and feet, the addition of breasts to go with a more feminine figure, and the removal of most of her reproductive organs, with the exception of her phallus, just for the sake of convenient waste expulsion.

None of that was too hard, assuming Teacher and Clover were right about how to deal with the biologically impossible horn, but each change required substantive modifications within Verity’s unique body.

“I’ve thought a lot about this ever since I met you. I’m not changing my mind now.” Verity passed the paper back without even looking at it.

She put a lot of work into that diagram! Rude!

Clover was about to sign her demand for Verity to review it anyway, but the door opened. Teacher and a few of her paw—er, hand—picked fellow apprentices entered, bringing the big arcanite block with them.

Clover had the magic power and the mana required to handle each ‘slice’ of the Biomancy plan she had worked up, but the arcanite was an absolute necessity to recharge her mana after each and every step. Otherwise, Verity wouldn’t be able to level for many, many years while she waited for Clover to become mighty enough to completely reform her body with ease!

…Realistically, she could have just convinced Teacher to do it, but Verity was more comfortable with her and Teacher wanted her to have the experience. He considered it an important step in her progress as a [Biomancer].

So yes, she was a little excited, not that she was unprofessional enough to show it. Her leg just bounced sometimes. It’s a bunny thing.

“Is everything ready here for your big day?” Teacher asked Clover while looking at Verity.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your assistance with this.” Verity’s voice was a bit stiff with nervousness.

All ready here. Clover signed her own answer.

“Excellent. I’ll be just outside if anything requires my attention. But Clover’s plan is sound and Nyria and the others should be able to handle any unexpected issues that might arise due to White Dove’s meddling. Please, be at ease. Biomancy will give you exactly what you wish.” Teacher folded his hands behind his back as he looked at each woman in the room, before he turned and made his way out.

Getting the workshop set up for the procedure took a bit of time. Clover had placed the raised cot that Verity would be on too close to a wall, so they had to move and drag things around to set up the necessary space. Clover would be at Verity’s right, with her back against the arcanite, while Nyria and the others stayed on her left, each tasked with monitoring Verity’s biometrics from different parts of her body.

If anything went wrong, they would be the first to know, even before Verity. Ideally.

White Dove’s curse was a variable for which there was no possible preparation. Demi-divine fiat had formed Verity’s body, and Clover was seeking to undo that with proper biology. Curses could be bested by the System—literature was full of examples of that, and Clover had made… some progress in adapting to her own through sheer stubborn willpower. But they were still venturing into uncharted territory as [Biomancers].

I will need to touch you throughout the procedure. Sorry. Clover reminded her subject.

“I remember and I trust you. Just don’t make it weird.” Verity’s smile suggested that she was making a joke.

But Clover had no idea what ‘weird’ could possibly be in the context of touching, so she ignored it. Instead, she gently set her hands on Verity’s misshapen feet and activated [Change, Iteratively!] with her Very Improved Verity plan.

It was one of the grandest Biomancy projects that Lumornor’s apprentices had ever undertaken. A woman’s life was on the line and so much of what they were doing was absolutely unprecedented. But it was only one of the grandest projects, and—ambiguity due to demi-divine edict aside—it was far simpler than Clover’s own transition from bunny to human.

Not that she allowed herself to get sloppy or overconfident. Repetition and iteration in all things!

After each step, Clover leaned her elbow against the arcanite and pulled from it until her mana was full, verified the subject’s condition with her peers, and—if appropriate to do so—waited for Verity to relax once again before she proceeded to the next.

Iterate the changes. Repeat the safety checks and mana restoration. Then iterate again.

White Dove wielded the authority of Thanatos—god of death. But Clover was death, and she wielded Biomancy—Lumornor’s vision to make the powers of the divine a part of the System. Through knowledge and careful application, there was very little that a [Biomancer] was incapable of.

And dismantling one of White Dove’s mean edicts promised to be a highlight in her memories, no matter how far she progressed.

“The gateway’s open!” Sylphene shouted the very instant the gate turned purple, before she nocked and loosed yet another arrow.

“Endera, get back here! We’re about to get overrun!” Malista’s voice carried far better.

Their progression through the Dungeon was at an end. The previous floor had been dangerous, but they got greedy and tried for one more, just because no one got injured.

The greatest insult was that they never even got a chance to claim their reward for continuing. A glowing blue dagger had indeed appeared, but one of the winged monsters that infested the floor seized it before they could react—and promptly used it to open Bialldra from shoulder to breast. Whatever they were, the creatures were smart enough to use hit-and-run tactics that had continually forced them back.

To make matters worse, it was a puzzle floor. Absent any better plan, they were forced to rely on Endera’s speed and Ice to work on the oversized puzzle box while they struggled to hold the line at the entrance to the ornate chamber where the gateway resided.

Nangyna was out of mana, Bialldra was too wounded to contribute to the battle, and Malista’s left leg was missing most of its flesh. But they had done it.

Endera reappeared, wreathed in Ice for protection as she struggled to pass through the ranks of their enemy. She was trailing blood, but she was alive—which had to be good enough.

“Sisters, exit the Dungeon!” Malista ordered.

“Nan, get Biall through the gateway first!” Sylphene made her own judgment call. She had a handful of arrows left and she was in fair condition, which meant the prudent and kind thing to do was to get them clear first.

No matter how tempted she was to dive through the gateway herself. It was selfish, but it was hard not to feel concerned for her own wellbeing as she narrowly evaded yet another bolt of Pyronox. They were small, but Malista’s leg was proof enough that they were in no way harmless.

“The acidic slimes are coming through the left wall in here!” Nangyna warned them, moments before a wet pop implied that they had passed through the gateway.

Sylphene bit back her urge to curse and turned to loose another arrow on one of the bloated slimes. Merely puncturing their gelatinous exterior was insufficient to vanquish them, but they slowed significantly while their inner fluids leaked.

Not that any damage lasted for very long before they regenerated.

“Go, I’ve got these!” Endera swept past her, gliding effortlessly across her conjured Ice.

“Drastica, Sylphene—go already!” Malista roared, as she slowly dragged her own ongoing fight back toward the gateway.

So long as they all got through the gateway intact, no monsters born of the Dungeon would follow them through. That was one of the Dungeon’s truly absolute rules, at least as far as any records indicated.

Sylphene nodded, double-checked her spatial orientation, then sprinted backward while she unleashed her final arrows on the winged beasts—greater imps, per the kill notifications—until she too passed through the gateway.

The moons were high in the sky when Sylphene reappeared on Pallos’ surface, facing the Dungeon’s entrance. She hurriedly moved away from the opening and waited fretfully until Drastica, Endera, and, finally, Malista appeared.

They had done it!

“Well done, sisters! Come, [Healers], saunas, and proper meals await us at the Hub.” Malista kept her words short and sweet as she—heedless of the condition of her own leg—helped Bialldra get back to her feet.

It was likely a few hours past midnight, given the state of the sky. And unfortunately, they had a bit of a walk ahead of them. At least the path was truly safe, to an extent that precious few places on Pallos could claim to match. After all, they were technically inside the lair of Har’phor, the Autumnal Ashmaker.

Beneath the path, the powerful dragon slept in the form of Lava, providing warmth and ensuring no monster dared to approach his claim. But even as he slept, he remained vigilant. He had no tolerance for thieves or raiders, because he desired a peaceful territory filled with joyous excitement. And, perhaps, because he received a cut of the bounties of the Dungeon from the Hub’s [Brokers].

“Ugh, I wish we could have picked that floor clean. Did you see the size of the gems embedded in the wall in the puzzle chamber? And there was gold everywhere!” Drastica complained.

“I saw. But I’ll take the lives of my sisters—and our contracted client—over greed any day.” Endera replied.

Sylphene tuned out the brewing argument as she began her own mental calculations. There were more than a few rewards that they planned to keep, ranging from Malista’s size-changing shield to the quiver that Sylphene herself wore. But there were a large number of trinkets that they planned to sell or exchange in the Hub, including that absurd red-and-gold sword enchanted to make hair and loose clothing billow dramatically behind the wielder. And there were more items that Sylphene had been unable to make sense of as well. Getting them appraised would be her first priority once they arrived, even before a hot meal or the comfort of proper hygiene.

She had no doubt that the Sisters of Strife would visit the information [Broker] that sold Nangyna the falsified floor data, but she had no real desire to join in on their vengeful fury. If anything, she was grateful to the man. After all, they had overcome the aquatic combat floor once already, and she fully expected it to be far easier to convince the Sisters to do so again.

Because their run through the Dungeon was never going to be a one-off. Her contract stipulated that they would provide access to the Dungeon for seventy-four years—and they still only had the levels to delve for two to six years at a time. She fully intended to gain every level that she could before their time came to an end.

Which meant she had some research to do before their next delve.

Ranthia frowned as she confronted her greatest enemy on Pallos.

Sugar.

Because the cloying sweetness of honey just wasn’t good enough for the elves. No. Gods forbid! They had to have more. The plant didn’t exist in Remus, as far as she knew, but elves grew it as a staple, then ground the crop into a white crystalline sand that was almost painfully sweet.

Ranthia hated it more than anything else she had encountered in the world of food. She had never been fond of sweets, admittedly, but it took precious little sugar to overpower almost any other flavor—at least for her tongue. Most everyone else seemed to be unable to get enough of the stuff, somehow.

Sure, she could have just gone to Minnia for the cake, but she was determined to bake it herself. Besides, a dessert-focused Skill was the final missing piece she needed to fuse into [Delightful and Delicious] to make the broad cooking Skill she had spent years pursuing. Oh, there were other Skills offered that she could have merged into it, but Scaldos was right—if she merged too many overlapping Skills into it, she risked distorting the Skill back into a specialization instead of a broad omni-Skill.

And, more than anything, it was a special cake. It just felt right to make it herself.

Because Xaoc alone knew when she would be able to make Clover another. It had been a mere three years since Verity had moved on, confident in her new body and her improved prowess. But life never cared if her heart was ready.

There were scant days before Clover’s own departure. She’d known the day would come. Her Bond had long planned to leave with Lumornor and her peers to continue their research at the elves’ Academy. Sure, Ranthia fully intended to visit her there, and Clover would undoubtedly visit her, but it just wouldn’t be the same.

Ranthia steeled her resolve and began to pour sugar into one of her bowls. For Clover, she would wear a smile, bake the best damned cake, and make sure the combination early birthday and going away party was a happy, festive occasion.

Because some things were more important than her own selfishness. No matter what Kyairne had accused her of when she ended their short-lived relationship.

Clover sighed as she stretched across her oversized crystalline desk—in bunny form—and eyed her scattered papers. Everyone else wondered how she could possibly make sense of such a mess, but she never understood how they could work without being able to see everything at once.

Due to her steadfast dedication to being mute, she was exempt from teaching Biomancy courses, unlike every other apprentice, but that came at the price of expectations. She had the most time to dedicate to pure research—more than even Teacher himself—so everyone expected breakthrough after breakthrough from her. As if that was how any scholarly pursuit worked!

Clover stared at her aging Build a Better Bunny with Biomancy notes with one eye while she studied her rabbit-to-human notes and records with the other, trying to find inspiration. Teacher’s proposal was still sealed in the case it had been delivered in—she wanted to come up with her own before she took a single… additional peek at it. She had no idea why he had become interested in helping her with hybridization, though he was probably just stuck on a different project.

Sometimes the easiest way to find inspiration was to change tactics and work on something else for a while. Except, even if she was stuck—which she wasn’t—she had no other projects pending that she really felt like working on! Sure, she could have probably bothered one of her peers and helped them with something or another, but she genuinely wanted to work on the hybridization project.

She just needed to find more inspiration than “add bunny ears and a tail to a human.” That was boring, basic Biomancy student stuff!

Her hybrid form had to be more than either base form, but how?

Well, perhaps the nap that was creeping up on her could help her find the right path forward. It was hard to use repetition and iteration when she couldn’t even find the starting line.

Just as the legends and records promised, no two runs through the Dungeon were the same. Sylphene had expected a certain level of repetitiveness due to the unchanging floor themes, but the Dungeon seemed to be far more creative within its static framework than she had ever expected. The only time she assumed they were facing the same puzzle, the solution turned out to be entirely different—the puzzle box was entirely unrelated to the true solution!

On their third delve into the Dungeon, she finally convinced the Sisters of Strife to attempt the aquatic combat level again. And that variation was far easier—the endless expanse of rushing water was merely waist-deep. So long as they were careful, even devils could traverse it. They never got that lucky again on any subsequent run, of course, but between Sylphene being unaffected by the same curse and their collective cleverness, they continued to pass the floor.

Most delves took them deeper than the previous attempts, though there were three runs where severe injuries forced them to leave prematurely.

The first floor was always a joke. Some traps were more effective than others against their group. And more than a few puzzles proved to be fiendishly sophisticated. But they still continued onward, more-or-less undaunted.

And then, simultaneously all too soon and after her mounting impatience was sorely taxed, they emerged from the Dungeon for the last time. There was still quite nearly three months left on the contract, but none of them had the stomach to continue after that final floor.

Killing seemingly endless swarms of crazed people that looked just like the six of them would have been bad enough, but their doppelgangers also bedded for help with tear-stricken faces the entire time. It was unsightly, even by the dark standards of the Dungeon. Over the years, Sylphene had become quite fond of the Sisters—killing them had been no easier than turning her bow on herself.

She had never really appreciated just how much Caeli resembled her until that floor.

She was reasonably certain that none of them were in the mood to celebrate, but Malista still insisted. And so, after visiting the [Brokers] for their final appraisals and exchanges and getting clean, they gathered in the inn for greasy food and fine beverages, just as tradition dictated.

“We had our fair share of close scrapes, but we got through them. Through water and brimstone, we ventured, we slew, and we won! For one simple reason! What are we?!” Malista raised her fist, displaying the tattooed sigil of the group.

““Sisters!”” Even Sylphene joined in. She was something of an honorary member of their close-knit group after fighting and bleeding at their side for so many years.

“And what do we bring?!” Malista demanded, heedless of how she bothered the other tables.

““Strife!”” The devils echoed, followed a moment too late by Sylphene.

She still had no idea how the group seemed to instinctively know which of the several dozen variations Malista called for.

“Feast well and drink even better, for tomorrow we set out to begin our journey back home! Because why linger when we stand triumphant?! Oh, and one more thing. Knifey, this is for you.” Malista tossed something her way, before tearing into her food.

Sylphene was hardly expecting a gift—or the return of her old nickname, for that matter—but she was still an elf. She caught the bauble readily.

And found herself transfixed by it.

Per her contract, she was entitled to only a single reward item from the Dungeon. And, with no small amount of dread in her heart, she had made her choice on the very first delve. The enchanted quiver was just significantly better than any item she could possibly make or afford. Not only did it conjure fully formed arrows—roughly one every four minutes, which she could speed up by supplying additional mana to the enchantments—but it could also clone enchantments from arrows she prepared and stored within a second compartment onto conjured arrows. Dungeon-made or not, it was still impossible to recreate charged gemstones or arcanite, and, admittedly, there was some efficacy loss. But the quiver was still a substantial boon to her archery, replacing multiple Skills.

To her utmost relief, she never found cause to regret her choice. …Up until their penultimate run through the Dungeon, at least. During it, the Dungeon rewarded them with an enchanted ornament made out of starsteel that could be attached to any weapon to empower spells that used the weapon as a medium. It would have helped her Spatial archery immensely, but she had already chosen the quiver. Besides, Bialldra and Drastica started a fistfight over who would get to claim it.

Sylphene had closed her heart to the invaluable bauble, yet there it was, in her hand.

“I thought—” She finally looked up, struggling past her speechlessness.

“Eh, we talked it over in secret. You saved each of us at some point, even when you didn’t have to. You put yourself at risk too. Besides, I don’t think more power will help my Skills, I’m just now getting a consistent balance as things stand.” Bialldra waved her off.

And that, somehow, was that.

Sylphene was truly grateful. But even her gratitude struggled to keep its place in her heart. It had been seventy-eight years since she parted ways with Ranthia. And, at last, their promised reunion was almost at hand. She just needed to return to the proper continent and finish the preparations for her new persona. A plausible backstory and point of origin needed to be established and she needed to get used to adjusting her mannerisms before she returned to the Tympestshard Council’s territory.

Because if anyone figured out that Sylphene and Avyna were the same person, she risked more than her own life. And she refused to be careless enough to endanger her family.

“See you tomorrow Neyvern. Maybe we’ll have better luck then.” Ranthia waved to the man, trying not to let her jealousy show on her face.

“Sleep well, Ranners!” Her hunting partner called back, running his fingers idly through Solareon’s warm, sunshine-scented fluff the entire time.

She knew he didn’t mean to rub her nose in her Bond’s absence. He didn’t even know that she’d seen a rabbit in the forest with a similarly colored coat. It was just… Well, some days were harder than others.

Especially since Reyea had stopped coming by. She was pretty certain that her latest lover had found a proper romantic relationship, but she did mildly resent the woman for never bothering to tell her. Seriously, they were both adults that had lived for over a century. It wasn’t like she was going to hold a grudge over Reyea wanting more than lust in her life!

There was some temptation to try to track Myntheria down, just so she wouldn’t have to spend the night in a cold bed, but she just wasn’t in the mood to waste time trying to find her enigmatic friend. She could manage on her own.

Ranthia climbed the steps of the tree, deep in her own thoughts, even though she honestly wasn’t really thinking of much of anything. She was just a bit moody, which was common enough after a failed hunt. But life just wasn’t the same without Clover around.

She should probably visit the Academy again. Getting out of the City of Arts for a while usually helped her clear her head.

Ranthia set her hand on her door to unlock it, only to find a pair of pale arms slipping around her waist as a certain long-absent elf rushed to embrace her from behind. Followed by her wonderfully familiar voice whispered a handful of breathy words right into Ranthia’s ear.

“Oh, how I missed you…”