~ A passage found in a now-banned book with no title that was once on a bookshelf in the Grand Library of the Tower of Enlightenment, which floats above the city of Tryndaveid, speaking on the nature of ‘Player’ entities, their realities, how they are related to Artilligent, and how the author had suggested proceeding. The author remains unknown

  “Hellooo?” Naomi asked as she looked at the bloodied individual lying outside the dungeon, the same one she’d met a week ago in the inn at night. “Are you sleeping?”

  He turns his whole body away from her after seemingly being disturbed by her voice, doing that lip-smacking thing babies and kids do while asleep.

  The rucksack he rests on doesn’t seem soft enough to be a pillow, with many protruding objects inside pushing against its exterior to make it a very uncomfortable place to lay your head on.

  He must be really exhausted to be able to ignore all that pointy stuff. I would hate to be him right now.

  She adjusts her posture by scooting along on the soft, slightly damp grass to better look at the man’s face, practically hovering over his body.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  He has a pretty handsome face. Olive skin, messy black hair, a stubbly beard. He even has a scar on the left side of his jaw that reaches up to his lower cheek.

  Cool face, homie.

  She pats the man twice on his scarred cheek playfully, doing so incredibly lightly to not wake him up, before standing up to do her warm-up stretches as he snores quietly, the ocean waves crashing and the other loitering parties drowning his voice out.

  Completing her stretches with a contented sigh, she sits back down on the grass beside him as she waits for the newbie party that hired her from the forums, picking up a fallen leaf and playing around with it by twirling it in between her fingers.

  Multiple birds on a tree on the other side of the forest begin their assortments of calls and songs, a cacophony of noise and life disturbing the man as he tosses and turns about.

  Seeing as he will wake up nonetheless, she whistles to herself an intro to an old song, lying down on the grass as well.

  The sound of whistling enters my ears — a cheerful tone — waking me from my state of rest as I shift about where I lie on the grass, blearily opening my eyes to the dark undersides of leaves with the azure blue sky interspersed in between and all throughout the branches that reach out and up into where the clouds drift by.

  The beauty of it is disturbed by another form of beauty, however.

  Many tall, dark, whip-thin wires reach out in every direction possible from every conceivable surface, some even reaching high into the sky unsupported by nothing but the very ground it had attached itself to, creating a visage that resembles the sky being shattered and cracked.

  Like the vines that grow on old walls, with their own natural beauty and growth, these cracks are a version of that, albeit unnatural. Inorganic and synthetic. Placed by something or someone rather than growing from the ground through the cycle of nature and attaching itself to the walls.

  But, similar to how vines are not just a symbol of beauty but also an indication of age and decay to the walls of homes made of stone they attach themselves to, the wires themselves are a reminder of the damage that had already been done all those many, many years ago, and is still occurring today.

  I still vividly remember when the sky was clear, untainted by the constructs of that damn meteor.

  The whistling stops.

  Oh, right.

  I look to where the whistling came from, a person lying right beside me with a leaf being twirled in between their fingers. They turn to face me, a woman’s face, looking all too familiar for some reason.

  “Hello,” the somewhat familiar elven face said, her face neutral and impassive.

  “Hello,” I responded in kind, still wondering what they were doing right beside me.

  “Do you remember me?” she asked, the leaf still spinning around in her hand as a gust of salty wind coming from the sea wafted through the air, bringing with it a cool, gentle breeze.

  I pushed against the grass with my elbows, my body rising to an upright sitting position, as I tried to think about how I managed to get myself into this current scenario.

  A moment passes as I pondered to myself.

  “Hellooo?”

  I turned back to look at her. “Sorry,” I began, “I don’t think I remember you, but you’re somewhat familiar to me.”

  “That’s okay, we didn’t talk when we met.” She turns away from where she lies to face the branches above her, adjusting her head resting on her arm as she twirled her leaf. “I’m Naomi. We met a week ago in the Ivory Swigs Inn, passed by you and the innkeeper having a chat that night—” She winces slightly, turning to look back at me as she continued, “—Sorry if I sorta intruded on something between you two, by the way. Just wanted a room, didn’t mean to disturb you guys.”

  “Oh, right. That night, I remember you now.”

  “Yeah.”

  An awkward silence passes between us, a flock of birds flying overhead and landing in the tree above us.

  “Can I ask for your name?” she asked, looking at me from where she lies as she breaks the silence.

  “Oh, it’s Arthur.”

  “Hello, Arthur. Good to meet you.”

  “Pleasure to meet you too…” I racked my mind trying to remember her name.

  “Naomi," she reminded.

  “Pleasure to meet you too, Naomi.”

  Silence passes between us yet again, before I spoke up.

  “What was that you whistled?” I asked, “Is it a song?”

  “Yeah! It’s a song by Bobby McFerrin called ‘Don’t Worry, Be Happy’, it’s a pretty popular song from ages ago.” She began to whistle the tune again.

  It was a delightful melody.

  “Is he a bard?” I asked as she whistled, “I don’t think I’ve heard of him before.”

  She stops mid-whistle. “Ohhhh, yeahhh... No, he’s not a bard—” she stops twirling her leaf and lets it drop from her hand as she sits up, wide-eyed and looking all too unfocused, her eyes darting around, her head tilted slightly to the right.

  She looks very confused before muttering quietly to herself.

  “Would he be considered a bard? Are bards equivalent to singers? What about a minstrel? Are they all the same thing? What if…”

  This goes on for a long while.

  I lie back down on my rucksack as my vision rests on the birds above us as they hop from branch to branch, listening to her talk.

  As I walked back the path to the city, I waved goodbye to Naomi, receiving one from her as well.

  Our conversation was abruptly ended by a group of three who walked up to Naomi, asking if she was their ‘carry’.

  Apparently, according to Naomi, her being a ‘carry’ means that she’ll be the one doing all the work in the dungeon essentially.

  That makes sense. I could’ve used a carry earlier, with how fucked up I am from that damned dungeon run.

  I finally step out of the dungeon’s reach of influence — its Domain — the warmth of the dungeon’s forest disappearing as the cold, sharp winds of winter multiplied by the ocean breeze buffets me through my gambeson.

  I wrap my arms around my shoulders and rub hard as I keep walking, warming myself up as my rucksack pushes into me, the shoulder straps becoming taut from the action.

  Once I’d warmed myself up enough, I drop my arms to my side and jog my way back to the Dungeoneer’s Guild.

  The bell chimes above me as I enter, a few of the people in the lines in front of the clerks turning to look at my entrance before turning back to the line in front of them.

  I quietly walk with my head down to the back of the leftmost line, waiting for my turn to hand in what I had gotten from the Giant Nightcrawler to one of the clerks.

  I sneak a glance around at the other people in the other line in front of me, watching them in the corner of my eye as their line moves forward.

  Damn, should’ve gone to that line instead.

  Sighing to myself mentally, I continue to wait for my turn in the line. A ruckus begins at the front of my line, the person at the very front of it arguing with the human clerk.

  A handful of others audibly sigh along with me.

  This is going to be a long day.