Erin sat within the fourth floor. Darkness flooded his surroundings.

  He recalled his memories. He recalled the fight that had just passed; Smoky versus an unexpected trio.

  Smoky lost, of course; had he ever won?

  Throughout the engagement, Erin paid close attention to Smoky and his core. Waiting for the right moment, watching for something to happen, desperately searching for a twinge of inspiration — Erin kept a stern leash on his focus.

  Then finally, Smoky touched the shadows; his tails slowly morphed, from solid to liquid, from liquid to gas, then from gas to… something else?

  From gas to shadow, Erin watched as Smoky’s tails phased through matter and conjoined with the darkness itself.

  How? Erin couldn’t help but wonder.

  As he watched further, it became clear. An old scientific notion he recalled from the past, an insane statement to the laymen, but somehow proved true; matter was mostly empty space.

  Between an atom's electrons and its nucleus, beside its protons and neutrons — there was nothing. The empty space was held together mostly through electromagnetic forces, and when Smoky’s tails phased through the floor?

  The electromagnetic forces shifted slightly — just enough to allow the atoms to slip past one another.

  It was remarkable. Truly a magical feat to witness, but Erin had more to learn. So he changed gears and shifted his gaze from Smoky’s tails to his core.

  There, whilst his tail’s were submerging, Erin saw magic at play.

  Smoky’s core — the beautiful bowling ball sized orb — black as night with its own solar system of miraculous golden stars — while Smoky used magic, strange patterns emerged upon his core.

  Like an electric circuit, mana from within Smoky’s core surged into the strange circuit. The circuit ignited, then glowed brilliantly. By the time Smoky’s tails were fully submerged in shadow, the circuit dimmed. It still appeared, however, and mana still coursed through it, but much less than before.

  Then, as Smoky readied another attack, another circuit sprang into existence. Mana flooded the circuit rapidly.

  The circuit erupted. The mana within momentarily spiked and then faded. Whilst above, pikes and spears of shadow erupted from the floor — the result of the second mana circuit.

  Mana circuits! Erin realized.

  Runes, but for the core!

  If runes were used to manipulate mana in the air, then their counterpart, circuits, were used to manipulate mana from within.

  Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The reason why Erin couldn’t grant his subjects magic? Erin always envisioned granting the being itself magical ability — such that their biology would respond to the magic.

  It made sense to Erin, at least.

  A fire mage would have a natural affinity to flame, his skin and flesh altered by magic — enhanced — or so Erin thought. As it turned out, magic and biology scarcely interacted at all.

  Perhaps there was more to be learned on the subject of mana veins. It was a topic briefly mentioned in the flame grimoire Erin had read not too long ago, but without access to more grimoires, Erin’s study would have to remain localized within the dungeon.

  Then, another thought occurred to Erin.

  How do humans acquire a core anyway?

  Born with it? Could the human body really produce something akin to marble? Unlikely. So then how?

  And if the core is subsequently added, then where do their mana veins come from?

  Erin shook his head.

  Questions, questions, and always more questions.

  Perhaps sometime soon he’d find a pregnant woman among the surface — not for anything weird or perverted — simply to observe the birth. Then from there, to observe the child’s growth, to find some answers for Erin’s well of many.

  Nevertheless, Erin now had newfound direction.

  Mana circuits!

  Modify the core, not the flesh! It’s so obvious!

  Erin returned to the seahorses. Although he had acquired various other aquatic critters over the past month, the seahorses quickly became his favorite.

  Not only were they smart, but Erin noticed that each of them donned their own unique personality; a far cry from the level of intelligence beholden to the bats.

  The bats were cute and useful, but by all accounts were they dumber than the rocks they blended in with. During the many raids Erin’s combatted, Erin had tried to coordinate the miniature mammals.

  Instructions like halt, move forward, and attack were accepted.

  Anything beyond simple directional communication, on the other hand — the bats fell short. They could not coordinate with one another. They could not operate in squads nor could they monitor the same area for an extended period of time.

  They were toddlers. Nay. Infants. And their attention span lasted as long as their line of sight did; which is to say that if they couldn’t see their target, then their target didn’t exist as far as they were concerned.

  Perhaps it was a mistake to grant them eyes? Erin thought.

  Nevertheless, the second floor needed a touch-up. It needed something to lead the bats, something with just a little more intelligence and a little more functional memory.

  Thus, Erin plucked a seahorse from the water.

  The vibrant yellow creature levitated amongst the air within an orb of sea water. Erin brought it close to his attention. Then, he peered through the seahorse's flesh and bone and observed its core.

  The seahorse’s core was small — ironically the size of an acorn — and instead of black, it was gray, as if filled with mist.

  The seahorse’s core was like a storm. Gray and white wisps danced within, spiraling like a tempest; then, occasionally, miniature zaps of electricity sparked against the core’s wall.

  Erin didn’t hesitate any further.

  He conjured his mana orb beside the seahorse. Then, he plucked a pure strand of mana and succinctly pushed it into the seahorse’s core.

  The mana circuits reflect a spell. Erin told himself.

  And spells seemingly require incantations.

  So what came first, the incantation or the mana circuit? Does the incantation bring forth the circuit or does the circuit merely respond to the incantation?

  Erin focused on the seahorse’s core. He imagined a circuit for a lightning bolt, then meshed the mana and the core together.

  To his disappointment, the core glowed momentarily, but no other action followed. Although a circuit was not drawn, the seahorse’s form also did not change in the slightest — a sign, hopefully, that Erin was progressing in the right direction.

  If the circuit didn’t come first, then the incantation must. This spawned another inquiry, however.

  Could I just make up an incantation? Erin thought.

  Or should I copy one of the adventurers’?

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  Erin thought of the men and women who had raided him. He flicked through his memories with astounding clarity, reliving key moments and remembering distinct faces and spells.

  There was a woman two weeks ago who wielded lightning. She died on the second floor whilst sprinting away from a tide of Batarangs. She failed to watch her step and plummeted off the edge.

  Went splat against the canyon floor.

  Erin rewound her death in his memory. He followed her through the second floor and watched her and her party engage the Bat-Apes. There, she used a few lightning aspected spells.

  Erin nabbed a strand of mana.

  He pushed it into the seahorse’s core.

  Thunderwright: Static Lock. Erin willed.

  Then, the mana strand responded in kind. Instead of fully merging with the core itself, the strand coated the core’s wall. Like a chisel, the strand of mana etched a circuit into the core before it faded entirely.

  Erin retreated from the seahorse’s core. Then, with a mental command, Erin willed the seahorse to test it.

  A bolt of electricity surged up the seahorse’s abdomen towards its jaw. The seahorse then charged its neck back and gathered the electricity. Then, a bolt of lightning no larger than a bullet erupted across the fourth floor and slammed into the ground.

  Meanwhile, Erin watched with a silly grin.

  This… This changes everything!

  ***

  The dim room reeked of smoke and tension. Shadows flickered across cracked stone walls, casted from lanterns enchanted to float amongst the arched ceiling above.

  The air was thick, not with the weight of war’s typical toll but with the bitterness of the men and women seated around a long oak table. Each wore a uniform, though the crests varied — some bore the gilded wings of the Lucent Guild, others the iron thorns of the Crafter’s Guild.

  Despite their shared cause, their expressions revealed a spectrum of displeasure: furrowed brows, clenched teeth, and restless hands tapped against the table's scorched surface.

  At the head of the table sat the Grandmaster, his presence was like a storm barely contained. A recognized calamity across the two major continents, a public appointed legend in the flesh, and the youngest Grandmaster to be named — he was a man not to be trifled with.

  His long coat of midnight blue was adorned with polished brass buttons and the insignia of a hawk clutching lightning. He leaned forward, his gloved hands gripping the edge of the table as if to restrain himself from leaping to his feet. His face was stern and his deep-set eyes burned with a fury that silenced the room more effectively than any order could.

  “So —” the Grandmaster began, his voice a low growl that cut the murmurs quiet.

  “The Oakroot Catacombs.” He spat the words like venom.

  “A dungeon reported to defy the very patterns we’ve built our understanding upon — complex, unstable, anomalous. And yet…” He slammed a gloved fist onto the table.

  “It’s been assigned C-rank?! Care to explain this farce?!”

  A gaunt man dressed in robes cleared his throat as his fingers adjusted the monocle that rested upon his nose.

  “Grandmaster, the inspection was performed by a man named Hyzen. His report detailed the dungeon’s potential strength and strongly advocated for an advanced rank placement. Given the report’s findings, it’s unclear how the dungeon was granted C-rank clearance.”

  The Grandmaster’s gaze pierced the officer. Then, he moved his gaze unto each of the men and women surrounding the oak table.

  “This reeks of politics. Of someone’s hand pressing down on the scales.” The Grandmaster’s voice was heavy.

  A sharp voice chimed in from the left side of the table.

  “If I may, Grandmaster.” The speaker was a woman with streaks of silver in her hair and uniform.

  “The Oakroot Catacombs lie on undeveloped and far-removed land. If it were assigned a higher rank, it would demand a greater allocation of resources, potentially pulling from a fund —”

  Before she could finish, however, another voice interrupted with clear notes of aggression.

  “How dare you accuse us! The Treasury is for the good of all the continents! You think the mere grade difference of a single dungeon is enough to coerce me into theft?! Know your place, mut — lest I must remind you again.”

  “Or —” another voice interjected, this one laced with sarcasm.

  “It could just be some underpaid pencil-pusher looking for a quick inspection and an early supper.”

  A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through the room, but the Grandmaster did not so much as blink.

  “Do you all hear yourselves?” He hissed.

  “This is not just about bureaucratic squabbles. The report described a responsive dungeon — not just one that mirrors its surroundings; changing pathways, new species, never-before-seen traps, and beasts that rival gold’s without even the aid of mana. A dungeon like that isn't designated C-rank unless someone wanted it overlooked.”

  The room fell silent as the weight of the Grandmaster’s accusation settled over them. Finally, the silver-haired woman broke the silence.

  “What would you have us do?”

  The Grandmaster rose to his full height which cast an imposing figure amongst the lantern light.

  “Assemble a team — no politicians, no lapdogs of the aristocracy. Soldiers. Scholars. If the Oakroot Catacombs is as unique as I suspect, we can’t afford to ignore it now. Not while the blood of our people grease the wheels of its ascension.”

  The room buzzed with murmurs as the Grandmaster strode towards the door. Before leaving, he turned back and glared at the council.

  “Sylvara will lead the inspection. I grant her Vice authority. You are all dismissed.”

  With that, he disappeared; and the council was left to stew in the storm he had unleashed.

  ***

  Lightning Thief: Pressure Bolt!

  Storm Bringer: Thunder’s Call!

  Black Thunder: Roaring Heavens!

  With precedent set, Erin tested his other theories. Sadly, Erin could not fabricate spell names. For one reason or another, the spells didn’t materialize onto the core like before.

  Erin supposed it should have been possible to get lucky; to accidentally recite a spell that existed out in the greater world, but if that truly worked — what was stopping other mages from attempting the same thing?

  Clearly, Erin was still missing something. He needed the incantation, that much had been proved true, but the incantation was not the only thing. If it were, Erin should have been able to stumble upon another spell circuit — even with how unlikely it’d be.

  Was it visualization? Erin thought.

  It could be. The spell that Erin bestowed upon the seahorse was a spell that he had seen before, but then again — if that were the case, then how were new spells created to begin with?

  It simply could not be that Erin must see the spell before he could mimic it, there must be more to it.

  But with progress made and time always ticking, Erin put a pause to further experiments. He could now copy the spells of the adventurers — that was more than enough for his current predicament.

  Speaking of current predicaments, Erin’s focus readily returned to the seahorses. Since he needed them for the second floor, they naturally couldn’t remain sea creatures.

  First, Erin removed their gills and replaced them with lungs. Then, he modified their scales. He was worried they would dry and crack above the water so he made them more reptilian; they were thicker, rougher, and self-moisturizing.

  Then, Erin serrated their teeth and reinforced their jaws. Lastly, Erin gave them wings. Four wings, to be exact, like a dragonfly. They sprouted from the seahorses’ backs and fluttered in the air faster than the human eye could follow.

  To the laymen, the seahorses appeared to be floating independently. With the new species’ origin member complete, Erin named them Airhorses and quickly proliferated a mate.

  Before leaving the two Airhorses to mingle, Erin touched upon their brain chemistry. Like the bats, Erin wanted to rework their habits towards his benefit.

  To start, Erin designated them as pack hunters traveling in packs no larger than three. Then, he integrated the notion of an alpha in their brains, a pack leader, one that would lead the various packs spread across a floor.

  Although granted serrated teeth, Erin made sure the Airhorses knew they were for scrapping after the fact, not for initial engagement. Instead, the Airhorses were instilled with a sense of mockery.

  Erin designed their brains to release serotonin and dopamine at the sight of paralyzed prey; and only when paralyzed should the Airhorses approach and devour, with one Airhorse readily re-paralyzing the victim until death took them.

  After a few more minutes, Erin finished altering the Airhorses. He sent them to the canyon floor to proliferate with strict orders to keep the alpha alive whilst impeding the invaders.

  Then, Erin snapped to the surface.

  He appeared within a grand hall. Chandeliers dangled above him and men and women passed by him in droves. Their boots scurried across the marble floor with an incessant pitter-patter and their voices all but drowned the noise of the sprawling city just beyond the Guild Hall’s gates.

  At the end of the grand chamber, along the West wall, a massive board of missions and quests stretched from one side to the other.

  Most of the quests were surprisingly mundane: picking herbs and botanicals from the surrounding landscape, delivering news between cities, even offers of apprenticeship spanned the board: one from a blacksmith, another a baker, and two from craftsmen.

  There were ads for training adventurers, ads for recruiting party members, and ads for offers of spell exchange, specifically for Lunar aspected spells.

  Erin read through the Guild’s quests for some time. At the end of it all, surprisingly, only a handful of them specifically catered towards his dungeon.

  First, there were the resource gathering quests. The Guild appeared to be interested in the manacorns, the Bat-Apes fangs and pelts, the Batarangs venom, and Smoky’s pelt, nails, and blood.

  In addition, there was another resource gathering quest that rewarded any single new discovery. Presumably this would then spawn another quest specifically targeting whatever was discovered.

  Beyond the resource gathering quests, the Guild was also prepared to pay for information; what the deeper floors looked like, where the hidden traps were, secret passageways, hidden treasures — the Guild was prepared to pay for it all.

  Then, there was one final quest that Erin struggled to categorize with the others; to deliver a kayak to the entrance of the third floor.

  He was serious!?

  Erin couldn’t help but marvel.

  There... There has to be a better way… right?