Dragonheart Core - Chapter 111: Welcomed Souls

He was back.

He was. Back.

He was back?

I continued to stare at him. Look, I know I was normally more eloquent, but the situation was beyond eloquence.

My juvenile lunar cave bear—juvenile no longer, lunar cave bear no longer, what had happened to him—had just strolled through my mountain entrance without so much as a warning, slotting back into the shadows he’d come from like he’d never left. Much changed, of course—he’d lost an eye and an ear, the injuries healed over in scabby, patchy twists of skin and fur, and he’d blossomed into a new height and strength that none of my other bears had even gotten close to. But he wasn’t like them in other ways, a base form no longer. Instead of deep brown fur, he was quicksilver, splashes of light off the edges of his fur. An intelligence in his thoughts I knew hadn’t been there before. He’d evolved.

But for all that he was still dungeonborn, that the second I’d noticed him already my mana had returned to his channels and his heart now beat alongside my core once more, I didn’t, ah.

Know what he was.

That was irritating. Unless I Named him, I wouldn’t know exactly what he had evolved into until he evolved again, which wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon. An interesting little problem that certainly hadn’t seemed like a problem when I hadn’t expanded far enough for it to be a problem.

Although he already came with a name chosen. Akkyst.

Runt of the litter, in the goblin tongue that my Otherworld mana translated for me, a demeaning and cruel name that didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but he seemed to like it. That did not, however, make me think kindly of the goblins he had come in with. Had they been the ones to name him runt? How friendly were they?

Though they were interesting, too. Ugly as all hells, with their boughed legs, snaggle-toothed faces, hair protruding from places that shouldn’t have hair. From vague memories that were soured by how disgusting goblins tasted, I could see that at least these were different from the yellowed scavengers that lived in the salt plains near the, hm, was it southern bend of the Illera Sea? Being on the leeward side of the mountain range there to limit rain and keep it choked in salt? I hadn’t been there in decades.

And, well, I never would be again, so at least I didn’t have to see the wretched little goblins that lived there.

These had deep blue skin, laced through with black like a tiger’s stripes, and they had magic—if I used the human-based system, I would guess they were wizards, not specializing in any given element or attunement. I’d seen Bylk—ugh, Bylk, even their language was hideous—summon different kinds of magic to his fingers.

Even if they called themselves the Magelords. That was confusing.

But for now, I swirled overhead as four dozen of them trickled into my first floor, curious and wary. Their clothing was soft and almost seemed woven together from mushrooms, which, fascinating, and their horizontally-protruding ears were heavy with bits of bones and jewels. I’d already promised that they could stay, so I would be allowing that, and I sang a siren’s call to keep creatures from actively attacking them as they entered.

Although already the rats were looking at their jewels with interest bordering on desperation. Their little societies had mined their way throughout the entirety of the first floor, creating gleaming hoards, and they were still starving for more. The goblins would have to move on quickly.

Move on where.

See, when I had only been dealing with mushrooms and cave algae, this hadn’t been a problem.

But this looked like it would be the call I needed to push forward—because while I was only familiar with the yellowed salt plain goblins, I knew the generalities of what they needed, which was similar to the kobolds insofar as dens, fresh water, and room to expand. And considering these were mountain goblins, probably not in the Stone Labyrinth or Hungering Reefs, which meant the Skylands would be the best place for them, which meant it was finally, finally time to complete it.

And now I hadn’t been failing to properly manage my floors, but instead strategically delaying until I could realize the final part of the puzzle. Clever was I.

But if I were to be welcoming them, then I would need to welcome them fully—and I had just the thing for that.

Bylk looked up, black eyes gleaming in the dark. He was the strongest magic wielder here, I could sense, although that probably had to do with the age that clung tightly to his skin rather than anything too particularly exotic. So he sensed when I slipped into his mind, pushing through in the awkward manner I did when dealing with an outside creature.

Though I couldn’t peer into his thoughts like dungeonborn creatures, I could sense diligence and organization; older than I thought, then. A creature weathered by time and experienced. Even with his appearance, his joining would be a boon.

Become here, I said, mana echoing through the words. Of mana mine. Akkyst is. Join.

Ugh. Even more disjointed than the human tongue; this was a rotten little language that I did not enjoy speaking.

Bylk wavered. Which was annoying but understandable, in the irritating way that I didn’t necessarily want to understand these squabbling little goblins—but for all magic uses, their mana was a very important thing that they wanted to protect. Replacing it was a scary topic.

But I had a title given by the gods that said I was good at this, so he should really be happy I was offering at all. And either way, look at Akkyst—he was made of my mana and doing just fine.

“Not a trap, is it?” He asked finally, gravely voice echoing in the sprawling first floor. “I won’t be leadin’ my people into a slaughter.”

His people? That was cute. He thought he was the chieftain. Not in my dungeon—that right belonged to Akkyst, now, because he was certainly the only one I thought was important enough out of this group. A bear leading the goblins.

But I would allow him an answer. Because while it would be nice to confirm it, I thought I already knew—I wouldn’t get a schema from their deaths. Too sapient for that, and the gods would set their grubby little fingers all over my potential to collect goblins. No, even if they died, I wouldn’t be receiving anything other than mana—and they were so starved that the only mana I would get would be my own. I gained more from their life than their death.

I kill not what is mine, I said, using all bright and twisting mana that I knew sounded massively powerful when it echoed through a mortal’s mind.

Bylk didn’t look that enthused, for some reason. His gaze flicked to Akkyst.

But they were just four dozen, in the depths of a mountain range that was decidedly unforgiving. Akkyst was, for some reason, loyal to the goblins and would likely follow them out if they decided to leave, but even one admittedly powerful bear would not save them in the madness of these mountains. So.

I perched overhead like a particularly smug cat as Bylk nodded. Fantastic.

He apparently spoke for all of those in the Magelords—a truly tacky name, but I supposed I would use it—and they all stepped forward, the young grouped in the center. I felt the golden letters written over my core surge to life, something bright and bold and filled with power—the Welcomer was I, and they would be welcomed.

Curls of mana poured through the mix, emptying my stores almost instantly; they snaked their way into each person, and while I still had to be precise, now there was the guiding hand of both experience and a proper title, and it was easy to tug the mana to form the swirls and spirals of their natural mana channels. The goblins stiffened, excess crackling around their hands and a buzz to the air, some of the children welling up with tears.

But it was fastest and simpler and with a snap, I forced out their natural mana and filled it with mine.

Light exploded through my first floor, wind kicked up and smaller creatures fleeing from the blast of mana. And I felt, with the echo of four dozen thoughts, all of them connect to myself and my core and my dungeon—becoming mine.

Becoming dungeonborn.

Bylk staggered back, eyes wide; the jewels on his ears redoubled in glow as the mana flowing through him was suddenly his, rather than stolen from me, and worked all the smoother as a result—the younger Magelords without an iron grasp on their powers yelped as lightning crackled around their fingers or air gained a biting cold.

And that was just what they could do accidentally.

Bylk coughed, a wet sound, and blinked at his surroundings; I could see mana crawling over his eyes, some form of vision enhancement, and he shut it off with a wince. “Damn,” he muttered, probably not expecting me to hear it. “No kiddin’ Akkyst’s as strong as he is.”

I preened.

The other Magelrods eventually got a hold on the new influx of mana, staring at their hands with wide eyes, and it was almost enough for me to forgive their appearance. Akkyst offered rumbled encouragement and gentle instruction, and from the way they interacted, I was starting to think it hadn’t been them that gave him his name. I wouldn’t know the full story unless I asked, since I wanted it from his mouth rather than his thoughts, but there was a true companionship there. Something more than just strangers encountering each other in the mountain caverns.

Akkyst had brought them to me. That had to mean something.

And, well.

For all goblins were the majority, they weren’t the only.

Perched on Akkyst’s back, there stood a marvelous creature—a bladehawk, gleaned from Akkyst’s memories—resplendent with iron-red feathers and serrated beak. It—he—had his golden talons gripped in Akkyst’s fur with a familiarity that spoke to how long they had been doing this, because he had wings—a flying creature trapped in these mountains. No wonder he hadn’t been able to fly and had to rely on Akkyst to move him.

Oh, I couldn’t wait until he saw the Skylands. For all I had the greater pigeons, baterwauls, and swarming wasps, I wanted a true predator of the skies, and by the gleam in his black eyes, he would deliver.

And he wasn’t the only predator.

Because by Akkyst’s side stood something truly wonderful.

The stalking jaguar.

She had all the elegance of a dragon, the lithe muscles and clever eyes, and all the colour I so loved. Once she saw my lower floors, she would find the water necessary to get rid of that dust choking her form, and already I could see the potential in her emerald fur. On the tip of her tail were iridescent blue feathers, low and sweeping, paired with the black rosettes racing over her sides. Her golden eyes were large and clever, pointed ears swept back, ivory fangs bared with a rumble in her throat.

I had, perhaps, never wanted a creature more.

Them, I asked, peering back into Akkyst’s mind. No use trying to scream into their mind when I could just ask Akkyst—I doubted either of them would have a sapient language to make communicating complicated processes easier. Will they join?

The bear blinked—winked, maybe, he was down an eye—and shifted his weight, peering at the jaguar. She churred back, tail swishing over the ground. Gods, just imagine her in the Jungle Labyrinth, stalking through the darkness, silent and endless. The bladehawk clacked his beak together, crest flaring.

Akkyst hesitated. I poked into his thoughts—oh, he wanted freedom for them. I wouldn’t dig deeper but I saw memories of horrid caverns, bars across the door, ribs poking through fur and the dry, shallow pants of a dying creature. They had come together from some dark and savage place, and he wanted them to have freedom.

My dungeon was a kind of freedom, but I wasn’t positive he would see it as that.

You left, I said, as comfortingly as I could. Mine but you left; they are the same. Only good.

I didn’t necessarily want them to leave, but dungeonborn creatures could go off and live like normal beings; the advantage was only for when they were within my halls.

Akkyst churred something in a kind of concerning copy of the jaguar’s vocalizations, rumbling to the bladehawk; I couldn’t understand their language nor focus on their thoughts, so all I could do was wait impatiently and push a few thoughts of how lovely and glorious all my floors were for Akkyst to tell them.

And eventually, the bladehawk was first; Akkyst parroted my lavished praise of the Skylands and he squawked, bobbing his head. I sank my mana into him like a downpour of rain, snaking through his channels and the glimmer of power on the edges of his wings. I took a moment to admire the system—something about launching feathers, fascinating—before I replaced it with my own.

The bladehawk squawked, startled, and I could hear it echoed in his thoughts; he had a gruff, irritated internal process, something that matched the slouch of his wings and bite of his voice, but there was a gentleness beneath. Even now, he was thinking of the Magelord children.

In comparison, the stalking jaguar was more hesitant, still glaring out at the surrounding darkness like she could see me. I followed the conversation as best I could from Akkysts side and listened to him repeat that becoming dungeonborn was not like being trapped here, not like the before when they had been trapped.

But eventually, through much convincing that Akkyst was dungeonborn and he had left, she agreed. I took my time with her, focusing on not startling her like the bladehawk; a slow, insidious process that I was becoming quite skilled at, adding a gleam of mana over her eyes and the tips of her claws for some skill I couldn’t figure out, and then replaced it.

She still snapped at the air with a wary hiss, but it was as good as I could do it.

Her thoughts were defined and clever, matching her abilities, and she noticed things that I frankly didn’t think her eyes could see, from correctly piercing out the creeping vine that wasn’t stone and the reflection of the rock pond in the far back. She called herself one of the old hunters, which was equally interesting, and I could already tell how powerful she would be here.

Oh, how powerful they would all be.

My core echoed with the dozens of new souls that had joined me, and the potential simmered right beneath the surface; a new apex predator for the Skylands and Jungle Labyrinth; new mages for the mage ratkin to learn from; an immensely powerful bear with an intelligence few of my creatures matched.

Considering I knew Calarata’s Adventuring Guild would be opening soon, any strength would be appreciated.

But this strength wouldn’t be remaining here, not on this floor that already had Nuvja looking in despite my many repeated consolations that this was literally the only room I had to welcome new creatures, no they wouldn’t be messing up her floor, give me a second—so I turned to the side, moving in an obvious lurch of mana to get everyone’s attention.

And with that, I carved through the limestone, careful to avoid any burrowing rat dens, and swept an inviting point of mana inside.

Akkyst hesitated, the light off his silver fur redoubling—what did that mean—before striding forward, leading the charge. What a little leader. I couldn’t wait to hear what had happened outside of my halls.

And where Akkyst went, the rest followed. The jaguar slipped in after him, her thoughts curious, the bladehawk hunching over even though I’d made the tunnel tall enough. Bylk took up the back, the children tucked in the middle, and into the darkness they went.

I used a point of awareness to glare at the stone-backed toad who was thinking of taking the easy way down instead of fighting his way through the Drowned Forest before closing up the tunnel behind them.

Down, down, down I led them, boring through the stone and regrowing it in their wake—it seemed this was all I did anymore. Ferry creatures around my floors. I really, really needed to find a solution for this—until after what felt like hours, I prodded through the tunnel to the Skylands, smoothing out the slope with a last point.

And then I let them behold the Skylands.

Enormous compared to anything they’d ever seen before, the ceiling high and jagged, the islands sprawling, the walls layered in rust-red veins of iron. Quartz-light made everything glow and the wind kicked up on their entrance, dozens of swooping greater pigeons and the shriek of baterwauls; scorch hounds running over the top with mottled scorpions slinking beneath the cover. Actually, also the dull red of the kobold still on his mission to tame the scorch hound, treating a scratch over his lower scales from his last attempt.

But beauty beyond beauties, and it was now theirs to live in.

The bladehawk in particular stared over the freedom, eyes wide; hardly a second passed before he threw himself off of Akkyst’s back, taking to the sky with a screech of triumph. His iron-red feathers stood stark against the limestone, greater pigeons fleeing from his path as he truly stretched his wings for likely the first time in forever.

A floor below, there was a flash of red as the parrot darted through the Hungering Reef, a piece of funnel gourd clasped in her talons; I loved watching her, all her elegance in the air and brilliance of her colour, but it wasn’t the same. I wanted an aerial predator.

And as the bladehawk shrieked, a powerful, echoing sound, I knew I had one.

The stalking jaguar looked around, tail swishing and ears flicking forward. Equally intrigued, but this wasn’t her territory, not the one that Akkyst had spoken to her of. I dipped into her mind, a gentle presence, and guided her gaze the other way up the tunnel I’d bored them into.

She looked that way, whiskers twitching. Then turned to Akkyst, churred a promise that she would be coming back—and likely bringing food with her, it looked like she was the main hunter of this group—but she needed to explore. Fascinating.

Loyal to Akkyst, but still a more individual soul.

Akkyst rumbled an agreement, a promise to find a den for her here if she wanted it, and then she disappeared up the tunnel. I sent a few points of awareness after her, since she was entering Veresai’s territory and there could be problems from that.

But for now, my focus was on everyone else.

Akkyst stood forward, ivory fangs exposed as his mouth fell open; the goblins were similarly awed, eyes wide, thoughts full of wonder. As they should. This was a paradise the likes of which they’d never seen and would never see unless they went to another floor of mine.

I dipped into Bylk’s head, as the one who had previously been the leader. Already the analysis was taking over, thoughts spiraling around as he sought to see where his people would fit into this land.

“This could be it,” Bylk said, awestruck, all his previous bravado stripped away in face of this. “Dens, grow fields, research—this can be our home.”

He imagined digging into the cliff face, building dens in the protection, and then using grey-tinged mana to create stone bridges all the way around. Living beneath the islands, out of visibility of those entering, able to throw things off the side of the islands and landing in their gathering fields. Cutting beneath the darkness to grow mushrooms, to gather supplies; a housing chamber for an old, cracked piece of stone that he felt an odd mixture of love and weariness when he thought about it.

But nearly all of his thoughts revolved around using stone-attuned mana to alter the stone, to guide it like water until it obeyed them.

They were going to. Hm.

They would be modifying my dungeon. My dungeon.

See, this was why I preferred sapient species that had their origins in my creation rather than just wandering in.. My kobolds wouldn’t even consider changing anything I had shaped.

I no longer felt worried about emptying my mana in order to convert them to being dungeonborn. They could build their own homes and I wouldn’t be helping. I scattered several points of awareness and left them to it.

Still on the peak of the first island stood Akkyst, staring out over his new home, thoughts shining with wonder. Though the Skylands were bright, the glow off his silver fur seemed… different, in a way, still visible even though it should have been overpowered. His thoughts raced with how to live here, what boons it would bring, the peace his friends could finally have.

I considered him.

He’d brought me these creatures, and he’d come home. Newly strong and empowered, and I already knew he would grow all the stronger. He was a powerhouse the likes of which I’d never seen before, not in my own halls.

The last time I had seen him, he had fled from my halls from the first injury of his life. This was not the same bear who had run.

He had a name, but there was a part of me, the part of me that had felt such an aching, desperate relief upon seeing him I’d almost felt mortal again, that wanted to give him a Name.

…and it would let me figure out what he had evolved into.

So I moved forward, surrounding him in a soothing cloud of mana. Peering back at my core, I still had plenty of regeneration to spare for this, and I already knew that whatever blessing he would receive would be incredible.

But then I paused.

I’d, well. I’d never really done this before—it was such an honour to even have me pay attention to them, so there had never even been the thought that they wouldn’t accept it. Why would they? It was more power, more prestige, more potential.

And still.

I was becoming disgustingly soft.

So I slipped my way back into Akkyst’s mind, twining around his thoughts even as he helped guide his little tribe of goblins. Something I want to give, I said, still in that irritating half-talk of learning this new language. Accept?

He rumbled a curious note.

I filled his mind with endless thoughts of the powers of Names, of Otherworld mana, of blessings and strength and glorious, wonderful potential. I’d never had to encourage someone to be Named and I languished in it now, a brilliant and glorious thing.

Akkyst paused, his one eye narrowing. Not an angry narrow, but a more contemplative one; I could feel his thoughts running around, deciding and puzzling and wondering. He’d truly come so far since his juvenile days, when he’d thought only whether it was worth the effort to stand up to eat whitecap mushrooms or if he should wait until he was hungrier. When he was young, bawling from the first pain he’d ever felt. He was that no longer.

“What happens?” He asked, once I suitably impressed on him how powerful a Name made him.

That gave me pause—I dredged back through my old memories, from Seros back when I had broken my dungeon to defend from a single invader, from Nicau when he had made a deal for his life, from Veresai when she had awoken from her evolutionary light. Sleep, I said. For a time. Then awake strong.

The response was immediate. “Not now.”

What.

Maybe he didn’t understand. I pushed more thoughts of Seros’ hydrokinesis, Nicau’s language, Veresai’s sight.

Akkyst shook his head.

This little upstart.

See. This was why they shouldn’t leave my dungeon. He’d forgotten what power I could bestow.

“Not forever,” he rumbled, perhaps correctly sensing my mood. “When we are settled. Then.”

Well.

I sunk a few points of mana into him, little more than a rejuvenating warmth through his system; a pointed reminder of my power and what he was rejecting. But I could read his thoughts. He was a stubborn thing, and the evolution had seemingly only made him even moreso. No, he wouldn’t let himself be put out of commission until he was sure that all of his Magelords were safe.

I could respect that. Another foil to Veresai’s brand of loyalty, in a similar vein to Chieftess; he protected his own instead of leaving only the strongest to survive.

So. I could respect it.

I just also hated it.

The blessing he got from this had better be the most powerful thing I’d ever seen, or I would have to seriously start considering whether this all was worth it.

Later, I said, untangling my connection from his mind. Akkyst rumbled a wordless agreement with a tinge of subservience—a step in the right direction—and turned back to Bylk, ready to coordinate where they would be building. Only on the walls, beneath the islands, across the ground—as well as how to handle building bridges that could support both lightweight goblins and an enormous bear—and where to cultivate mushrooms.

I would, of course, be watching overhead with all focus. They wouldn’t be doing anything I explicitly disapproved of, and if they pleased me, I could be persuaded to smooth over their designs, add freshwater springs or start mushroom crops. Maybe. It would depend.

And then, once they had settled, I would be gaining my fourth Named creature.