Anchor

He barely had time to process the spark in his chest—before the moment slipped away—the dungeon exhaled.

It was subtle at first: a tremor underfoot, like the sand itself sighed. Then came the prickling air, crystals rattling loose, and Nathan’s gut knew before his brain did—something was about to break.

What now?

Chirr.
Scritch-scritch.
Chirr.

The sound skittered across the glare, ricocheting off crystal spires until it came from everywhere at once.

The desert floor split—just a narrow wound—spitting up a handful of those lizard-things, each barely two feet long. Larger kin of the spindly one he’d blasted earlier, their bodies looked harder now, gleaming with plates like blue quartz fused over stone, sharp enough to catch the glare, fangs clacking in a rhythm that felt too precise, too angry.

Nathan panicked, still clutching Nyx’s stylus. “Oh shit. I didn’t mean to kick over a lizard nest!”

“And now they’re billing me for property damage,” he muttered.

Bren sprinted in, her shield slung across her back, two swords flashing. She thrust one into Nathan’s grip, and the weight snapped him straighter as she wheeled to cover him with the other. In the same motion she swung her shield down, slotting it back onto her arm. Tamsin’s knives gleamed, ready. Alia’s hand hovered over a vial on her belt. Even Sera slid forward, blade tilted but not yet swinging.

Nyx lifted one hand, sharp and commanding. “Hold.”

Nathan’s heart lurched. “You all don’t waste time, huh?”

The women froze mid-motion, steel still poised, eyes flicking to Sera.

Nyx’s grin gleamed sharp. “He needs to use more. Defend only.”

“What?!” The stylus nearly slipped from one hand, the sword wobbling in the other.

“Rookie.” Sera’s voice was steady, cutting through the tension. Her eyes locked on his. “We’ll back you up. If it’s too much, we step in. But do you want to try?”

Every instinct screamed run, hide, disappear. But if control meant even a sliver of hope—maybe finding a way home—then he had to. Nathan drew a sharp breath, forcing himself upright.

“Yeah,” he said, voice shaking. “I’ll try.”

Nyx’s slate snapped open, panes glinting with old scrawls. “He absorbed a mote. He cast once. We test how the energy depletes—and if he can shape it again.”

Nathan’s voice cracked. “Wait, what—like a time limit on my power-up?”

“Exactly,” Nyx said, her stylus already scratching. “Duration. Direction. Control.”

Bren shifted, shield lifting higher. “We’re trusting him?”

“Can we not trust me?” Nathan barked, heart pounding. “I’m freaking out a bit!”

Trust issues? Great—let’s start with me.

“Practice,” Nyx ordered, standing at his shoulder.

Tamsin called out to him, “Relax, rookie. We’ve got you. Let’s kill some fuhh-king lizards.”

Nathan barked a laugh despite himself, nerves easing. “Thanks, team.” He lifted the stylus, heart still hammering but a little steadier, a little braver.

Fake it till you make it. Just don’t die before the encore.

Chirr. Scritch-scritch. The rhythm swelled, mandibles clacking like a metronome synced to the dungeon’s pulse.

“Alright,” he muttered under his breath. “Make a sigil-looking thing. No biggie.”

He slashed a crooked shape, half a loop in the air. It wasn’t clean—rushed, jagged, as more of the crystal lizards scuttled close.

Bren’s blade cut through one and her shield slammed another aside. Alia hurled a vial that hissed against a carapace, searing it down. Tamsin’s knives flicked in quick arcs, keeping the rest from swarming in.

The glow convulsed, sparks knotting like a miswired fuse—then leapt. A crackling burst slammed the nearest lizard flat, shattering it in a spray of shards and grit.

Nathan blinked at the stylus in his hand, stunned. “Did that—actually—?”

Nyx didn’t answer. She snatched the stylus back, slate snapping wide—thin chalk-glass panes crowded with overlapping scrawls, arrows stabbing between half-legible glyphs. “Three large bursts noted—two attempts, stylus, then barehand. Surge unstable. Duration test—”

Nathan realized with a jolt the mess of lines was him—every stumble, every flinch, even the times he thought she wasn’t looking. Heat crawled up his neck. A flash to his left caught his eye, and he missed the rest of what Nyx was saying.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a lizard lunging, claws raking Alia’s leg, with two more closing in fast. Nathan had only his sword—too far.

His hand shot up on instinct. Stop.

The thought cracked through him, sharp as that first spark under his ribs.

The lizard slammed sideways as if shoved by an invisible wall, tumbling in a spray of sand and shards.

Nathan froze, staring at his hand.

Alia staggered back, brushing sand from her leg where the lizard’s claws had raked. She shot him a quick, breathless look. “Thank you.”

Tamsin whistled low, knife spinning. “Well, rookie. That’s new.”

Even Sera’s eyes flicked toward him, blade still poised but her voice edged with respect. “Impressive.”

Nyx’s grin only sharpened. “Not just impressive.” Her stylus scratched furiously. “Extremely rare—a bare-hand conduit.”

Alia’s voice dropped, quieter, almost warning. “Rare gifts like that tend to burn out fast.”

“Bare-handed?” Nathan’s voice cracked. “Meaning I don’t need the stylus?”

“Exactly!” Nyx’s eyes gleamed.

Relief jolted sharp through the panic. Actually happy I don’t have to draw anything right now.

Nathan flexed trembling fingers. The static was already thinning, fading to a faint buzz under his ribs. “Hey, Nyx—I don’t feel… as much of that mana hum in me.”

“Noted. Surge collapses faster than expected. Residual hum unclear.” Her stylus scratched another furious line. “We’ll draw another mote—compare results.”

She snapped the stylus tight in her fist, eyes glittering. “You are an untested conduit. We need more than one sample.”

Her slate tilted, panes catching the glare as she dragged her stylus down. A mote peeled reluctantly from the air, golden against the desert glare, trembling in her grip.

Nathan’s stomach dropped. “Wait—you’re just gonna plug me in again? Like a damn battery?”

“I am feeding you another mote to test duration,” Nyx said, tone clipped but gleeful.

The lizards surged again, mandibles clacking. Bren’s shield slammed two back, Tamsin’s knives carved arcs of glittering shards, Alia’s next vial hissed on stone.

Nathan raised his hand and tapped the mote, panic and instinct colliding with the hum that flickered back into him.

“Well, how do I—”
“What thought was in your head?” Nyx cut in.
“Stop! That’s all I thought—stop.”

“Barehanded thought incantation. Amazing.” Nyx’s grin widened. “We need to figure out how you can do shorter, controlled bursts.”

“Hah! And how exactly do I do that?”

“No idea. You’ll figure it out along the way, I suppose. With enough practice.”

Fantastic. So basically: think it, blast it, pray I don’t explode.

He thrust his hand toward a knot of lizards. Shoot? Nothing.

He shook out his wrist, jaw tight, and tried again—this time corralling the thought, sharper, more intentional. Shoot!

A crooked burst spat wild, shoving another lizard sideways in a crackling spray. Oh shit—that’s still too much!

Ah, whatever, it’ll do for now. He staggered, breath ragged, but still standing.

The others held the perimeter until the swarm thinned and was annihilated, shards littering the sand.

Only then did Sera lower her blade, voice cool. “Enough. We move.”

They fell back into formation, desert glare glinting off shattered husks.

Another march. Fun. Static clung to his arms, his ribs humming faintly—not power anymore, just the buzz of a battery with legs.

They walked.

Though there seemed to be a shift, a new energy among the group. Excited chatter stirred where silence had ruled before, curiosity crackling as much as the sand under their boots.

Nathan rolled his shoulders, ribs still buzzing faint. “Okay. So… if one mote feels like a shot of espresso, does two make me a triple latte?”

Nyx’s stylus didn’t pause, tapping against her slate. “Define espresso.”

Nathan blinked. “…Coffee. Bean juice.”

Alia tilted her head, tone mild and clinical. “Ah. A stimulant. That tracks.”

“Yeah. Drink. Strong. Makes your heart jitter like—”

“Alchemy draught,” Alia supplied smoothly. Her gaze lingered on him longer than usual, curious. “How strange you would compare your state to a tincture.”

Yeah, sure—triple latte, medieval edition.

The comparison seemed to spark them all. Tamsin’s grin flashed sharp, knives twirling between her fingers. “So our rookie’s a walking draught bottle. Runs on panic, spills sparks. Good to know.”

Nathan groaned. “I liked it better when you all ignored me.”

Great. My legacy here is caffeine and swearing.

But it wasn’t quite true. Even as he said it, he caught Nyx’s expression—brighter, lighter. Like cracking open his anomaly had flipped some internal switch in her, returning her to the quick, cutting version of herself he remembered from the beginning. For once, she looked less like a storm bottling itself and more like a scholar who’d just found some pieces to her puzzle.

Tamsin ghosted backward in front of him, walking heel-to-toe, knives idle in her hands. “You know, after you fainted? Nyx told us to keep quiet about her while she was observing you. Said it was a… ‘blind study,’ whatever that means.”

Nathan blinked. “Blind study?” His stomach turned. “So I wasn’t imagining it—she really was dissecting me with her eyes.”

Tamsin shrugged. “Sounded like mage talk. We figured it was just her way of keeping things calm.”

He huffed out a laugh, half bitter. “Calm for you maybe. For me it was like waking up next to a thunderhead waiting to break.”

Nyx, stylus clicking against her bracer, didn’t look up. “Voids can cancel—or collapse. But collapse is separate.”

Nathan groaned. “Still creepy when you mutter corrections to your diary.”

“Journal and historical logs,” she shot back, eyes gleaming. “Not diary.”

Sera’s voice was cool iron. “Talk less. Walk more.” Her gaze flicked back to him, curious despite herself. “Rookie. You truly aren’t mana-born?”

Nathan frowned. “Not sure what that means. Like… born with mana? Definitely not.”

Nyx hummed, sharp. “Which is why I thought you were a void. Voids are rare, and the ones studied only ever canceled motes. Nothing more.”

Nathan scratched his neck. “If voids are that rare… do they even matter?”

Nyx hesitated, but Sera answered, flat and clipped. “They matter. Because if void resonance ever spread wide… every touch of raw mana could turn violent. Every mote. Every spark. Collapse instead of cancel.”

Her eyes didn’t waver. “Collapse doesn’t end. It spreads.”

Nathan swallowed. “So—worldwide death and chaos. Awesome. Love that.”

Nyx’s stylus stilled mid-scratch. “And during a dungeon break? If motes spilled out into the wild—”

Nathan groaned. “Please stop describing apocalypses like you’re ordering lunch.”

Tamsin barked a laugh. “She’s not wrong, rookie. Just terrifying.”

Nyx pressed on, sharp: “Combined with mana-born conduits, voids could spawn uncontrolled monsters. Multiplication instead of neutralization.”

Nathan blinked. “You mean if suddenly they don’t just cancel?”

Alia’s voice was quiet, clinical. “Rare doesn’t mean harmless. It means untested.”

Nyx tapped her slate, gaze flicking toward Nathan. “Your anomaly changes the pattern. You don’t collapse, don’t cancel. You anchor. Feed. That’s closer to dungeon-born behavior—drawing on motes for a boost. But motes usually die outside dungeon boundaries. Even mana-born can’t hold them for long. You shouldn’t be able to.”

Nathan rubbed at the static still crawling his arms. “Guess I missed the memo.”

Sera’s eyes narrowed. Nyx’s stylus scratched faster, as if she could pin the anomaly down before it slipped away.

They trudged on, sand hissing underfoot. The silence stretched again, punctuated only by grit grinding in their boots and the weight of what had just been said.

Nathan let it gnaw at him until he couldn’t stand it. “So… portal-born dungeons. What’s that about?”

Nyx perked, almost too quick. “If they exist, they don’t anchor to this plane. They open elsewhere. Different rules. Different skies.”

His chest tightened. Different skies. Different rules. If one of those doors really opened somewhere else… maybe even home. It was the first scrap of hope he’d heard that didn’t make this world seem permanent. But then—what about his body? What if he was stuck in this borrowed skin forever?

Bren cut in flatly. “Ghost stories.”

“Unproven,” Nyx corrected. “Not false.”

Nathan blew out a breath. “Right. So if I’m not a void, not mana-born, and maybe dungeon-born-adjacent… congratulations, I’m a walking identity crisis.” He tried for a grin, failed halfway. “Next thing you’re gonna tell me is I qualify for royal family discounts.”

That earned him a look from Sera, but she didn’t press.

The word prince had been gnawing at him since before the Crysplings.

He cleared his throat, seizing the moment. “Speaking of royalty… you mentioned a marriage between Eryndral and Calvesset, right?”

Bren’s brow furrowed. “You’re from Eryndral. Do you not know this?”

“Uh, yeah, the marriage… and I heard about border attacks, a muster being called,” Nathan said quickly. “Rumors.”

“Not rumors.” Bren gave a curt nod. “That’s why we were summoned in the first place. Then this new dungeon was discovered, and we were ordered to investigate.”

Alia added softly, “Anything that secures the borders. A dungeon here would be risky if the border infractions escalated into full-blown war.”

Tamsin twirled her knife. “Once we clear it, we’ll rendezvous with the main push.”

Nathan tried to sound casual. “So… beat the guardian, walk out, save the world. Easy enough, right?”

Tamsin barked a laugh. “Easy? Rookie, it’s never easy.”

Bren’s shield shifted higher. “But necessary.”

Nathan swallowed. “Right.” He hesitated, then pushed anyway. “I heard the name Kieran. What do you know about him?”

The women traded glances.

Tamsin broke first. “Commander Kieran. Fifth prince. Years ago, a border push turned massacre—he and only a handful of men from his unit made it out. Lost his commander that day, too.”

Alia’s tone was reverent. “Commander Drake. We all lost a hero.”

She glanced down briefly, then went on. “Kieran never used the royal title after that. Dropped prince. Earned commander. Rose through the Guild training ranks fast. Too fast, some said. But men followed him.”

Bren’s voice stayed level, almost proud. “Still does. Relief wagons, welfare councils, defense lines. He bleeds with them. That earns more than banners.”

Nyx’s stylus stilled. “Commander Kieran is trusted. That is fact.”

Nathan forced a crooked grin. “So… teen prince turned commander, battlefield survivor, all-around people’s champion. Totally normal guy. Not intimidating at all.”

The silence pressed heavier than the heat, and Nathan suddenly wished he hadn’t asked. But the itch wouldn’t leave.

He cleared his throat. “This… main push you all keep mentioning. What’s it actually about?”

The women traded glances again, the kind that said nobody had the full picture.

Tamsin shrugged, knives flashing between her fingers. “Orders are orders. We clear this dungeon, then we join the rest.”

Alia’s voice was softer, speculative. “There are whispers, though. Of a relic. Some myth about it in an ancient dungeon, an old one that's been around forever.”

“Whispers aren’t facts,” Sera said, clipped, though her gaze flicked toward the dunes as if measuring their weight.

Bren adjusted her grip on the shield. “What we do know is numbers. More than two hundred summoned. Called. Drafted. That many means ground to cover—and enemies worth the risk.”

Nathan blinked. “Two hundred? That’s not a party. That’s a small army.”

“Exactly,” Bren said. “Commander Kieran and Commander Taron are each taking point. Different fronts, same push.”

Nyx’s stylus tapped once against her slate. “That scale suggests high-level monsters. Or an old breach reawakening.”

Tamsin’s grin cut sharp. “Or maybe just someone upstairs getting jumpy.”

Nathan swallowed, ribs buzzing faint again. Relics, commanders, armies—none of it sounded like something he wanted to meet up close. And the way the women spoke, half certain, half wary, made it clear: nobody really knew.

And of course Kieran’s name was in the middle of it all. Because why wouldn’t my personal poster boy of sultry lust—murderous intent on his end—be running the show?

Maybe I can find a way home before all that noise.

Suddenly, the sand hissed—louder than their boots.

Something rippled just beneath the surface.

A dozen slender bodies uncoiled up from the grit—centipede-long, their glassy segments glinting like broken bottles, legs needling the sand in a rattling wave. They were huge compared to the lizards, moving in eerie unison, spiraling around the group in a grinding circle.

Nathan’s stomach dropped. “Oh great. The desert comes with more accessories.”

Alia’s voice was low. “Burrowers. If they churn—”

The centipedes shrieked, a keening black, glassy wail that vibrated in Nathan’s teeth, then dove back under. The ground shuddered as their bodies tunneled fast, weaving beneath the sand.

“Form tight!” Sera barked. Bren slammed her shield into place, Tamsin’s knives flashed high, and Alia fumbled for a vial, fingers slick with grit but precise as ever.

The dune lurched. A fissure cracked open, spilling sand. One burrower speared upward right beside Alia, mandibles snapping.

Nathan didn’t think—his hand shot out. Stop!

Power ripped through him jagged, too wide. The burrower was flung aside, but so was a wall of sand with it, blasting grit into everyone’s faces. Alia stumbled back coughing, eyes wide.

“If you plan to fling sandstorms, mind the rest of us!” she choked out, but her voice shook with gratitude.

Nathan’s chest buzzed hot, fading fast. “Sorry! Still… beta testing!”

Bren yanked him upright as the dune shivered again. “Save the tricks for later, rookie—ground’s giving!”

The slope sagged like a drumhead, every grain trembling with the churn beneath. A hollow roar rose underfoot as the burrowers tunneled tighter, circling fast. Cracks spidered through the sand, edges caving. Their shrieks rattled up through the grit.

Alia shouted, panic cracking her steady tone. “They’re collapsing it!”

“Everyone back—” Bren started, but the dune heaved before she could finish.

Nyx slashed her stylus through the air, lines sparking jagged. “Down, not under!”

The sigil flared, and the collapse obeyed. Instead of caving in on their heads, the dune split and spiraled, sand shearing into a funneling chute. The tunnel roared open beneath them, smooth walls carved by magic rather than mandibles.

Behind them, grit sealed hard, cutting off the burrowers with a muffled shriek.

Nyx’s teeth flashed as she hissed, “Not sure this will hold—or where we end up!”

“Oh, hell no—” Nathan staggered as the floor tilted.

Tamsin barked a laugh even as she slid. “Trust the sand to bite back.”

Nyx clutched her slate tight against her chest, glaring at the walls rushing past.

“Definitely not OSHA compliant!” Nathan howled as the chute swallowed them whole.

The chute roared them down like a giant throat, flinging grit and limbs in every direction.

They hit hard, scattering across stone in a crash of limbs, steel, and swearing.

Nathan landed flat, Bren’s shield crushing his ribs, Tamsin’s elbow grinding his ear, Nyx’s stylus stabbing perilously close to his thigh. Sand caked his mouth.

“Fantastic,” he wheezed. “Dungeon sandslide—zero stars.”

Tamsin hacked grit from her throat, rolling off him. “That drop had claws.”

Nathan groaned under the weight still pinning him. “Next time let’s schedule the trust fall exercise somewhere with pillows.”

Sera rose in one clean motion, blade snapping up to guard. Alia was already checking her vials, calm and quick. Bren braced her shield like a wall. Nyx shook sand from her slate with a glare that promised murder if it cracked.

Then torchlight flared ahead—ragged figures in battered gear, shadows jerking across jagged stone.

Nathan froze, then shoved upright, shield lifting on instinct. His pulse slammed in his ears. New enemy. Out of the pan, into the fire.

The front man stepped close, the glow carving his face in planes of steel and shadow, blade dripping dark.

Relief hit him like a blow, raw and staggering. A week of sand and silence—and here he was. Alive. Real.

Nathan’s voice cracked before he could stop it.
“…Ronan?”