(Dylan)

  The next morning…

  Dylan woke up feeling refreshed. He’d also woken up noticeably thinner than before. Something about the flak tightened his loose skin and repaired his sore muscles overnight. He was still plump, but the developing muscles underneath shifted his appearance from chubby to husky.

  They all gathered on the deck, waiting for Runemist to show up so they could start the meeting. Most had already eaten breakfast—Dylan being the exception. W’itney leaned over and whispered something to Hay’len, who shook their head. Dylan had his suspicions about what that might be.

  Runemist finally appeared, stepping out of the bridge and closing the door behind her. That room had seen little use since the ship ran aground. Having concluded her first meeting of the day, she immediately jumped into her second.

  “The ship is ready, patched up well enough to get us home,” she said, sliding her hand along the railing as she descended the stairs toward them.

  “Now it’s time for us to hold up our end of the escape. Today, we’ll set up the distraction by prepping the nest with the explosive, and then we’ll have the rest of the day to complete our quest.”

  She locked eyes on Athrax, pre-empting his question. “And before anyone asks, no. We won’t be blowing up the infernal arc beetle… We don’t have enough time to set up an ambush, and I don’t want to leave behind any nasty surprises for the next team Nightshade might send out here.”

  Athrax crossed his metal arms and muttered, “Shame to leave that bug’s loot behind. Could be worth something…”

  Runemist ignored him and said, “Dylan.”

  His mind ran wild with the possibilities of what W’itney’s gossip had done. ‘Oh no,’ he thought, shooting worried glances toward Eury, W’itney, and Runemist. ‘She thinks I deflowered the princess.’ He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I swear,” Dylan said, glaring at W’itney. “Nothing happened last night.”

  “That’s…” Runemist looked to W’itney and Eury for a clue what he was talking about. W’itney shrugged, and Eury appeared just as confused.

  Runemist sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment. “Just… let me know if you get any of your insights today. Okay?”

  “Insights, right…” he said, then nodded.

  Runemist opened her eyes and scanned the group, making eye contact with each of them.

  “That goes for everyone else, too. Keep an eye out for anything strange. This quest has already claimed a life.”

  She paused, hardening her gaze. “And I don’t want it taking any more.”

  “Also, we’re down to one set of brothers, so we’ll all be going out as one group again. With some luck, we’ll find the objective and then, either way, we’ll only have to endure this Mother forsaken heat one last night.” Her eyes drifted up warily as if she could see the wretched humidity hanging in the air.

  One hour later…

  P’reslen ducked under a tall fern and brought the echo locator to his mouth. “Tome & Key to Ostello.”

  “Mother, you scared me,” Ostello’s voice said through the rock. “What can I do for you?”

  “We’ll be heading out tomorrow. Perhaps you’d like to join us?” P’reslen asked.

  “Will Quinten be there?” the rock asked.

  P’reslen opened his mouth to speak, but Quinten snatched the stone from his hand before he could.

  “Of course, mate. Can’t get rid of me that easily now,” Quinten said.

  “That’s a shame,” the rock said. P’reslen, Quinten, and the rock shared a chuckle. “Figured you’d still be sleeping.”

  “Nah, I got my six. Speaking of which, reckon you’re good for another day, mate? Or are ya knackered already?” Quinten teased.

  “I’ll be fine. Your concern is touching,” the rock said.

  “Listen, I don’t want to hear anything about touching while you’re alone with that big beauty of a land crustacean. I’ve seen the way you look at seafood.” Quinten placed a hand over the stone. He turned to the group and said, “It ain’t right, I tell ya.” He shook his head in mock disgust.

  “Ugh,” the rock groaned. “Why’d you have to mention food? Now I’m hungry.”

  “Didn’t they chuck you a sack of nuts?”

  “I don’t like what you’re insinuating, Quinten,” the rock said.

  “Oh, I ain’t ‘insinuating’ nothing, mate. I’m out right telling ya to—”

  Runemist snatched the stone back from Quinten before he could finish his jab.

  “Come on,” Quinten said, reaching for the echo locator again. “I ain’t seen him in days. Gets lonely out there, ya know. Just trying to cheer him up…” She smacked his hand away and shot him with a stern look.

  She brought the stone close to her muzzle and said, “You two can rib each other when we’re back on the ship.”

  “Promise?” the rock asked.

  “No. Nice try.” She held her hand out to Eury, helping her up and over a large root in their path. She repeated the gesture for the rest of the initiates before resuming her conversation. “But you can do what you like after we’re on our way back to Nightshade. Think you can teleport to the ship when we’re in the sky?”

  “Long as I’ve got line of sight, but that’d mean the arc beetle could see you too,” the rock said.

  “Don’t worry about that. We’ve found her nest. We’re on our way now to set up a distraction for her.”

  “How do you know she’s a… she?” Quinten asked.

  “Because she’s patrolling a nest with her eggs,” Runemist said.

  “Never know. They might be like gnomes with stay-at-home dads.” Quinten noticed how miserable she looked with her matted fur. “Nah, you’re probably right. She’s out there living her best boss-bitch beetle life.”

  A deep growl rose from Runemist’s throat.

  “Listen, I’ve cut back on the puns. Don’t take alliteration from me too,” Quinten said.

  She stopped, holding up the entire group. “How many times do I have to tell you not to use that word?” she asked him flatly, both hands on her hips.

  Quinten winced. “Sorry. Just a bit of careless vernacular, won’t happen again.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Her eyes narrowed on him. “You said that last time.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Quinten placed a finger on his chin, frowning. “I’ll try harder this round,” he placed a hand over his heart, “scout’s honor.”

  P’reslen came up from behind him. “But you’re not a scout…”

  “Riiight,” Quinten said with a slow nod, and tried again. “Summoner’s honor…” He frowned and shook his head. “Yeah, nah. Just doesn’t have the same ring to it.”

  Dylan leaned in toward Hay’len and asked, “What’s the bad word Quinten said that upset Runemist?” They’d always been more than happy to field his questions, and he wanted to add it to the “No” list before he got yelled at.

  “Oh, the B-word,” Hay’len said, smiling at the attention.

  “Ah,” he nodded. That made sense. Bitch was a derogatory term back on Earth, too, but he wanted to double-check, given how the translation ring sometimes worked—or didn’t. Then he realized he’d just been spelt to.

  He froze with indignation as he stared at Hay’len. “Wait.” He leaned in closer and dropped his voice to a harsh whisper, narrowing his eyes. “I thought we’re not allowed to spell?”

  Hay’len leaned back from the accusation, giving him a curious look. “I didn’t spell, I said ‘the B-word.’”

  Dylan furrowed his brows, his head askew. “How’s that any different?”

  “It’s a euphemism.” They hesitated, gauging their next question. “Don’t they have education on Dirt?”

  Dylan raised his shoulders and hands. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

  “Uh, well…” They frowned, not wanting to upset him further. “Euphemisms are a basic linguistic concept…”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know what a euphemism is. Well… I—I thought I did?” His shoulders slumped. “I went to public school…” He glanced away in defeat.

  “Here, um.” Hay’len looked at Dylan hesitantly before motioning for him to come close. “This is what it sounds like when you spell.” They leaned in, barely an inch from his ear, with breath hotter than the summer jungle air. They gently whispered in his ear.

  All he heard was an 80s metal vinyl record played backwards as a chorus of prisoners scraped their nails across a chalkboard, desperately trying to escape the horrid wailing of a banshee in heat.

  “Stop!” he shouted, quickly covering his ear with his hand. “Jesus, that sounds awful!” He’d garnered the attention of the entire group. Noticing their gazes, he raised a shaky hand to wave them off and let them know he was alright.

  Hay’len rubbed a thumb into the palm of their hand, anxious that they’d upset Dylan. “That’s why we don’t spell. Languages are often vastly different, and the translation magic tries to replicate the equivalent in your language. If there isn’t one, it goes to the closest concept… Which can sound anywhere between weird and painful. It varies.” They offered him a regretful smile.

  “But… you’re using a letter?” Dylan asked.

  Hay’len glanced up and chuckled. “All words use letters, silly.”

  That was a hard point to argue. His mouth opened and closed wordlessly before he sighed and said, “True…”

  “For example, if I said the people with the big-D, I’m referencing draconi.”

  Dylan blinked; absolutely sure the ring got it wrong this time. “Excuse me?”

  “When you hear me talk about the big-D, I’m not actually saying that. I’m saying the equivalent in my language, but it’s being translated as the big-D.” Dylan winced every time Hay’len mentioned it.

  “Please—please stop saying that.” He held up his hand. “Why doesn’t it just translate what you mean?”

  “Because you’re using a euphemism. The rings aren’t sentient enough, thank Mother, to tell the difference between a euphemism or a reference.”

  “That sounds… complicated.”

  “It is. That’s why it always defaults to what you said, instead of trying to figure out what you meant. Just say exactly what you mean. If you want to say draconi, then say draconi. If you want to use the euphemism, then go ahead and use the big-D.”

  “I’d rather not use the big-D.”

  Hay’len shrugged. “It’s okay. Things like that don’t really bother me, and I wouldn’t mind if you used it.”

  Dylan shut his eyes and took a small breath to compose himself. Communication wasn’t easy. But at least he’d learned a few things from their awkward, misguided conversation. It hadn’t been Ostello’s touch that gave him horny brain—it was merely a lens to see the truth. It’d been the damn ring all along.

  Two hours later…

  They’d arrived at the nest. Before Tome & Key could strategize how to go down, plant the explosive, and return to the surface in one breath, Quinten volunteered.

  “I’ll go,” a nasally Quinten said, pinching his nose with a smile on his face.

  “Are you sure?” Runemist asked. “We’ve all got movement abilities. It doesn’t have to be you.”

  “I’m fine with it,” P’reslen said.

  “Me too,” Athrax said.

  Runemist frowned at them both.

  “Yeah, I’ve got it,” Quinten said.

  “I’m not sure I trust one of your summons to—”

  Quinten held up a hand to cut her off. “Nah, gonna do this myself.”

  “You’re going to smell like the Pits for the rest of the day,” she said.

  “I certainly hope so, but no worries, mate. That’s what showers are for.”

  “Wait,” she said, assessing him with a squint. “Is this an Ostello thing?”

  “Yeah…” Quinten admitted with a grin that was up to no good.

  “I don’t want to know,” she said, waving her clawed hand. “You’ve already got the bomb. Get down there and position it next to the egg cluster.”

  W’itney sauntered up to Quinten and asked, “I want to know, what’s an Ostello thing?”

  “Before I got my storage ability, yeah? Ostello went and lobbed a bloody sardine in my travel trunk. Took ages to find the thing, and by then, everything reeked to the Divines. Had to get new clothes and a trunk—it just permeated everything, mate. Been hunting for how to return that favor for ages.”

  “What are you going to do to him?” W’itney asked, leaning in with keen interest, clearly no stranger to pranks.

  “I’m gonna go down there”—he pointed to the gashole—“do my job, get really smelly, and then stuff my clothes in his cabin when we get back.” Quinten pinched the fabric of his shirt with a mischievous grin. “That way, he’ll have an unforgettable memento of his kaiju lady friend.”

  “I thought you said it was a guy?” Hay’len asked, eavesdropping in on their conversation.

  “Lad or lady, I don’t think it’ll matter much. He’ll be too busy with the aroma,” Quinten chuckled.

  “Seems like a lot just to prank a friend,” Dylan said.

  Quinten walked between Runemist and P’reslen, throwing an arm around each.

  “Mate, I’d do anything for my friends,” Quinten said.

  Runemist shrugged off his hug and let out a soft growl. P’reslen looked at Quinten and nodded with an appreciative smile.

  “Besides, why should he be the only bloke who hadn’t had a good whiff of your gashole?” Quinten asked Dylan.

  Dylan raised a hand, about to point out that just because he found it didn’t make it his, but Runemist cut off their shenanigans.

  “Are you going to go?” she asked, raising an eyebrow and tapping her boot impatiently. “I’d like to spend some of the day searching for the objective.”

  “On it.” The door appeared in front of Quinten. He took a deep breath, opened it, and stepped through the portal.

  Amazingly, the stench remained on the other side of that door—until half a minute later, when Quinten stepped back through and brought it with him. “Gross.” “I’m gonna be sick.” “Disgusting.” “Ugh.” “Blegh, it’s in my mouth.” These were some of their reactions.

  Runemist shook her head, holding back a gag. “You’re walking with the initiates in the back.”

  “Good call.” Quinten nodded. “Phew! I am ripe,” he said as his eyes watered.

  “Why are you smiling?” Eury asked him, holding her nose.

  “Why not? It’s a lovely day. The sun is shining, and we’re alive. Also, I’m picturing Ostello’s face when he opens the door and cops a whiff of that stink. Reckon it’ll look like yours does right now.” Quinten’s grin grew even more.

  “Can we get away from this gashole?” Athrax asked Runemist.

  “Please,” she said between breaths, motioning for him to head out. “Lead on.”

  “Ma’am, the echo locator says the beetle is that way.” P’reslen pointed toward the unexplored field, the same direction Athrax wanted to go.

  Runemist’s frown deepened. “They’re coming around. These fields must make a full loop.” She wanted to continue covering new ground for a better chance at finding the skill book, but now they’d have to backtrack and hope they’d missed something before.

  The old soldier grumbled, forced to backtrack and cover the same area as before. Something in his eye told Dylan he wanted to challenge Runemist’s decision and go into the unexplored area. But he kept his thoughts to himself.

  The initiates struggled to keep up with the daunting pace Athrax set. Dylan was glad he’d eaten earlier; without it, keeping up would’ve been impossible. As it was, he managed—just barely.

  They took frequent but short water breaks, and Runemist glanced back at Dylan to check for any of his ‘insights.’ Thankfully, he didn’t have any and shook his head each time. She acknowledged him briefly before they resumed their forced march, searching for the skill book.

  Eight hours later…

  The day ended uneventfully; nothing gained, nothing lost.

  Still, it was a quiet trek back to the ship, save for the constant chorus of chirping insects that accompanied them. While they were all grateful to be alive, the increasing likelihood of failing the quest was a bitter compliment.

  Athrax sighed, stopping in the middle of the makeshift ramp onto the ship. He turned back toward the jungle and hung his head. “Sorry, Ma’am.”

  “I know,” Runemist said softly.

  “Feels like I’ve failed you lot,” he said.

  “It’s not your fault, Athrax,” she said, noticing the sting of defeat on everyone’s faces. Even Quinten wasn’t his usual chipper self.

  She raised her voice to get their attention and address them all. “This is no one’s fault. The quest went sideways before we even started. However, we’re not out of the jungle yet. So I’ll reserve any compliments until we are. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be the last challenge before we can head home.”

  Most of the team headed to the mess hell to eat, except for Dylan. The flak would sustain him for another couple of hours, so that wasn’t a concern. He was more worried about Echo, stuck in that cell since last night and possibly lonely. He hoped she’d appreciate some company.

  When he arrived at the brig, a deckhand stood just outside the door, guarding the ship’s only jail.