Rapidly rising from a Delve depth of five hundred marches is, by most accounts from Mages, a dumb idea. The first two hundred aren’t so bad, but rising from anywhere deeper causes pockets of compressed magic to expand inside the soul and body, tearing at the fringes of the in uncomfortably real and abstract ways. But I’ve had plenty of time to adapt, plenty of time for my body and magic to change, and nowadays a rapid ascent from five hundred marches just makes my scales itch.

  And with how mediocre the Delve has been? I’d say it’s worth a quick exit. Sure, I had some moderately interesting fights, but all the layers had been quite normal and short— maybe a hundred marches each.

  Starting at a depth of five hundred and thirty according to my depth gauge, the first portal takes me all the way up to four hundred marches. My scales tingle, creeping across my body, but that’s to be expected.

  On to the next, then. With that inky, tarlike magic flowing through my body, I rip through the seams and reach up to the next layer.

  In the split second between ripping open a portal and a snake sending me crashing to the ground, I get to revel in the realization: . And a moment later, tumbling across the bleached-tan landscape:

  I didn’t exactly expect my time in Craumont to look like this— Delving so often, that is. I'm not complaining about getting to Delve so often.

  It’s not like there are new, open Delves in Craumont. There aren't any open Delves either; Craumont doesn’t quite have the resources to maintain an open one for harvesting or what-have-you. So I'm fighting a giant snake in a Delve I reopened, pulled at the seams with my own magic until its shoddy stitching tore.

  Winston and the guard were both rather uncomfortable with the idea at first, but it's all to slow down the damage the Delves are doing to the wards. If I seal up the gaps between Delve layers, it reinforces the seal and helps the Delve wound heal faster, like stitches in a deep gash. It's a rather simple process, assuming I discount giant monsters.

  may actually be understating how big this damn thing is. Salt-and-sand jaws open and shut on empty air, its maw large enough to swallow me whole. Eyes of molten stone regard me with unpleasantly intelligent malice— no doubt, it's coming to the same realization about my edibility.

  My ribs scream in protest as I pull myself up, the lancing pains escaping through my teeth as a sharp hiss. Perhaps I look the part of wounded prey, but I've fought worse with less.

  Keeping my eyes trained on the monster, I carefully stow the Delve Heart in a bag at my waist. Sure, the Heart offers power in spades, but the sludgy, oozing feeling of its magic on my body is distracting.

  And I definitely don't need it. I'm geared up, I've got magic to spare, and the pain in my chest is already fading. My tail whips across the seabed of the Delve eagerly, cutting through the sun-baked salt to reveal the volcanic stone beneath. Wind weaves gleefully around me. Lightning stirs in my soul.

  In the quiet, I can hear the distant crackling and bubbling of magma as it carves rivers through the seabed.

  The serpent's head rises slowly, burning eyes fixed on me as it lets out a low, agonizing hiss. Sand against glass, scraping my ears and clawing at my bones; all the while, its body spools out of the portal, coiling into a fortress of monstrous desert. The shadow of its massive body looms over me, cutting the sunless skies in half.

  My lips curl back, and I answer the monster's challenge with a long, low growl. I pull on the Wind, driving it through my body and sending bone-dry sand into the air with my tail.

  But still, nothing moves. Nothing , like the breath between lightning and thunder.

  Flicking my eyes downward, I take in what I can about my opponent.

  Cracked salt coats its sandy body like scales, gleaming white in the sunless daylight. I can see hints of obsidian fangs between its jaws; maybe a volcanic glass skeleton, then. Brittle, but dangerously sharp. No doubt heavier than I could survive, if its full weight bears down on me.

  It’s probably like the sand lizards that I’ve fought on this layer, albeit far more durable if it can slip through portals. Lightning would melt and solidify the sand. Wind should expose the skeleton, and if it's as sharp as real volcanic glass can get, I’ll need my scales for extra protection... and for my body, I'll rely on my leather and steel cuirass.

  The monster twitches, and I cut off my analysis with a widening toothy grin. I flex my fingers, coating them in scales before curling them into fists.

  I’m going to enjoy this.

  That twitch becomes a sandy streak, and I leap to the side. A heartbeat later, I hear a massive, earth-cracking , followed shortly by the ground rumbling beneath me. A plume of sand and salt rises into the air.

  My tail sticks out, swinging against the motion and letting me pivot in place— I'll need to close the gap before it recovers. Before the air can clear, I'm already bolting towards the snake's body, shattered stone clattering against my cuirass. One step, two steps, a twist, and I ram a scale-armored punch directly into its side.

  Sand blasts upward, forced through the gaps in shattering salt-scales as I drive my punch home. False, monstrous flesh is stripped away, and my scaled fist cracks against the dark, glassy edge of a rib. Slit orange eyes stare back at me, sharp and predatory even in my reflection.

  The abrupt stop sends a shudder up my arm, jerking painfully at my shoulder. Hissing with irritation, I pull my arm back and jab upwards with the other... Let's see how hard it is to break these damned things.

  Another, smaller plume of sand follows, and my jab into the rib. Something gives, just barely, just enough to confirm I break it. No time to process, though, with my instincts alight and movement in the corner of my eye.

  The monster's body, twisting and writhing, its tail whipping around to crush me, wind howling from the sheer speed of the move—

  The Wind answers my call eagerly, and I leap into the air with a snarl. My legs tingle under the sudden strain, but it’s easily ignored.

  I scan the landscape with sharpened vision, scanning for weaker prey that might make this situation more challenging.

  And at the apex of my jump, with Wind swirling around me, I look back. The serpent has turned around, crossing its head over its body and covering up the exposed rib. The ground around where its tail struck is cracked, exposing layers of blackened stone beneath.

  I can't help but wince. Adamantine protect me, that would've broken more than a few bones. Focusing downward, I pour Wind into my arms and thicken the air around me, bleeding off speed and letting me pivot midair to keep my eyes on the monster. Its body slithers beneath its head, curling and coiling back around, waiting to strike with fangs bared and eyes full of fury.

  As I near the ground, legs braced for impact, the serpent's head .

  My tail lashes through the air, catching Wind like a sail and spinning me to the side. The serpent's jaws slam shut on empty space, hard and fast enough that I can feel the of air on my face.

  I land a moment later, boots skidding slightly, and push off towards the monster. I reel back my fist for a punch, pouring on just a bit more Wind—

  A ripple like a rope pulled taut, the serpent's head snaps back, and my Wind carves a gouge in the barren sands of the Delve. The whip-crack of split air comes a heartbeat later, and I'm already on the move.

  I flex my claws as I hook around the side of the still-coiling snake, and a growl bubbles up from deep in my throat. I've not taken any hits yet, and I plan to keep it that way. The glass skeleton took two hits from my fists to break before, so I need a wide opening and a bigger hit, getting hit back...

  Lightning crackles beneath my boots, leaving fulgurite glass in my wake. Raw magic thrums beneath my skin, and Wind swirls eagerly between my claws.

  I skid to a stop, blood roaring in my ears, heart thumping in rhythm with the rumbling in my chest. The snake is still coiling itself up, forming a fortress of shifting sand from which it can strike with impunity, and it’s kept me in sight this whole time. I can see it slowly rearing back to strike, come on, go for it, you dumb... lizard? Reptile? I crush the thought before it can ruin my focus, resolving to research it later.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The serpent's got a range it can strike to. I step inside of it, knees bending, scales creeping further up my arms. Our eyes lock, Drake on serpent, its glassy tongue flicking out between obsidian fangs.

  One heartbeat, it's there, the next, it's not. The serpent lunges towards me, launching as if off a spring; I'm sprinting at an angle, Wind lengthening my stride, raw magic sharpening my senses to a razor's edge.

  The thrill of battle roars in my ears. Sand and salt graze my armored left shoulder, dragging me back a step with enough force to make my bones creak. I let out a low hiss, gritting my teeth against the pain.

  This shall learn its place. I push through and forward in the brief opening, fulgurite glass cracking underfoot as I sprint towards the serpent's coiled body.

  A third heartbeat. With the wind blasting my hair back, dragged along by the serpent's passing, I plant a boot firmly on the Adamantine-damned thing's outermost coil. Sand and salt crackle, fusing in a burst of violet light, and I push off. Another step, another foothold, another leap up a coil. Then another, now two feet on the third and highest coil.

  My knees bend, then straighten, and I'm in the air once more. I call upon my Wind, and with a fan of my tail, I spin to face the serpent. The grin on my face tugs at my lips, peeling back into countless sharpened teeth. I flick my tail one more time, pushing me forward and down, boots still flooded with Lightning—

  The serpent reels its head back, directly into my dive. The back of its skull slams into my boots with a thunderous Pale and salty scales splatter, turning glassy and molten in the flickering violet Lightning that arcs around my legs.

  The serpent shudders, jerking to one side, and I tumble off into the sand. I'm breathing fast as I come up, arms up and ready for a strike...

  That never comes. A cracked skull of black glass into the ground beside me, and the headless coils aren't far behind. They hit with more of a , filling the air with sand.

  And my mouth, for that matter.

  “Pfeh. Bleh,” I say intelligently, waving off the sand with one hand. It's hard to get sand off my tongue while I'm still breathing heavily. Each shuddering breath brings more in, and my tail scores another irritated groove in the ground. “Hate sand monsters. So much.”

  Sighing, I dust myself off as best I can. “Well, on the good side, I haven't lost my touch, have I? Ack, more sand.”

  The skull glares smugly, and I growl back. I'll be taking one of those fangs as a trophy, climbing out of this Adamantine-damned saltpit of a Delve, and going home to take a bath, thank you very much. Doesn't help that the gaps between layers around Craumont feel exceptionally slimy for whatever reason, like plunging through a snail’s mucus. Eurgh.

  I rise through the golden mist like a bubble in a lake, and burst upon the surface into fresh, air. One foot through, then the other; my tail thumps onto the grass a moment later. The fang I'd torn out drops next, bumping against my boots.

  I can feel my soul and magic expanding, stretching and aching from the usual sores of Delve pressure. Two years ago, this exact style of rapid ascent had left me bedridden for a week. I also didn't have a tail at the time, which in hindsight was awful.

  Now, though, it just feels like cooling down after a good workout. Closing my eyes, I stretch out my arms, luxuriating in the wonderful sensation of grass as my tail slides through it... and the bath when I get back to the Manor? That'll be incredible. There's sand between my scales and deep enough in my hair that I'm halfway to being a desert.

  “Oh, she's—”

  “Shut it, Thaden.”

  Two people whispering, not too far away from the sound of it.

  Nope, not my problem, I don't care. I keep my eyes closed, dragging my tail pointedly and loudly across the ground. I take in a deep breath, drink in the crisp air, soak in the endless, muffled clamor of Craumont...

  And there, around me, a swirling breeze and a rustle of leaves. Two annoyances whose boots I can as they shuffle.

  Someone clears their throat. Sounds like the ‘Shut it, Thaden’ person.

  Turning around, I pull the Delve Heart out of my belt-satchel, open my eyes, and start stitching the Delve Portal closed. The sludgy feeling of Delve magic barely registers, even as it coats my arms in scales.

  “Ah... Dame Crawford?”

  Now it's the first one, Thaden.

  Gods, the sand. I don't know how it got between my breasts and my brassiere, but it's there and I hate it. Combined with the heat of leather and steel... I'm not looking forward to the smell when I peel this stuff off.

  “Don’t provoke her,” the other person mutters, “Let’s not get our heads bit off.”

  I turn my head just slightly, just enough to see the two people— two — and that’s all it takes to remind me where I am.

  In a park, near the Church.

  Gods damn it all.

  They're certainly not here to talk about the weather, and the sooner they're gone, the sooner I can get out of here. My tail whips along the ground, tip dragging through the dirt to vent my frustration... A little bit of growling helps, too. I can hear the sound of shoes scuffling, moving further away. Small pleasures, and all that.

  “How do you think she got that way?” A low whisper, but to my keen senses, it’s all too audible.

  “I can hear everything you’re saying, by the way,” I growl, my voice low and rumbling. “Get on with whatever you want to say, it’ll save us all some time.”

  The choking and sputtering is delicious. The distant shouting, creeping into my hearing, is .

  “Oh! I’m sorry, m-ma’am. Your ladyship,” one clears their throat, “I. Ah.”

  I sigh, thumping my tail against the ground to punctuate. “Get with it. I’m not going to, what was it, bite your head off? I can’t even open my mouth enough to try.”

  More mumbling, all of it beneath my concern. Some shuffling feet, and I can hear four more pairs of footsteps coming into the park. Lovely.

  “T-the Church wants you to—”

  “YOU!”

  Oh, now there’s a voice I wish I didn’t recognize, attached to a seventh set of footsteps. Rather than turn to face them, I turn my focus back towards the Delve. The seams need some touching up before I can properly stitch it closed, especially around the bottom left... how did it even like that? Did my tail clip it? No, that doesn’t make sense for the shape, and I’m not pulling on enough Delve magic to make a dent in the World.

  “Me,” I say through clenched teeth. “What do you want, Alain?”

  A grunt, more shuffling, and I swing my tail to keep the space around me clear. “Of course you’re here. You'd better have had nothing to do with this, Crawford."

  His fury is fiery and spiteful, stoked with each heavy breath. The sound scrapes against my ears, and I bite out a low growl. I could add more to his fury, add another phoenix feather to the engine compartment.

  “You’ll have to tell me what I’m not doing, first,” I drawl, dragging my words out. “But I suppose I can keep not doing whatever it is.”

  Deep breaths from behind me. He steps closer, I slap my tail into his boot, he steps back.

  “,” Alain grates out, hissing like a snake, “has stolen something from the rectory vault. Moments ago, even. And you’re here opening holes in the World.”

  “Delves don’t work like that.” I roll my eyes before I can even process the rest of his words. And when those words sink in, I grimace. A theft? Ugh. Someone’s snuck into their building and stolen a trinket, so now they’re running about like bees in a startled hive. “I can’t just take a jaunt inside your little vault.”

  “It was a box, Dame Crawford,” he says instantly, and my stomach tightens. “A box I believe was previously owned by your father. I’ve already contacted the constables, and they’re rounding up... ah, potential suspects.”

  , I mouth, turning the thought over in my head. Something my father owned, something taken from me, and now taken from the Church. The constables are here, no doubt directed by a detective or two, and the implication in Alain’s voice is plain.

  I’m a suspect, obviously. I’m going to be ‘rounded up’. Or I could say no, as Dame, and then everyone will assume I did it.

  My first, instinctual response is still . The word catches in my throat, escaping as a sigh. It's tempting to pour my feelings into sealing this Delve, but stitching the edges of the World back together is a delicate task.

  I gently slide the needle through, crossing over my own stitch and tugging at the ‘thread’ with my other hand. The Portal narrows, and narrows...

  I take a breath, relaxing my throat and hopefully quelling the growl under my voice.

  “That's fine,” I say softly, raising my voice to make sure it carries. I curl my tail at the same time, nudging the glass fang until it’s between my feet.

  Rising up to my full height, I fix Alain in place with a glare, taking in his silly purple robes and the cluster of people behind him. I see curiosity, I see questions, I see... cynicism. Gossipers, maybe, even if they’re well-intentioned.

  I know exactly how this will go if I say no.

  The due process of law and justice calls for truth through investigation, and of course I'll honor that. But... Gods. No— Goddess, Adamantine, please let this go smoothly. I don't want to get cooked in my gear, and I really, really want that bath.

  “Point me toward them, then. I’ll say my piece.”

  This should be quick... right?

  Right. I’ll just have to get a few guards sent up to the portal seam while I’m there, make something useful out of this.

  In the core of Craumont's winding streets and broad roads lies the city's inky, beating heart. Laws, taxes, forms; anything put to paper for Craumont flows through here. It's all filed away into archives older than the Ayldom, carefully maintained since the height of the Empire.

  My destination is one of these buildings: the Central Station of Law Enforcement. Or, as anyone with respect for time calls it, the Station.

  The Station is a tall stone-and-brick construction with broad windows and a bright, blue shingled roof. Floral patterns run along the foundation, reaching towards that blue roof and curling around the equally blue front door.

  And through that front door is a stone-floored reception, with desks for secretaries against each wall and stained wood doors leading deeper in the building.

  It's a beautiful, welcoming place, and for a year of my life I loathed it. Too much time here or in the court next door.

  But that was five years ago. Today, I push through that bright blue door, dragging my tail along the ground with a .

  “Alright, let's get this...”

  My voice dies in my throat, but the sound of it echoes across the tiled floor a moment longer.

  “Good day, Amelia,” says Elizabeth, giving me a thin smile. She's sitting in one of the chairs scattered around the main hall, sipping tea and browsing a local newspaper. “Fashionably late as always.”

  “Ah! Dame Crawford.” A somewhat scruffy man in a purple robe raises a hand from next to Elizabeth, inclining his head towards me. “A shame we have to meet this way. I am Bitgarm, or—”

  “Priest Dongbaek,” I guess, gently dragging my tail across the stone floor. “A shame we're meeting at all.”

  I am not here to be preached at. I start walking towards the back, where a secretary is looking at me with just a hint of concern.

  “But still, you were nearby during the theft, and perhaps you’ll provide some valuable insight along with clearing your name,” he says softly, running a hand over his peppery-gray stubble. His eyes flicker away, first to my tail, then to the ground. “While I believe you, few understand Delves, myself included. And you follow Adamantine, correct? May she guide you as the Restoration guides us, and help reveal our enemies.”

  I roll my eyes at the stereotype... even if it’s entirely accurate. “Justice is everyone's obligation to participate in, not just followers of the Goddess.”

  And still, a bubble of dread forms within me.

  Oh, Gods, no.

  I'm not going to get that bath for

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