Billions of delvers have fallen prey to the simplest trick a rift can play: not following the rules the delver assumed. Most guides will tell you to always properly solve a puzzle if it’s presented, to always stand and face every wave of enemies, to react as appropriate for the rift’s theme.

  I beseech you, don’t fall into that trap. Themes are concepts made up by delvers and scholars, rifts are not required to follow the rules we believe we’ve identified. If you learn one thing from this guide, it should be this.

  

  Naomi

  Messhall, Central Bridge, Wesnmen’s Coallition Trading Barge

  

  “Tell them not to.” Naomi’s voice was hard, edged. She’d learned to use this tone when dealing with anyone within their growing party of supporters being unnecessarily belligerent. Seeing the troll in front of her hunch his shoulders and duck his head ever so slightly, she wondered how she seemed to others when speaking like this.

  Reaching up to scratch the outer edge of his massive nose, the troll rumbled in gravelly baritone, “Apologies, ma’am, but I did try… It’s that elf again. Sash’hai. She keeps stirring people up, getting them excited for action. When I talked to her, she said it was necessary to maintain morale and ‘unified purpose.’ She’s very passionate.”

  It appeared Naomi wouldn’t be able to delegate this problem. One of a dozen. It wouldn’t be such an issue, if should could simply march up to the problem-beings and tell them what she needed from them. Of course, that wasn’t an option. Jemer’s watch on herself and Jonah had become even tighter of late, not allowing them more than a few minutes alone with anyone she didn’t trust implicitly. Such was the case for the wart covered war-troll squatting in front of her. Hajjo was one of Jemer’s inner circle.

  Converting him had been shockingly easy, as Naomi had become more adept with using her mana to filter and read emotions. It was her breakthrough a couple days after her meeting with the hob goblin Koog and his crew, a couple weeks ago, which had made the difference. She’d learned how to send her mana out invisibly.

  It’d been something she and Jonah had tried to figure out to smooth their initial plans over, of course, but ‘becoming invisible’ had always been impossible for her mana. Not because it had to interact with light, but rather because it’s default nature consumed light entirely. It was a property Naomi hadn’t even notice, as the minuscule amount of light pulled into her soul was so negligible as to be entirely unnoticeable. Once she’d realized exactly why her mana was black, it had been a relatively simple matter to simply make it stop consuming light. She wasn’t sure why it did so by default and hadn’t had time to think about it.

  “Fine… I’ll have a talk with her when I’m able.”

  It was unfortunate, as she had other plans for the day. Ones which included approaching another prospective clique leader about flipping on Jemer. Those talks had been made a bit more difficult with the escorts and ‘friends’ the orc shaman made sure to keep around both Naomi and Jonah at all times. There was little doubt that she suspected something, but clearly had no proof and wasn’t certain. Otherwise she wouldn’t have hesitated to either jail or execute them.

  Hajjo had actually been one of those chance ‘friends’ which Jemer liked to send out to keep an eye on them. When Naomi snuck her mana into him and realized how frustrated he was with his leader, she’d struck. Carefully leading a conversation to a place where he admitted his disenfranchisement. He wanted to change careers for a bit, settle somewhere and work a craft. Instead, he was stuck as a bruiser for a violent woman who enjoyed using him for intimidation and thuggery.

  Nodding, the troll ducked one more time before turning and leaving. He called softly, “Cosmo’s on your shadow next. Should find you in five minutes or so. You’ve only got that long.”

  Nodding, Naomi followed him out of the cramped janitorial closet and quickly made her way through the maze-like corridors of the ship. Reaching out with her mind in that strange way Jonah had taught her, she ‘rang’ him. The party chat immediately connected and he answered with a nervous, “We made?”

  “Not yet. Sash’hai’s doing her best to get us there, though. I need to know where she is.”

  A moment’s pause passed, before he answered, “Second floor, med ward. She’s got a broken nose or something, not sure. Jemer is giving me a weird look again, gotta go.”

  The party chat snapped off, but the little thread that Naomi could poke at remained in place. He’d made massive improvements to his own abilities which eclipsed her own. She wondered if she should feel jealous. They were useful, though. Despite liking to complain and being generally nervous, he never hesitated to use his newfound capabilities at her request. So she supposed there was no reason to envy him. Having his help was about as good, and less for her to personally manage.

  Taking the shortest route to the med ward in this sector of the ship, almost directly above the closet she’d been pulled into by Hajjo, she passed through the automatically opening doors. “One moment, one sec!” Called the little gnomish man who ran the facility. He was tall for his race, nearly four feet she’d guess, and another foot with his fluffy purple spiked hair.

  Calling back, “It’s just me, no need to worry yourself.” Naomi pushed through the waiting area and into the private hallway. Seeing three closed doorways, she sent a wide but thin pulse of her mana out, briefly absorbing the spacial logic of everything her mana touched. It was a disorienting experience, one which still made her stagger. It did give her the information she needed, though.

  Walking to the last door on the left, she gently pushed it open. Sash’hai was standing in a fighter’s position when Naomi entered. Legs apart almost shoulder width apart, knees bent, body turned slightly sideways with fists up, her eyes panicked. Recognizing Naomi, she dropped the stance and leapt forward, wrapping her arms around Naomi’s neck and squealing happily.

  “PriiIIism!!! I missed you so much! Don’t worry, I’m totally helping out! I’m keeping all the men inspired. We’re all ready to do anything you need at any time!” She cooed eagerly.

  Gently, Naomi pushed the over-eager elf away. The elf girl was several hundred years from her own arrival, yet somehow still positively overflowed with youthful exuberance. Even down to her preferred aesthetic. Cutesy makeup, or maybe glamour, a messy pixy cut, purposefully ripped up clothing, all brightly colored. Pink hair, blue and yellow cropped and ‘artfully’ shredded shirt, and purple jeans.

  Putting a gentle smile on her face, Naomi soothed, “You shouldn’t be so worried. I can only be here for a minute, someone is coming to babysit me shortly. I need you to be more circumspect about your inspiration. We’re still about a month out from Motrendi and even further from making our move. Remember the plan, please, we need to be careful.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Seeing the stricken expression on Sash’hai’s face, Naomi reached out and gently rested a hand on her shoulder, “I appreciate your help. I just need you to… Tailor it a bit more to the mission. We don’t want a boil, just a simmer. Keep the pot warm, develop the flavors, but don’t let it lift the lid. Can you do that?”

  The food analogy seemed to strike home, unsurprising considering she was on this ship as the captain’s personal chef. Nodding eagerly, she agreed, “I will! I’m sorry for disappointing you, Prism! I’ll do better!”

  “You didn’t disappoint me, Sash’hai. I’m just telling you what I want, so you don’t have to guess.” She patted the taller woman’s shoulder again, then forced a dramatic sigh through her lips, “I do have to go, though. I’m sure Cosmo is looking for me. Better if he doesn’t find me talking to you in here. He might suspect something.”

  “Right! Don’t worry, my lips are sealed!”

  Wondering if she was taking advantage of an innocent, she gave one final shoulder squeeze then spun on her heel and strode away. Next, she needed to find Holister and have Jonah connect them to get an update on the munitions order he’d be handling for them when they arrived above Motrendi.

  Planning a coup was far more complicated than she’d ever given thought to, but she was learning.

  

  Willow

  Throne Room, Rat King’s Galactic Palace, Sheerna

  

  “Hello again, girl.” Growled the rat king. He seemed to be becoming frustrated by this entire looping nonsense, too. Small victories, I guess.

  She was exhausted. Every time she killed the rat king, she’d be forced to flee a never-ending tide of rat soldiers coming to avenge his death. Every time, the setting and starting was different. Every time, she tried to be clever, to find an interesting and unique way to defeat the creature.

  The last three times, she’d managed to find him early and had attacked him. The first, she’d plunged him into a vat of an alchemical substance which clung to him as a slimy goop which constantly regenerated itself. Making it impossible for the rat to clean himself fully. The second, she had cut his tail off.

  Of course, she hadn’t just rushed into fighting him. She’d also tried a couple times to just avoid him entirely. She’d looked for some other end to the scenario, some way out of the rift’s weird story. There hadn’t been one. In the first of those attempts, she had tried to go after a different villain, a demon who had taken up residence in a nearby apartment complex.

  It had handily defeated her, and would have killed her, but for the miraculous entry of a heroic knight in shining armor. Literally. He’d slain the demon and proposed to her on the spot, spouting a bunch of nonsense about destiny and the power of love. She’d left, of course. He hadn’t taken no for an answer, pursuing her no matter where she went.

  He was somehow entirely immune to her moment, leaving her to fight him once with just her enhanced body and focus. He was way stronger than her and kept telling her how ‘cute’ she was when angry, treating her like an angry but helpless kitten. The apparent entertainment he got from her best attempts to kill him were even more infuriating than Madrick’s better-than-all attitude. At least that guy earned his power. Every time she’d been about to hit the idiot hero, who didn’t even have a name so far as she learned, he’d magically be repositioned perfectly to counter her. It was cheating plot-armor. Plain and simple.

  So, she had to flee the stalker hero. Unfortunately, everyone believed his side of the story when he claimed she’d been cursed to hate him and he just needed to catch her to break the curse so they could live happily ever after. Every town she entered, she had to hide herself under a cloak. Anyone who saw her non-green skin would immediately know she was “the prince’s bride.”

  Eventually, she found an underground criminal network working toward slaying her hero and destroying the kingdom. She didn’t give a single shrimp-dropping about the fake kingdom, but wanted the hero off her back. So she’d joined. Over the course of what must have been a month she worked with the terrorists and dissidents. Until they’d tried to cross a line. Targeting a population of civilians, just because they venerated the hero.

  Unlike all of the group’s previous targets, these would be both innocent and defenseless. The underground didn’t agree, so she defended the town. She’d been overrun by numbers and brought down, once again nearly dying from a fire-infused musket ball which somehow passed through her moment uninterrupted.

  When she woke, Willow had been fully healed, as if she’d never been near-fatally wounded. In chains, she’d been escorted to the underground’s leader. Before entering, they removed her chains. When she stepped through the book-shelf turned doorway which lead into the secret room where the elusive leader was sequestered, she found the rat king waiting.

  The second time, Willow had tried to avoid all conflicts entirely. She just ran away, keeping her head down and avoiding making a name for herself while searching for a method of escape. She watched the neon-bathed slums she frequented slowly become more and more violent, but did nothing. Then she saw propaganda campaigns turning the most downtrodden against the common people. The slums became a war zone, one she carefully navigated without engaging either side.

  Then the war spilled into the rest of the city. Until, finally, a victor was decided. The cities oligarchs were dethroned and executed publicly. The people’s rage and hatred were cooled. Reforms were put in place, wealth distributed. The slums became indistinguishable in quality from the upper city.

  The new infrastructure also included increased ‘security.’ Precautionary technology which promised to identify and mark would-be tyrants using advanced AI models. She was one of hundreds rounded up after being marked by the ‘tyrant prevention system (TPS).’ After an indefinable amount of time in a cell, Willow was brought before the new city leader. The rat king. She hadn’t been bound, because she hadn’t been identified as a prime threat. Just a potential one. The outcome was the same.

  This time around, she had successfully caught him in a techno-trap she had hired a mercenary to help her setup. It had left him concussed and shredded his clothing entirely, leaving him looking like more of a beggar than the CEO of a mega corporation. Yet, he’d escaped thanks to the contrivance of somehow falling off the edge of the eighty story building. Falling off despite having been in the center when the trap went off. The trap which had no explosive elements, only a downward sonic blast. The trap that should have kept him stationary long enough for Willow to kill him.

  The rat king’s chair was the same throne of trash. He nibbled his burned fingernail; his tail lashed and squeezed at his fur, trying unsuccessfully to wipe even a little bit of the endless slime off. His cross-eyed stare was unconcerned as always.

  “Don’t you want this to end?” Willow finally answered, voice quiet.

  One eye snapping up, while the other lazily followed, he screeched at her, “Of course I do! You stupid human! You think I like being abused like this?! You think I enjoy remembering my past lives only after whatever latest humiliation you put me through?!”

  He leapt from the throne, but Willow didn’t move. Unlike the hero or unlikely musket balls, she knew he would freeze the moment she activated her moment. The king was no danger to her.

  “The question is why you won’t let it end?!” He screamed at her, tail pointing accusingly at her. The rat king’s loyal guard on the left didn’t even seem to realize they were talking.

  Extending her hand in an offer to shake, Willow asked, “Then let’s just stop fighting. We don’t need to.”

  Throwing his hands in the air, the rat king groaned, “How do you still not get it!? Follow the flea-fucked-story, human! Just go to the damn cell and wait to be released! FALL! IN! LINE!”

  Letting her hand drop, Willow sighed deeply. She was exhausted, down to her soul. The strain she’d caused her body by doing too much all at once with her ability and mana had long since faded. Yet she somehow felt worse now. Beaten down. Not physically. Emotionally, she was just drained. It all felt so pointless.

  It was possible she’d be able to leave after a mere year in a jail cell, just as Luzzi had suggested what felt like years ago. She could walk in like a meek little damsel. The hero’s disgustingly handsome face flashed through her mind, but even that didn’t dredge up the outrage she knew it warranted. It was there, but distant. Far away in a way her emotions had never been before.

  “No.” She sighed, “I won’t.” Her voice wasn’t full of conviction. She heard the sadness, resignation, and tiredness in her own words.

  “Why not?!” The rat king paced in front of her tail pointing at her in impotent fury. “End this nightmare! All you have to do is follow the script! You get out, I get to stop existing, everyone wins!” Suddenly, he dropped to his knees and clasped his goopy paws together, “PLEASE!”

  Crossing her arms, she looked down at him with tired eyes, “Why don’t you just not arrest me? Tell me I won and I’m free to go.”

  “I LITERALLY CANNNN’T!” He wailed. “I am created for this narrative. I have to follow it! I have no choice, not in a figurative sense, but a literal one! I have no free will! I just want this to all end, forever!”

  The rat king crumpled into a ball at her feet and wept. Deciding to take it as a sign that she’d won, Willow walked toward the door at the end of the room.

  Before she reached it, she heard a squeaked order which seemed as though it was forced through near-clenched buck-teeth, “Seize her, toss in jails. Will talk later.”

  This time, the rat king exploded without her laying a single hand on him. The cycle continued.