Tibs took his time eating.

  He’d been surprised Firmen hadn’t addressed him as soon as he’d moved to gather wood for the fire. And because of that, he’d built his camp here. Then he’d gone hunting and returned with two large rabbits. While they turned on the spits, he looked over the remnants of his leather pants.

  There was so little left under the knees that going in with his calves bare would provide just as much protection. And, while he didn’t care for the reminder, his Omega runs had been done in little more than a thick cloth shirt for protection.

  He so missed Sto’s self-repairing armor.

  If he’d had his leather kit, he would have done something with what was left to have even a semblance of protection, but Graiden hadn’t been kind enough to leave a dead man’s things behind.

  He could have taken inspiration from those villagers, a caravan he’d traveled with had stopped at, years ago. They’d made their armor out of the reeds that were abundant along the river. Woven that into pads, then attached that to make front and backs of the armor. The chief, who had greeted them, had been clad in a whole set of them, with the men and women closest to him having lesser versions. The guards at the gate had nothing more than criss-crossed lines over their arms and legs made of what had to have been the remnants from making the better versions.

  Without being able to do even that, he cut the tatters off and straightened the line above the knee. He would have to go back to working about not getting hit, instead of counting on the added protection and ability to heal himself.

  Satisfied with the work, he turned to the cooking meat. “I don’t know if you’re paying attention.” He cut a surface layer. “But if you want to talk, I’m okay to listen.” It was fully cooked, so he cut more onto a large leave.

  “I’m not sure that’s anything to talk about.” Firmen sounded calm.

  He spoke in a similarly neutral tone. “You wanted to apologize last night.”

  “That was fear speaking. You threatened to burn me down. I was scared you still might.”

  “And because I didn’t, you aren’t afraid of me anymore.” He sat against the tree and ate.

  “You still terrify men and Merka. I don’t understand what you are, or why you’re here. You say you want to work within the rules, but the moment things won’t go your way, there’s nothing I can to do to protect myself.”

  “I did the run within the rules we agreed to. I only channeled fire once Merka got you to block my exit.”

  “And what happens when one of my creature is about to kill you? It’s clear from those who wandered in before that people don’t want to die.”

  “I accept—”

  “I killed you,” they snapped, now sounding scared. “And you came back.”

  “I hadn’t planned on that.” He paused, the meat to his lips. “And I can’t do it again.” Or maybe he could. Without the immunity to Wood essence, he’d definitely feel the fear as he’d head toward death. And that should give him an audience.

  But would he get Wood’s boon a second time?

  Did that mean that if he got another audience with the element outside the dungeon, he would gain the immunity from it? Was it worth risking—

  “Tibs?”

  He swallowed the meat he’d been chewing. “Sorry, got lost thinking. But if one of your creatures can kill me, then I die. If your first floor can kill me, I definitely don’t deserve to walk out of it.”

  “But you left before—”

  “Because I didn’t have the focus to continue,” he said in exasperation, then calmed himself. Firmen had never dealt with a Runner before, and certainly no one like him. “I was too tired to trust myself. People can’t think clearly when they’re tired. That’s part of what your tests force us to deal with. But as part of that, we need to be able to realize when it affects us too much. Not just because it can get us killed, but, in my case, also because my ability to resist using my essence diminishes. I could forget the rules and use it to survive.”

  “And you don’t want that?” Firmen sounded dubious.

  “Not by breaking the rules we agree to. I don’t know what Merka told you about Runners. I don’t even know how much of it is ‘how things are done,’ instead of ‘what the guild decided we should be doing,’ so this might be a case of us working with different rules. If we are, now’s the time for us to figure that out and decide how we want to continue.”

  He ate another piece and when Firmen said nothing by the time he was done; he continued with his thought. “Your job is to test me, and mine is to survive. That included knowing when I’ve had enough. Too many Runners died when the guild first threw us into the dungeon because they never told us the rules. We had to discover them by doing something without knowing we were allowed. Like waking out of a dungeon without reaching the boss room and not be punished for it.”

  “So, you left to protect me?”

  Tibs chuckled. “No. I left because I was tired and I knew I’d end up breaking rules if I forced myself to continue. It does protect you, but that’s not why I did it. I no longer trusted myself at that point.”

  “And you will return?”

  “Yes. Merka will get their chance at killing me.”

  “Merka isn’t so….”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  He chuckled again. “It’s okay, Firmen. I learned a long time ago I can’t control how people feel about me. All I can do is make sure it doesn’t make me act in a way that isn’t me.”

  “Then I’ll let Merka know you’ll be back.” They sounded better.

  “Not today. I always rest between runs. The guild wouldn’t let us go in more than once a week. I’ll take today to rest and I’ll do the run tomorrow as soon as you open your door.”

  “My entrance is alway open,” they said, puzzled.

  “After I’ve eaten, then.”

  “We will be planning, then.

  * * * * *

  He killed and skinned small animals, cooking and setting meat to dry.

  He didn’t expect the run to be long, since he’d do it well rested, but he wanted to be prepared. The skins would explain however long he remained in the forest.

  He might make stretchers for tanning the hides when he added to his camp, then use that to repair his armor. Or remake what he couldn’t replace from the caches. His leather working wasn’t great. But he’d had to learn, once he’d outgrown his self-repairing armor.

  When the sky darkened, he made a bed of soft earth, and a cover from the leaves and fell asleep quickly.

  * * * * *

  He woke to the sound of rain, and the wonder of being dry.

  Being wet didn’t bother him, but unless he will it to stay away, rain should get him wet. Instead of the gray morning sky, branches spread above him; interwoven tightly enough to be a roof over his camp.

  His hands behind his head, he admired the work. This wasn’t the pulling and pushing of strands in place to get the shapes he wanted. The essence flowed out of the trunks and the branches the way all the others did. They had been grown well beyond what was normal, but clearly grown that way. He couldn’t tell the difference between them and all the other trees within his sense.

  “I didn’t know you could just make them grow.”

  “It was Merka’s idea. So you couldn’t claim you’d slept badly and walk out again.”

  With a laugh, he stood, ignited the fire and checked the drying rack. He cooked what was still moist.

  Fed and hydrated, he put his armor on. He grabbed his sword and shield, then entered the dungeon.

  * * * * *

  Tibs studied the tiled hallway.

  The layout was the same as far as he could tell; so was the puzzle within it. He tested the closest tiles that hadn’t been triggered the previous time, and they supported his weight.

  It could be the trap. Let him think the triggers were the same, and overconfidence would kill him. He’d have to take his time, but with what he knew, it’d get through it faster.

  He made it past the center, carefully testing the safe tiles before putting his entire weight on one, before Merka commented, “I wish you’d change where they are.”

  “That isn’t what this test is about,” Firmen replied. “And it wouldn’t do what you want. He isn’t trusting what he knows. See how he’s testing every trigger first? He’s probably ready for them to move.”

  “This is about having the patience to test all the rows, isn’t it?” Tibs tested the next tile. “And remembering the safe one from one run to the next.”

  “Is it a good test?”

  Tibs set his foot on a safe tile before looking over the distance he’d traveled, and what he had left to go. “I think it’s a little much for a team who’s never done a run before. If they are like I was, this would just overwhelm them. It means a lot of fighters would just run across it and die. But they wouldn’t learn from it.”

  He placed a toe on an active trigger and pressed until the ‘thunk’ sounded, and moved it off. He timed how long it took for the wall of spear to form.

  “At half the size, this would still get a lot of them, especially the second time, when they thought they remembered the way and got it wrong, but it wouldn’t seem impossible to do. They’d curse you, and more fighters would just going to run, thinking they can still be faster, but the rest would take the time to do this properly and learn.”

  “You don’t have a high opinion of fighters,” Firmen said.

  Tibs tested the next safe tile. He wasn’t trusting what Firmen had told Merka. “I do once they survive. But at Omega, anyone who isn’t fit for the other classes gets thrown in with those who should be fighters. The guild doesn’t care if they should be Runners or not. They throw them in, and they die.”

  Three more rows, and he’d be done.

  He looked the hallway over again. “You could make it even simpler and people who wandered in might survive. They’d learn and get stronger.”

  “And leave,” Merka said, displeased.

  But they might return to get stronger, he almost said. If they added loot drops, it would ensure survivors came back.

  And then returned to the village with stories; which would bring more people looking for wealth and strength.

  What happened when the next caravan arrived at the village? Heard the stories, saw the evidence in the villagers being healthier, wealthier. How long until they carried those stories to a city, and for the guild to hear them? Send adventurers to investigate? What happened when they confirmed there was a dungeon in the forest?

  How many other dungeons like Firmen would then fall under the guild’s control? He couldn’t see the guild not scouring the kingdoms for more. And it would be his fault for teaching Firmen how to draw more people to him. He’d be responsible for all the children the guild would send to their death to make the dungeons grow until people were willing to pay for the privilege of being eaten by one.

  “You’re right,” he finally said. “You wouldn’t get enough out of that.” He stepped over the threshold, and, on alert, headed for the next room.

  This time, the attack came at the third intersection, just after Tibs passed it. The Woodling formed quickly and attacked. He defended himself, thinking that he’d never looked behind him as an Omega Runner. It had always been about pressing forward.

  This would kill a number of them.

  He went on the offensive, aiming to cut its head off for a quick end to the fight, but it hurried back, shield up to protect it. They exchanged blows and Tibs made more attempts to cut its head off to confirm that leaving its sword arm unprotected wasn’t accidental. The next time it raised its shield to protect its head, Tibs cut the sword hand off, grabbing the sword before it landed on the floor, and without its weapon, the fight was soon over.

  He studied the wooden weapon while moss grew over the Woodling. The edge was sharp, and the essence made him think the metal only enhanced that, instead of being responsible. It was woven through with air, which accounted for its lightness; and water, but he couldn’t work out what that offered.

  The main thing it had going for it was that it was longer than his current one. Slightly longer than the one he was used to. He dropped the sword Firmen made him.

  “You can’t keep that,” Merka protested.

  “You aren’t having your creatures drop loot. I figure anything I take before you absorb is fair.”

  “Loot is for caches,” Merka stated.

  “Then drop coins,” Tibs said, heading for the room.

  “Coins?” Firmen asked.

  “Didn’t Merka tell you about them?”

  “Don’t talk like you know what I have to tell Firmen,” they snapped.

  “So you were supposed to tell them?”

  Merka grumbled something he didn’t make out.

  “What are coins, Tibs? I’ve been going through my loot list for something for the creatures to drop, but everything is too costly for that. Are they simple to make?”

  “Coins are what the kingdoms use for trade.” He pulled a copper one, raising it to show the dungeon. “They’re just metal essence. Copper’s the lowest value. Sto dropped one each time we killed something on his first floors. On the second, he started adding silver, which is a more valuable version of the copper coin.” He placed it on the floor and stepped away. “Didn’t anyone who walked in have one?”

  “No. And Merka didn’t know about coins.”

  They let out an exasperated cry that made Tibs smile.

  “So, this is going to make people want to come in,” the dungeon mused, and Tibs cursed himself for bringing it up. If a villager walked out with even one coin, it would be the start of the runs, and only a question of time until the guild learned about Firmen.

  Unfortunately, it was too late to undo this, so he had to hope the villagers would be too scared of the forest to ever venture far enough to encounter the dungeon.

  Bottom Rung is available on KU:

  here

  Stepping Wild, on Ream Stories where the story is multiple chapters ahead even at the lowest tier, and the support helps ensure I can work with a minimum of real-life interruption.

  Thank you for reading this chapter.

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