Tibs kept his balance as he slowly reached for the tile.

  Each line had two, sometimes three, tiles what didn’t trigger, but weren’t always conveniently close for him to crouch on so he could test the next line. He was close enough a leap would let him land on the other side of the archway that marked the end of this trap, but he’d decided to cross this as if he had a team. While he could make that jump, he doubted a warrior could, let along a sorcerer, who focused on their mind more than their bodies when it came to training. Two more rows and he figured anyone on a team could jump the rest.

  He put a hand on the tile, adding weight, and moved it off as soon as it shifted. After twenty-eight rows, he’d learn to tell the slightest change that would indicate the trigger was active. Only the most sensitive of them triggered from him pushing off.

  He studied what he was facing. He’d checked all the tiles he could reach from this one, and they were active. The other safe tile on his line was too far from him to hop, or even jump, if he was willing to risk such a small landing spot, so he backtracked three rows and followed the path that took him to the other side of the line to test those.

  This side was more difficult to test. Not only were the two tiles he stood on wide enough apart it made crouching unsteady, but they were two lines back from the one he needed to test. Here, he had little control over how much weight he put on the tiles, increasing the danger of putting more weight than he needed and dangerously narrowing the margin he had to move out of the way. It was why he’d started on the other side.

  This test, Tibs had decided, was as much about a Runner’s patience than their ability to find triggers. There were no shortcuts he sensed that wouldn’t put someone on the team in danger. After the first few that needed enough weight to trigger someone smaller than him could stand on and not trigger them, the temptation to run across would be high, and one of the feather light trigger would kill the heavier or slower on the team, probably the fighter.

  It would be easy to see patterns where they were none. The moss on the tiles seemed to have grown naturally, from what he sensed of the essence in them, and looked enough alike, and were on enough of the false triggers one could think that was the trick, until that caused them to step on an active one and killed them.

  If Firmen kept the moss on the tiles and locations of the trigger the same from run to run, then over time, the path could be memorized, but that made the Runners susceptible to the dungeon changing where the triggers were without affecting the positions of the tiles.

  Ultimately, only checking each tiles, each time, would ensure everyone survived.

  He found three tiles on that line that didn’t trigger with the weight he was able to put on them without causing himself to tip over. Two of them would be safe. Which ones? There was no way to be certain. And it was dangerous to assume that because the minimum had been two with each of the other rows, he would be here.

  All he needed was one. One to place a foot on and leap off that everyone on the team could reach, and that would let them cross the remaining distance.

  On the next run, he’d check the last lines. Without being able to use Purity, this was taking a toll on him.

  He stood, selected the best candidate, and stretched until his foot touched it. He transferred his weight, preparing to push for the leap, when the tile shifted and he barely reacted in time to the ‘thunks’. With a curse, he put his foot down behind him to keep from falling and that tile sunk. Then he had to fight to keep his balance and not fall into either walls of spears.

  He found the other safe tile on his row and was able to breathe.

  He chuckled.

  The walls retreated, and he looked at the distance, and the chain of decisions that had led him here. He was definitely tired if he let a non-existent team govern his decision making. What he should do was go back to the other side and make the leap.

  Except that he’d located the trigger on the row before him. That left two, which should be safe. Not a certainty, but as tired as he felt, each step was a chance of getting it wrong.

  He steadied his breathing, selected the tile he’d use and put his foot on it, immediately pushing forwards before he could tell if it moved. He crashed on the floor past the archway and stayed there.

  “Are you going to just lie there?” Firmen eventually asked.

  “I need to catch my breath.” He needed a nap.

  “That wasn’t a physical test. Why are you tired?”

  Tibs had no idea why he chuckled. “This much focusing is exhausting.”

  “Really? Are all people like that?”

  “Didn’t any of the ones who came in look tired after thinking their way through one of your traps?”

  “They didn’t make it out of them,” they replied dismissively. “Those who didn’t die on the first trigger screamed and ran right into the next one. When I put a Woodling first, they ran from it and into the trap room and that killed them. The only one to somehow avoid the traps in the room was the one on your team.”

  “He avoided all the triggers?”

  “Well, he triggered one, but he was mostly past the blade, so he only go a small cut.”

  He pushed to his feet. Sleep could come later.

  A few steps ahead, the corridor ended at an intersection to the left and right. There was a door at the end of the right one, with a room behind it and a person form in wood essence with a sword at its hip.

  The door was made of trunks that didn’t touch the floor or the top if the frame, but the gap was too small for anything more than a rat to slip through. An intricate array of essence connected the trunks to each other.

  Pushing didn’t cause the door to move. Grabbing onto a truck to pull had no effect, either. “I thought we’d agreed the door couldn’t be locked.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “Do you see a lock on it?” Firmen said, smugly.

  There wasn’t. There was no metal essence within the trunks or the array. There was also no gap where he’d have to insert a key. There was something different about the essence that made the trunks, but only in that they weren’t like real trees, or those the dungeon used as walls.

  He sighed. “Then why won’t it open?”

  “Because…” Tibs heard the smile. “The door is barred.”

  “That’s the same as it being locked.” He rested his head against the wood.

  “No, it isn’t. You don’t need tools to unbar it.”

  “This was Merka’s idea, wasn’t it?” They had to be so proud of how—

  “No. Why do you think that?”

  “Using a technicality sounds like something a helper would do.”

  “Merka wanted a boss Woodling before the door again to fight you with.”

  He looked up. He could barely make out the sky through the canopy, but he’d expected it to be darker. “They wanted to fight me again?”

  “Merka doesn’t like you.”

  “And it’s you who came up with the clever way of using the literal words to still keep me out of the room?”

  “Why does that surprise you?”

  “Sto wasn’t that clever.”

  “I’m not Sto.”

  Tibs nodded.

  He knew better than to think all dungeons were the same. They were people, after all. He was just tired. Possibly too tired for the run.

  Sto had been the muscle to Ganny’s smarts. He’d never gotten much of a sense of the dynamic between dungeons and helpers just from talking to them over the years.

  He pushed away from the door. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The trunks looked ordinary, but their essence marked them as dungeon made. Since they were different from the walls, it meant there was something in the essence itself that played into how the door worked.

  There was a structure to normal trees, or any objects, but it was never quite the same. Metal had…spikes was the closest word for how it felt, but even with two swords that looked the same, they’d be arranged differently. The closest word he had for the essence in trees and other plants was flow. Along the trunks and into the branches and leaves. There was nothing sharp, the way metal, stone, and light were. It was more like water.

  These still had that sense of flow, but it was…structured. There was a sense of intent to it. The way it felt when he willed water into ice. It was still flow, but a different kind.

  This intent felt…he couldn’t think of a word. Too tired to approximate. But there was more of a directionality to the sense of flow. Up and down.

  He smiled. There were gaps at the top and bottom of the door.

  He placed a hand on the trunk before him and pushed up. He felt the ‘thunk’, more than heard it, as the top of the trunk hit the door frame.

  “I was sure I’d arranged the essence so you couldn’t tell what it did.”

  “It’s in how the essence feels,” Tibs said, trying to come up with the words to verbalize his thoughts. “And the gaps. It felt like sliding is what should happen. But.” He moved to the next trunk and tried to move it without success. “You did hide how they interact with the array.”

  “And you can’t tell what it does?”

  Tibs considered. “I’ve played with puzzle boxes that do something like this. Parts move, and I have to work out how to align the notches in the wood so the next piece will move, and it’s a series of them until it’s unlocked.” He lowered the trunk in place.

  “How hard can it be for you with your elements?”

  Tibs chuckled. “I just got Wood. I had to do them blind.” He moved the one he’d tried, and it went up, and down. The first move had no limitation, but that imposed them on the further ones. “What I’ll use is that no matter how skilled the artisan who makes one is, they can’t get the wood perfectly flat against each other. So there’s just a bit of play I can test and get a sense of what can and can’t move. I don’t have that here. And you’ve put so much essence in the array I can’t identify that I can’t sense its interaction with the trunks.”

  At least, there didn’t seem to be void involved. He wasn’t sure he was alert enough to deal with how void let Sto make puzzles that weren’t bound by their borders.

  It had taken him a long time to work out how to use void from what he learned when he ate sorcerers or adventurers who had void as their elements. There hadn’t been many of them, even after the guild had let people from outside Kragle Rock do runs.

  Firmen didn’t have that, so Tibs was confident it wouldn’t be involved. Which meant this would simply test his patience and ability to pay attention while tired. At least, a mistake here wouldn’t risk killing him.

  * * * * *

  When the door swung inward, Tibs almost toppled over. He’d been focused on the next steps and the current trunk not moving only registered in needing more force, so he’d pressed his hands against its bark for better grip and the door had opened effortlessly.

  He regained his footing with one on a tile among too many of them for Tibs to count in his tired state. Each with an Arcanus on them.

  He lifted it off and breathed in relief when he saw Ike. At least it had been one of the safe tiles.

  “Did you have to keep the tiles now that the room has that door?”

  “I didn’t feel like spending the essence to change it,” Firmen said casually.

  Tibs snorted. “You were just hoping I’d fall and trigger multiple of them.”

  On the other side of the room was the armor stand.

  He reached it easily and was impressed with what he found. The armor was simple; supple, but thick leather with ties to tighten it in place. The wooden scabbard at its hip held a plain sword similar to the one he’d fought with on his previous run, except for one thing. “You didn’t have enough essence to make it the same length as mine?”

  “You insisted you needed the picks. The intricate weaving needed to give them the strength and flexibility yours had took much more essence than I expected.”

  He nodded. He’d will his to behave the way he needed them. “Wait, so you don’t have to will them to remain?”

  “No. I’ve made them.”

  “Then how do you make sure they don’t break down into essence?”

  “How do I make sure… I made them. Why would they break down unless I unmake them?”

  “I haven’t worked out how to make something that stays.”

  “That broken sword stayed. Until you absorbed its essence.”

  “I was still willing it to exist. I’ve gotten so used to doing that with what I need, I keep doing it unless I need more items than I can maintain.”

  “How many can you keep?”

  “Seven easily. Beyond that, it depends on how much attention I can afford to give them. I’ve made nineteen and held that for a while before the headache got too much. But I was in my room and nothing distracted me.”

  He stretched his arm, holding the sword. He’d have to be careful of keeping the reduced reach in mind. It had been a long time since he’d had to fight with a sword that wasn’t exactly how he wanted it to be.

  He put the armor on; the picks were held in a long pocket, and once he tightened the straps, moved about, testing its flexibility.

  “How did you come up with this? It’s nice.”

  “One of the people I absorbed had it. It had thin and frayed essence. I made you something better.”

  “It was old. The fraying and thinning happens over time.”

  “I also played around with how much protection it gives and…other things that can help you. But that’s for if you make it far enough. And if they come up on the list. Merka is adamant the list has to govern what ends up in the chests.”

  Tibs chuckled. “Ganny was the same. She hated it any time Sto put something specifically for me in one of them.”

  “This Sto made items to help you?”

  “We were friends.”

  “But it’s our role to eat you,” Firmen said, baffled.

  “To test me.”

  “But I’ll eat you when you fail.” They were quiet. When they spoke it was hesitatingly. “How did you friend accept that? I could never eat Merka.”

  “It was just how things were. We never talked about it. His floors were hard enough I nearly died a few times. Pushing me as hard as he could was something he felt he had to do, as my friend. I think that he’d preferred I died in him, instead of at the hand of the world.”

  “And you were fine with your friend eating you?”

  Tibs paused. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to make a dungeon understand. “Sto was one of the rare person outside of my team who treated me like something more than an object to be used and then thrown away. He helped me, broke rules to do it. He protected the town as best as he could. I knew he’d eat me one day. I was trapped there, having to do runs after runs, but that wasn’t his fault. It’s the guild that did that. They are the ones I hold responsible for that.” He ground his teeth. “For all my friends Sto ate.”

  He let out the breath.

  The guild was for later. Once he was strong enough.

  Now, it was time for the run. For him to build up that strength.

  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.

  https://www.twitch.tv/thetigerwrites Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, from 8 AM to 11:30 EST