The air shifted, not uncomfortably, as Mitch stepped into the hallway while thinking ‘Library’. His booted foot landed on smooth black stone, just like before. The dry scent of aged parchment hit him. It mixed with the metallic tang of forgotten time.

  Before him was a tightly packed, labyrinth library.

  Black metal tables with surfaces dulled by years of undisturbed dust scattered across the room, surrounded by wooden chairs. Hand sized glowstones rested atop them, dim light struggling to pierce the haze. No windows broke the seamless expanse of carved rock walls, as seemed to be the case in the entire Estate. The only light came from the glowstones themselves, cold and steady and covered in dust.

  The shelves towered around him, made of ancient wood and unrusted black iron. Thousands of books haphazardly lined their surfaces–some in cracked leather, others delicate scrolls, and a few massive tomes pulsed with potent energy. The space wasn’t grand, but it exuded a dense weight of packed knowledge. Tightly wound and crammed in the available space.

  Sable entered behind him, confirming his thoughts on how one could move around the Estate. She had likely followed, and came to the same place as him.

  She took in the rooms and her eyes widened. “This…I’ve never seen anything like this,” she whispered, voice tinged with reverence as she rushed up to a shelf, tracing her fully healed and unthreaded and perfectly healed hand over the binding of a small tome. “So much knowledge, just sitting here.”

  Hathgar appeared next, not there one moment and stumbling into a shelf the next. He glanced around in a panic before settling. “Bah! A library,” he waved his meaty arm and scanned the room. “Portal to a bloody library. A secret one!” his voice rose. “Every dwarf damn well knows knowledge isn’t to be kept, it’s to be shared. Who locked all this away? What good is a treasure if it rots unseen?”

  Mitch gazed upward, tracing the high, vaulted ceiling where wooden beams crisscrossed like a skeleton. He couldn’t help but agree with Hathgar–there was something selfish about this place. He could feel it. As if it hoarded secrets for the sake of hoarding. Still, the usefulness of a library jammed with knowledge would come in handy.

  Then, something stirred in his mind. It wasn’t a memory he recognized, but one his body seemed recalled.

  Another version of him, standing in this very library. This past inhabitant wasn’t here to study or learn–he just stole. A thief, with twisted skills differing from his own that let him pilfer knowledge as easily as he picked locks and slid under doors. Maddening himself with knowledge and with uncovering the truth. The truth of Skills, of history, of what happened to bring him to Abythra.

  The memory unfurled further, finalizing at his end: a single devastating blow as he tried to steal just one more book. A crack to the head, instant and final. Darkness.

  Mitch blinked, shaking the phantom pain from his mind.

  “The Library,” he murmured to himself.

  Galadrith’s voice cut through his thoughts contemplatively. “Wisdom, knowledge, power… They are tools, Mitchell. But wield them poorly, and they will destroy you.”

  Mitch pondered the point as he closed his eyes. He sent a mental pulse through Abyssal Bind. The connection to Mook flared to life, a sharp thread of connection. With a push, he sent through a message.

  Found the library, Mitch projected towards Mook and Varak. The response was instant and electric.

  Excitement ripped through the bond, tangible and Mitch was almost infected by it. “BOOKS? WHERE?” Mook’s mental voice carried through weaker than Varak’s had, but Mitch sensed his barely contained anticipation. Mitch could also hear the skittering of Mook’s and Varak’s claws as they paced wherever they were.

  Here. Stay on your task. After you find out what’s making that banging noise.

  A pause, then a gushing flood of emotional agreement. “Of course, Mitchell. But after…afterward, I will come to this Library. This treasure. A feast for the mind!”

  Mitch allowed himself a smile as Mook’s emotions crackled through the link. The Abyssal scholar’s enthusiasm was grounding.

  Varak’s presence brushed against the Bind next, softer and calmer. “Closer,” she reported. “No threat. Mmmm. Dust. Endless.”

  Mitch’s smile grew. Good. Keep at it. Let me know when you’ve found the source.

  He opened his eyes to find Hathgar and Sable exploring the Library. “Varak and Mook are on it,” he said aloud. “They’re closing in on that banging.”

  Sable turned, offering him a small smile that made his heart warm. “And what about us? What’s the plan here?”

  Mitch turned to Hathgar, who was running a finger along a dusty table with a scrunched up face.

  “Well,” he said, “Hathgar here said something about this Estate holding something useful. What was it? Ale?”

  Hathgar’s eyes lit up. “Aye, lad! Ale. Whiskey. Maybe even some fancy elven wine. Who knows what treasures this cursed place might be a hoardin’.” He gave the shelves a dismissive wave.

  “Let’s test that theory then.” He smiled brightly at the dwarf.

  Hathgar raised an eyebrow as Mitch approached the Library’s threshold on the other side of it. “What’re ye schemin’, lad?”

  “Simple,” Mitch replied, stepping aside. “You’re going first. Just make sure you think ‘ale’,”

  “Course I bloody am,” Hathgar grumbled, rolling his shoulders and striding up the the hallway. “Ain’t scared. Swear on me ma’.” He paused and turned to look at Mitch. “If I end up somewhere bad though, you’ll be payin’.”

  “Deal,” Mitch laughed and gestured for him to go.

  Hathgar crossed the threshold–and disappeared.

  Mitch hesitated for only a moment before following, not focussing on a destination.

  The air changed immediately. Cool, dry, and faintly spiced with the scent of aged wood and something smoky. They were in a beautifully arranged cellar, the black stone walls lined with shelves of wine, liquor, and rows of deep brown bottles.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Glowstones cast a warm light, illuminating some labels embossed with intricate gold filigree. Some bottles were dust-covered relics and held unknown effects, while others gleamed as though freshly polished.

  Hathgar let out a low whistle, stepping forward to pluck a bottle from the nearest shelf. He wiped the dest off with his finger, revealing the label. Silken Dwarven Whiskey.

  “Stars above,” Hathgar mouth breathed in excitement, uncorking the bottle. He tipped it back, taking a long sip before letting out a satisfied sigh. “Oh my Stars. Blood and Balls. It’s real. An’ delicious.”

  Mitch chuckled, filing the location away in his mind as he snatched the bottle from Hathgar and took a sip himself. It was delicious. Smooth and warm and woody, without any magical effects. Just good whiskey. “Guess the Estate has its priorities straight.”

  “Aye, priorities,” Hathgar said, grabbing a personal sized keg under his arm. “Yer tab, remember?”

  “On my tab,” Mitch quipped, glancing around the cellar. Sable sorted through the bottles and plucked one Mitch recognized. A bottle of Nightswart Absinthe. She gave him a coy smile before returning to her usual poise. Mitch’s stomach lurched in nerves at her look.

  The souls in his core stirred faintly as well, eager to keep him moving.

  Satisfied, Mitch made a mental note to try and share a drink with Sable, and to return to the cellar later. “Let’s not get too comfortable,” he said, turning to the hallway at the end of the cellar.

  Mitch stepped through the threshold with Hathgar and Sable trailing behind. He let the thought of souls guide him.

  The air turned damp and cold, clinging to his skin. Water dripped around him as he opened his eyes to find himself in a small, dungeon-like chamber.

  The room was darker than the others, glowstones faint and sparse. Shelves lined the chamber neatly, each holding jars of varying shapes and sizes.

  Mitch took a step closer. The jars weren’t empty.

  Each jar held a single soul.

  Some of the jars glowed faintly, their souls dim and still, candles on the verge of burning out. Others pulsed violently, trapped souls thrashing against the confines of their prisons. Maddened fury that seeped into the room itself. Mitch immediately thought of the Warden’s soul in the jar that Mook currently possessed in his room.

  Hathgar’s face twisted in disgust as he approached one of the shelves. “Stars. This is…feels wrong. Keeping souls? This many? Fer what?”

  Sable seemed captivated. She stepped closer to one of the jars, fingers hesitating above the glass. “There’s so much energy here,” she said. “So much…pain. If they’ve been here all this time, that means that my soul…” she trailed off in thought.

  Mitch’s stomach churned. Souls stirred in his core. Not with excitement but with fear. They recoiled from Mitch.

  He reached out to touch one of the jars but stopped short. A memory unfolded in his mind, vivid and unbidden.

  Another him. Another holder of this body.

  He stood in this very room, surrounded by these jars. The souls weren’t just trapped. They were endlessly tormented by the other version of him. Twisted cried of anguish echoed through the chamber as his past self siphoned not his suffering, but theirs. Tranforming it into power. The memory was fragmented, but the madness was clear. The previous inhabitant of his body had been consumed by the practice, endlessly strengthening himself, his mind and self unraveling as he fed on their agony. Agony’s Embrace apparently allowed Mitch to tap into any agony, not just his own.

  Mitch shuddered as the memory faded. All that power. And the man had still failed.

  I’m here in this body, aren’t I?

  Galadrith’s voice whispered in his mind. “Our enemies, reduced to strength in your hands. A fate for those who oppose us, perhaps? Why hesitate?”

  “Because it didn’t work apparently,” Mitch answered aloud and then shook his head as the thought came out immediately. “And I’m not a torturer.”

  Hathgar glanced at him. “Good. Because if ye’re just going te’ start torturing others fer power, I’m out. Gotta be a better way.”

  Sable tilted her head, her mismatched eyes locking onto his. “This place…it’s a tool. Just like the Abyss does, you may have to use this room as intended. We don’t know how big this place is, it could hold many more things like this.”

  Mitch didn’t respond. He turned away from the jars, forcing himself to focus. She was right, they had only just begun to scratch the surface of the Estate.

  “I need to think about this later,” he said firmly. “Let’s move.”

  He stepped back toward the threshold, letting his mind shift to the Library. Anything was better than the Dungeon for now.

  As he crossed, the oppressive air of the Soul Chamber vanished, replaced by the dry but more inviting atmosphere of the Library.

  It worked. They could move freely to different sections of the Estate.

  Need to figure out just how much there is to this place.

  Mitch felt the myriad of pulls in all directions. He wasn’t sure what rooms he needed to go to, but countless tugs pinged him from every direction.

  More things to explore.

  “We’ve confirmed it,” Mitch said as Hathgar and Sable crossed into the Library behind him. “We can move between different rooms. But how many rooms are there? If there’s food? I don’t think…everyone will want to eat just Bugs.”

  Hathgar and Sable grumbled in agreement. The dwarf rubbed his stomach with his palm. “Aye, lad. A proper feast’d do us some good. If this place has whiskey, surely it’s got bacon.”

  Sable added quietly as she scanned the shelves, “This building isn’t just a refuge. It’s important. There’s things here that you need to find, Mitch. Its…alive, somehow.”

  Mitch agreed. He felt it too, the hum of the Estate brushing against his mind like a whisper urging him to explore deeper.

  And then it came.

  A tug more violent than the others. A deep, instinctual pull in his core that stirred the souls within him. It was more subtle than the key’s pull had been, but no less powerful. It called to him. Trying to show him something deeper, hidden within the Estate.

  Relics.

  The word came to his mind. Without memories, he could feel them on the tip of his tongue. Trying to show him where to go and what he might find.

  “There’s something big hiding.” He said to them.

  Hathgar raised an eyebrow at him. “What kind o’ something?”

  “Relics,” Mitch said simply. “There has to be relics hiding somewhere in here.”

  Sable’s expression turned into thoughtful agreement, but before she could reply, a sharp, eager voice cut through his Abyssal Bind.

  “Mitchell!” Mook’s mental voice carried excitement and wariness. “Come to the Transfer Room immediately! We’ve found it! The banging. A strange man is on the other side. We cannot understand the words he says, but we can piece out ‘Mitch,’.”

  Mitch froze. Someone was knocking on a door in the Estate. He wasn’t sure who it was, but something in his body’s memories told him that if the noise came from inside the Estate, it was likely safe. Mostly. There seemed to be caveats to that statement. However, it felt right, especially if it was coming from the Transfer Room.

  Varak’s presence calmly brushed against the connection.

  “Mmm. Loud. Very loud presence. Arrogant…smell good though,” she added.

  Mitch turned to Hathgar and Sable. “They found the source of the knocking. And apparently, it’s not a thing. It’s a someone.”

  “Wonderful. A knock from a door inside. Makes total sense, aye.” Hathgar flexed his arm into a hammer.

  Mitch stepped toward the room's threshold. He let the thought of the Transfer Room guide him, the air shifting and beginning to pull him in.

  Whatever, or whoever, waited on the other side, he was ready to face them.