The next day arrives in the blink of an eye. I barely get any sleep, and now I’m dragging myself around, trying to pack everything before the others decide to move deeper into the dungeon.

  As we continue forward, the tentacles’ movements behind me grow more frantic. They flood the bond with so much joy and excitement that it nearly drowns out my own thoughts.

  Cringing slightly, I keep throwing up mental barriers—each one quickly knocked down by the overwhelming emotions bleeding through from the tentacles.

  I follow behind a hunter, doing my best to ignore the bond’s noise. My eyes wander across every twisted tree. The farther we travel, the more warped the branches become. The ceiling above us slowly gets swallowed by the creeping limbs, like we’re walking into a cage.

  This dungeon never looked cheerful, but something about seeing the open ceiling before was… comforting. Now, even that’s disappearing.

  A few hunters stumble, tripping over roots or vines. Their flashlight beams whirl erratically, a few flashing directly into my eyes and momentarily blinding me.

  “Whoa!” one of them shouts as I flinch and turn away, narrowly dodging the worst of the glare.

  In the process, I catch sight of Mary catching her foot on a thick tree root.

  “And that’s when—” she starts to say, just as her body pitches forward.

  I reach out instinctively, grabbing the scruff of her shirt. One of the tentacles lashes out too, curling around her left arm.

  Mary’s flashlight, mercifully, shines above us instead of directly into my face.

  “Careful,” I say, setting the woman down as the tentacles uncurl from her arm. “Watch your step.”

  “Yep,” Mary sighs, slowly feeling her way forward with one leg. “Ugh. It’s going to be a pain moving through this darkness. It's like walking through a jungle blindfolded.”

  At this, I simply hum. One of my tentacles twitches behind me, amused by her reaction.

  “So, what were you saying about deciding to go to my birth city?” I ask, continuing the conversation. “Have you made up your mind—?”

  “Yeah, no thanks,” she quickly cuts in. “I'm good. Also, where did you even get the idea I was going to that place?”

  Crossing my arms, I raise an eyebrow at her.

  “Weren’t you the one talking about needing good summer weather and fewer asura?” I ask. “Not only is Crystal Blossom City a city, it’s also one of the top five in terms of military strength and economics. It’s one of the safest places when it comes to robbery, drug trade, illegal alcohol—any of that nefarious stuff.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  “And compared to smaller villages, if monsters were to suddenly spawn or rush in from the wilds or dungeons, there would be an actual line of soldiers to fight them off,” I continue, listing my points on my fingers. “Less damage done to any building we decide to purchase.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “A lot of tea herbs grow extremely well in my city, or are much easier to find,” I add. “You wouldn’t have to worry so much about prices.”

  I pause, tilting my head as I hum to myself.

  Of course, that assumes you’re willing to travel to the more dangerous outskirts. The secure zones are either barren or already owned by someone else. Not that I need to tell Mary that—I could harvest what we need without anyone being the wiser.

  “Look, Beatrice, I really appreciate your help with all this,” Mary says suddenly, pulling my attention back. “I really do.”

  I wait as she feels her way through a rough patch of terrain, tilting my head to the side.

  “But…” she trails off. “I don’t think I want to build my shop there.”

  Blinking, I barely register the slight lift of my tentacles as the ground begins to slope upward.

  “I don’t get it,” I say, frowning. “The place has everything a future tea shop owner would want. The people even have an obsessive culture around tea.”

  “I do like that,” Mary says, pausing to glance me up and down, “but… I can’t in good conscience build it there. For reasons.”

  My frown deepens as I chew on my bottom lip.

  What was that look? And why was she looking at me like that?

  “That’s because you don’t know more about it,” I sniff, glancing around at the people walking with us. “You’re judging a book by its cover.”

  Most of the porters around us—specifically the Essevians—wear grim expressions that worsen the farther we go.

  Hazel, somewhere behind us, has a despondent look on her face.

  “Not without it feeling like stepping on nails,” Mary mutters under her breath. “Everything you’ve told me so far hasn’t exactly been… great.”

  “Stop exaggerating,” I say, briefly glancing back at her. “People just repeat whatever headlines show up on their devices and run with it.”

  I scan our surroundings again.

  Mary is just overwhelmed. Probably freaked out by the hike. This is just her way of coping.

  But as I look again toward the Essevian porters, I narrow my eyes.

  “Not with how they treated you,” Mary mumbles behind me. “Or their... eagerness for war, apparently.”

  I ignore her. The Essevians begin muttering among themselves, their tentacles twitching more erratically than usual.

  Through the bond, my own tentacles release a few confused pulses in return.

  Raising an eyebrow, I glance their way.

  Huh. So even they don’t know what’s going on… Not surprising. I don’t always let them near their own kind—for obvious reasons.

  Chewing my bottom lip, old memories flash behind my eyes. Times when my control over my body wasn’t solid. When the tentacles tried to overthrow me again and again.

  I shudder and push the memory down—just as something catches my attention.

  Hazel is standing behind a skinnier Essevian, her head bowed. Her eyes are swollen—red from crying.

  As if sensing my stare—or more likely the tentacles warning her—Hazel suddenly looks up.

  The moment we make eye contact, she begins pushing her way toward me, squeezing between others.

  “Oi, watch it!” someone yells. “You’re stepping on my foot!”

  “Did someone just touch me?” another shouts. “Ew, gross. There’s sweat on it!”

  “Huh,” Mary says, making me nearly jump. “What’s going on back there?”

  Before I can answer, Hazel squeezes past the last person in the crowd.

  Her hair is a mess. Her clothes are torn at the corners. The tentacles behind her droop in something like sadness.

  “Hazel!” Mary gasps, immediately pulling the girl into her arms. “What happened? Why are you here all alone?”

  Walking beside them, I let the two talk while I keep watching our surroundings, listening with one ear.

  But for some reason, my gaze keeps drifting forward—to the place where Mark is leading us all.

  His expression is set in a grim line, eyes focused ahead. Scars line his face.

  He looks a bit intimidating, but that’s kind of expected for a hunter. He must have a lot of experience leading people.

  “Something happened!” the girl blurts. “Someone has disappeared…”