The Myth Seekers stood gathered around the mirror in the Earl's throne room. Selene was present, her expression unreadable as ever, and the Hollow Earl watched from his darkwood dais like a statue carved of shadow. Remi was there too, moving with a noticeable limp but looking significantly better than the last time Raith had seen him. Less pale and not quite so frayed around the edges.

  While they waited, Raith let his senses extend. As Selene had advised, he reached inward with his divine thread, treating it like a sense he could direct. He tuned himself to the mirror and was startled to discover a kind of spiritual resonance, a pulse deep in his pattern that thrummed like a taut string. As he focused, a faint vibration stirred within him. Strangely familiar, he thought he could feel the distant heartbeat of the Dreaming. He was just starting to explore the connection when Gloam entered the room.

  The massive fae strode forward with slow, deliberate strides. He gave a stiff bow toward the Earl and stepped through the gathered party without apology, scattering them like leaves in his wake. Just as Gloam neared the mirror’s edge, the Earl’s voice cut through the chamber.

  “Remi,” he said softly. “Before our noble team departs, our little quest must be made official in the ways of mortalkind. Speak the words we discussed,”

  Raith turned just in time to catch Remi’s face blanching white. The man looked to his liege, desperately hoping for reprieve.

  “But, sire,” Remy said, voice tight. “This is a massive undertaking. My levels…”

  The Earl said nothing. His gaze, cold and absolute, demanded obedience.

  Remi swallowed hard and turned to the party.

  “To the Myth Seekers, I offer this [Quest]: Enter Tarn and obtain the artifact that would free the true giants from the godtowers, thereby denying it to the formor, then return here with the key.”

  Raith felt the [Quest] bond take shape, threads of Remi’s pattern spinning out and latching onto their own. Remi winced, looking crestfallen but wisely held his tongue. The man had paid a heavy price in power to bind this task to them.

  The Earl gave Gloam a small nod, and without a word the fae bowed his head and stepped through the mirror.

  The Myth Seekers followed.

  This time, the gossamer path carried them through a mountain valley, winding lazily across stony ground. Crisp alpine air bit at their faces, and a silver stream trickled down from snow-draped peaks high above. The light here felt thinner, as if everything here were a dream. After a moment’s consideration, Raith realized it was exactly that.

  Something shimmered at Raith’s side. A ripple of dreamstuff began to coalesce like ink curling in water. It condensed into a small, knee high figure, a flickering, vaguely humanoid silhouette with a curious tilt to its head.

  Raith startled, but immediately recognized his daemon, who’d been keeping itself to the library these days. The little creature seemed far more substantial here, even more than in his [Mnemonic Library]. The scrolls he had read identified daemons as born from the Dream Realm, which would account for the change here on the path.

  “Well, hello Veil.”

  The creature pulsed faintly in recognition and gave a little nod.

  Gloam froze mid-step, his attention snapping to the daemon like a wolf scenting prey. His eyes narrowed to slits.

  “Whose figment is that?” the fae demanded, voice low and dangerous.

  Raith glanced at the others, then back at the daemon.

  “Uh… mine?”

  Gloam bared a fraction of his teeth.

  “Keep it under control or I’ll eat it.”

  Veil drifted closer to Raith’s leg, its surface rippling in anxiety.

  Thea leaned forward, peering at the strange being with interest.

  “Where the hell has Veil been this whole time?”

  Raith gave her a strained look.

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “Sure,” she said, arching a brow. “But if your pet pisses off our guide, I’m kicking you.”

  Veil offered a ripple of what might have been either apology or amusement.

  Gloam forged ahead without looking back. They walked in silence, their footfalls muffled by pine needles and loose snow. Raith kept one eye on the terrain and the other inward, once again seeking that quiet resonance in his divine thread. The gossamer path had its own rhythm, one that echoed faintly in the same part of him that responded to the Dreaming. He let it guide his awareness as the terrain shifted.

  Eventually, Gloam led them through a narrow pass, and they emerged abruptly onto a bustling city street.

  Raith froze. Stone buildings with steep roofs lined the avenue, their architecture unfamiliar. The townsfolk moved about dressed in styles that belonged in Beckhaven’s history books. High collars, layered tunics, gilded walking sticks, and parasols. No one reacted to their sudden appearance. It was as though their group had simply been part of the scenery all along.

  Cautiously, Raith activated [Life in Staccato], letting the world halt so he could take it all in. But something was wrong. Everything around him froze entirely, except this time he could still move...and so could his party.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Gloam had already drawn his bolas and was glaring at the paused crowd with narrowed eyes. Thea looked at Raith with wide, panicked eyes. He deactivated the skill immediately, and the world snapped back into motion.

  “What the hell was that?” she hissed under her breath.

  Gloam’s eyes lingered on Raith for a long, accusing moment before the fae returned his weapons and resumed walking. The townspeople continued to ignore them, parting naturally around their group as if guided by some invisible current.

  Raith glanced at the citizens again, tempted to reach out and touch one, just to see if they’d react. But something deep inside, perhaps a rare display of common sense or maybe the tug of instinct inherited from his godlaced blood, warned him not to.

  They ducked down a narrow alley and emerged into a shadowed forest. The light here was dim, filtered through mist and old trees. Raith could have sworn it was the same forest they'd passed through on the way to the Earl’s castle.

  Once more, he reached inward and found that humming thread. He was already getting better at feeling it, and thought he was even getting a sense of where this path led.

  He caught a glimpse of a figure lurking behind a tree. Its eyes were wide and black, gleaming with malevolence. Startled, he activated [Staccato] to get a better look and gauge the threat, just as he would have in the mortal realm. As with in the village, the figure froze mid-stare, along with everything else except for the people closest to him. This time he watched a moth flitting through the area of effect and freezing to a halt when it got too far away.

  What in the five realms is going on with my [Skill]?

  Gloam, spun around, glaring into the forest with suspicion. Raith quickly dropped the [Skill], feigning confusion and mimicking Gloam’s wary glances at their surroundings. Thea’s look said plainly: Try that again, and you're getting a [Shield Bash].

  They soon entered a ring of red mushrooms growing in a perfect circle. Raith, now more practiced, extended his senses to the portal hidden within. He felt it much clearer this time. The Dreaming vibrated through it, plucking at his thread like a harp string.

  Gloam stepped into the circle and activated the portal, and the world shifted again.

  They emerged in a lush southern forest, heavy with humidity. Thick vines hung from the trees, and nearby, a dark cave yawned like a waiting mouth. The air was considerably warmer. Raith guessed they were far to the south of Beckhaven now.

  “Where are we?” he asked.

  “Near the giant-kin’s settlement within your Three Kingdoms,” Gloam said, voice gruff. “The formor’s plan was long in the making, and the location of their city close to the dungeon deliberate. You’ll find the entrance through that cave. Follow it downward. As instructed by the Earl, I have already ensured no dangers lie between you and the city gates. The path taken here cost us an entire day in the mortal realm. The formor may already within.”

  With that, the giant fae stepped back into the mushroom circle and vanished.

  Thea smacked Raith on the shoulder.

  “What the hell were you doing back there?”

  Raith winced. “I activated [Life in Staccato]. I didn’t know it would do that. I mean, I knew what it does normally. But this time, I wasn’t frozen. Everything else was.”

  Nyhm furrowed his brows.

  “It looked like you froze time in the Dreaming, except for us. Is that what it normally looks like for you?”

  Raith nodded slowly. “Sort of. Except usually, I’m locked up too and simply watching the world. Obviously not this time.” He hesitated. “I should probably figure out what that means. Hopefully, I can talk to Selene about it when we get back. But first…”

  He turned back toward the mushroom circle. The opportunity to knowingly stand at the entrance to a gossamer path may not come again soon.

  Now that he knew what to feel, the portal’s energy pulsed beneath his awareness like a heartbeat. He remembered what Selene had said. He pulled up a memory. His first victory in a skirmishers match and the elation from that rush of success. He tied it to his present desire, willing the portal to recapture that moment of triumph.

  His divine thread responded.

  The circle bloomed with radiant energy, and before anyone could react, Raith vanished into the Dreaming.

  He reappeared on the gossamer path they had just left, a rush of wind whirling around him. For one brief moment, panic fluttered in his chest. What if Gloam was still nearby? But thankfully the path was empty.

  Activating [Life in Staccato], Raith tried to explore the edges of the sphere of effect before stupidly realizing it moved with him. Further examination revealed it to be around a ten foot radius, and when he moved anything that crossed the threshold of the sphere resumed motion.

  Raith grinned, reached back out, and reopened the portal. He stepped back into the forest beside Thea and Nyhm.

  “Don’t ever do that again,” Thea snapped. “You scared the absolute shit out of me.”

  “Sorry,” Raith said, grinning despite himself. “I didn’t know when I’d get another chance. How long was I gone?”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  "Only a moment."

  So time wasn't passing out here while I was in [Staccato] on the path? This is making my head hurt. I really need to talk to Selene.

  He paused, then looked toward the cave.

  “Do we head in now, or take a break first?”

  Nyhm shook his head.

  “We shouldn’t dally. The giant-kin could have at least a day’s head start.”

  Raith took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Together, the Myth Seekers turned toward the mouth of the cave and the darkness beyond. Beside him, Thea froze. Raith turned to see her pale and rigid, staring at the cave mouth as though it might snap shut around them.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” she whispered. “I…I hate caves.”

  Nyhm raised a brow.

  “You’ve visited your mother’s family in the dwarven burrows more than once. What’s one more hole in the ground?”

  “I kept to the citadels,” she snapped, still not moving. “Going beneath the earth just feels…wrong.”

  Raith stepped closer, lowering his voice.

  “We’ll be with you the whole way.”

  Veil, hovering silently near Raith’s leg, pulsed faintly, as if in agreement.

  Nyhm nodded and added, “We all have darksight, and the dungeon caverns are supposed to be huge.”

  Thea gave a shaky laugh.

  “Thanks, I think.”

  Nyhm clapped her gently on the shoulder.

  “Just think of it like one long tree hollow.”

  “That’s not any better,” she muttered. But she took a breath, squared her shoulders, and the trio stepped into the cavern's mouth.

  The descent into the earth began.

  Shadows swallowed them whole, but they moved confidently. Raith’s [Skill] and the other’s rings allowing their eyes to adjust to the dark with ease. The air inside was heavy with moisture, minerals, and the weight of ancient silence. Veil drifted just behind Raith, eerily quiet, the faint ripple of its surface the only sign of its presence.

  They descended far longer than any of them expected. What they had imagined would be a short tunnel stretched endlessly downward. Thea stopped complaining, too focused on breathing steadily and keeping her footing to voice her dread.

  The team traversed steep inclines carved into the stone, passed natural arches that dripped with condensation, and wound through narrow defiles where they had to walk single file, their footsteps muffled against the stone. Stalactites loomed like teeth overhead, and subterranean winds moaned through the passages, as if the cave itself whispered secrets long forgotten.

  Raith could feel it building. The pressure of age, of memory, of divinity long buried. The closer they drew to their destination, the more the air shimmered faintly with the resonance of forgotten power. At one point, the air grew thin and then thick again, like they’d passed through a membrane between worlds. Even the dreaming part of his soul stirred uncomfortably, as though it remembered something he did not.

  After what felt like hours of descent, the passage finally widened, the ceiling arching high overhead into a cavern so massive it defied comprehension. And there, looming before them, stood the gates etched in ancient reliefs. Massive marble statues, or perhaps sleeping guardians, watched from their stone perches above.

  The Myth Seekers stood in silence.

  Tarn awaited.