Dungeon of Doors

~ Billy, Vicinity of Aquartis ~

Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I lurch up. My eyes dart around, finding the dungeon long gone and a modest home instead. Sunlight pours in from a window beside the bed I'm seated upon. I've been stripped down to my underthings, and cleaned at some point during my sleep.

Confusion knits my brow as I recall my last moments. I should be dead, I took a fatal wound to the neck, and was hallucinating on the brink of death. Perhaps someone made it to me with a healing potion before I succumbed to blood loss. That is the only possibility.

My muscles ache as I rise from the bed. The shack I find myself in appears to be a single room affair. There's a small stove in the corner and a few baskets filled with various goods a household would need. I can hear the chatter of people speaking outside.

"I'm telling you, this dungeon is a lost cause, Rebecca."

That voice is familiar—Drist, the most capable of the party. He sounds frustrated. I listen in from behind the door as another voice I know well replies to his statement. Miss Hawthorne.

"Teacher, how can you say that? There is still much to uncover and plenty of opportunity here."

"No, the treasure has gone from worthwhile to useless. That damn staff is an ornament."

Staff? Right, there was a particularly pretty looking staff capped with a blue gem. I remember pulling it into my lap as I was dying. Unfortunate that its a useless piece of metal tipped with a jewel. Glancing around the shack I'm in reveals the staff is sitting beside the bed on the floor, partially hidden beneath it.

May as well claim it since no one else wants the thing. I sigh, walking over to the staff and picking it up. Familiar blue motes of light blink into my vision rapidly as I grip the handle of the thing. Confusion knits my brow as I stare at the hallucination.

This was what I saw on death's door. Blue glowing sparks floating in the air, in everything. But how can I be seeing them now when I feel as fit as a fiddle?

Curiosity leads me to attempt something I'd normally dismiss as crazy. I point the staff toward a basket in the corner—it is filled with dense blue motes of light—and I flick upwards. My forehead creases slightly as a jar of something flies up out of the basket before falling back down with a loud shatter. Some kind of preservative spills across the floor alongside shards of glass.

The door swings open to reveal a concerned looking Miss Hawthorne. She looks me up and with some relief tinging her features before noticing the shattered jar.

"What in the world happened here, Billy?"

I clear my throat and slightly tuck the staff behind my back. Drist gives me an unamused look as he steps in from behind Miss Hawthorne.

"First eavesdropping, now you're breaking a villager's belongings?"

"You were aware? I apologize, Sir."

"Of course I was aware. You're twenty years too young to pull one over on me, kid."

Drist's confidence is laced with contempt. It is clear the older man is feeling bitter about our most recent delve into the dungeon. I deflate slightly as I reveal the staff I was hiding very poorly behind my back. The two of them give me a questioning look.

I clear my throat "This staff isn't useless. It's mysterious, but useful."

"How can that be? I tried to use it but nothing happened. It is as good as a paperweight."

Drist snatches it from my hands and inspects it closely. There's no sign of recognition in his eyes as he glances around for something he can't find. The motes of light fade from my vision now that I'm not holding the staff, and I have to imagine Drist is not seeing them either. He scoffs before tossing the staff back to me.

"Useless. Good as decoration and nothing more."

"I can prove otherwise, Sir."

An arched brow from Drist and a curious look from Miss Hawthorne encourage me to do so. I step past them and grab ahold of my boots—which are sitting by the door. Once I've got them on I walk out into the village proper. Sunlight stings my eyes whilst the stink of fish slaps me in the face.

I walk past a few villagers who give the staff in my hands lingering stares. Most of them are quick to ignore the precious looking item once they see who's carrying it. None of the honest folk in this village care to bother with the stuff we take out of the dungeon.

Drist and Miss Hawthorne follow me to the river. I stand on the bank with wide eyes. I thought there was a lot of blue sparks in people, but there are far more in the river. The flow of the water is shining as brightly as the sun with the blue motes of light.

"So? Why are we here?"

Wordlessly I lift the staff with one hand. The blue gem sparkles in the sunlight as I urge the blue light in the river's current to move. I hear an audible gasp from Miss Hawthorne as the river's flow slows. The water collects into a large hump that continues to rise, resembling a dam in shape.

The water downstream grows weaker as I gather more of the current into a gradually forming orb. Sweat beads upon my brow as I struggle to separate the water I'm controlling from the flow of the river. My hand shakes as I pull a sphere of water up out of the current, holding the floating mass of liquid in the air. The sight defies all logic—much like the dungeon I got it from.

"I stand corrected…" Drist murmurs.

I release my mental hold on the giant ball of water. It falls down into the river with a splash, sending a surge downstream that laps at the docks set low to the normal water level. Drist puts a hand on my shoulder and gives me a nod.

"The dungeon clearly has more to show us. Hopefully the next item won't be one that refuses to let me wield it."

"I agree, Sir."

It is only now I think to consider the absence of those that delved with us to that unnerving mirrored sea. Kingsley and his last remaining follower are nowhere to be seen. Neither Henry nor Leah are around either, and I had thought we formed a decent teacher student bond.

I can understand Kingsley's group operating on their own, but what about the youths?

"Where is Henry?"

Drist shakes his head solemnly. Henry is gone? That boy died in the fighting, yet I somehow lived? My face twitches at the realization that I've failed both my former comrade and student whom shared the same name. Cold shame stabs my heart as I choke out a followup question.

"And Leah?"

It is Miss Hawthorne who answers this one for me.

"We've not seen her since we buried Henry alongside his guardian. Not even her parents have seen her, nor anyone in the village."

"Damn it. Where did you exactly see her last?"

Miss Hawthorne gives me directions to the home of the late Henry's sole parent. I leave the pair of them to discuss their own business while making my way through the village. I stop at the shack we've set up in and use some fabric to wrap my staff in, tying it to my back in what I hope is a less conspicuous display.

The village grows sparser and quieter the further from the river I get. The small house matching the description I was given is on the very edge of town, with a tree growing against one of its walls. I don't have to step inside to find Henry's Pa.

"You've come." The man states plainly.

"That I have, Sir."

He's seated on a rocking chair, idly swaying back and forth with the creak of the wood. He has this oddly peaceful look on his face. It is difficult to read his emotions.

"I'm sorry."

My words don't surprise him. He must have been expecting me to visit and apologize like this. He waves a hand dismissively at me before rising, using one hand to support himself on the arm of his rocking chair. He uses a cane to walk down the single step of his meager porch.

"Save your apologies, boy."

"Your son's fate was in part my fault. I was meant to protect him."

"You did all you could. Besides, maybe you succeeded."

Confusion knits my brows as I follow the old man. He hobbles past me and around the back of the shack. There the tree growing against the house has its root spread far. Between two of these roots is a soft path of earth, a wooden post marking a grave.

"This is where we buried him."

His tone of voice strikes me as odd. It's like he isn't grieving, or even sad to see his boy gone. He doesn't sound happy, just a peaceful kind of content. I stare at the grave for several long moments. Curiosity gets the better of me.

"You don't sound sad, Sir."

"Hah! I'm sad, boy, but not for the reason you might think."

"What do you mean?"

The branches on the tree growing above Henry's grave creak as the wind picks up just slightly. And old wind chime hanging from the porch around the house produces a tinkling melodic sound.

"I don't think he's really gone. Not like he should be."

The poor old man hasn't come to terms with the death of his son. I hold back a pitying sigh and simply chew my lip. If Henry's Pa notices my disbelief at his unreasonable thoughts he doesn't make it clear. I move the conversation elsewhere as we stand solemnly over Henry's grave.

"Sir, pardon my asking, but do you know where Henry's friend Leah might have gone?"

He turns to give me a suspicious look, as if scanning me for any ill intentions, and then the stare passes.

"Yes, but don't go telling anyone. I'm only telling you because you're the one she most needs right now."

"What about her parents? Do they not know?"

"No. She's in the woods across the river, past the thorns and such."

I don't take the time to press him for answers on why he would let her run off into the forest. Letting someone who's just lost a close friend run off away from their family and friends to be alone in the wilderness is a surefire way to invite tragedy.

My pace catches the attention of several villagers, but I do not stop to explain myself. I don't want to be too late in case my student is planning to do something reckless.

"Billy? Where are you-"

Miss Hawthorne questions me as I rush past her and Drist. I don't stop as I sprint across the bank of the river. I tear the staff of water off my back and in one fluid motion the river parts for me. My boots track mud as I rush across the riverbed and onto the opposite bank. The river's flow resumes behind me, and I climb the crumbling steep face of the terrain across the river from the village.

Thorns and bushes block my path once I crest the small ledge. I trudge through, my boots and pants being scratches by the many prickly plants which make this side of the river more trouble than its worth. It is as I'm making my way through the brush I hear a familiar girl shout somewhere nearby.

"Leah!" I call out, frantic.

Adrenaline pumps through me as I push my way past low hanging branches and stumble into a clearing. I barely get to make my way a few steps forward before a cold blade is pressed to my throat. Staring up at me with sweat dripping down her face is Leah. The girl is wearing a simply tunic and trousers along with a pair of boots, a sword in her hands. All around the clearing are cut up chunks of wood and snapped branches. There's a small tent off to one side of the messy clearing.

"Billy! I mean, Teacher, you're awake!"

"Of course I am, what the hell are you doing out here?"

She lowers the sword from my neck and shrugs. The grin she's got on her face makes it clear she's proud of the utter state this clearing is in.

"Training, of course!"

Well, at least she hasn't had her spirit broken by Henry's death.

I suppose its time I give her some in depth swordsmanship lessons.