If anyone were to ask Tars when his happiest moment was, he would smile and say it was just a second ago, at the previous intersection.

  He was lost. Again.

  After turning a corner, he realized something was wrong, but as he moved to double back, a series of heart-wrenching sobs—like those of a grieving child—echoed from all directions. This familiar weeping was the same sound he had encountered when leaving the half-man's presence. Now, no matter which way he turned, the wailing haunted the tunnels, as if providing a morbid soundtrack to his journey.

  Whatever was making that sound seemed capable of influencing a person's judgment—it was likely the culprit behind his constant disorientation. However, because Tars was maintaining his Fetid Skin spell, the unseen phantom didn't dare draw near. The two parties were locked in a bizarre, mobile stalemate, the likes of which he had never heard of.

  Wandering through the gloom, Tars suddenly sprinted forward when a sob sounded from behind. He had already replenished his temporary spell slot through meditation during a brief rest. If the creature scaring him with cries dared to show itself, he wouldn't mind wasting a spell to give it a thorough thrashing.

  As he ran, the crying grew fainter until it vanished entirely. Not so formidable after all, he thought.

  "Smelly-sweet big brother, can you help me?"

  A high-pitched, youthful voice chirped just as a small figure stepped clumsily from the shadow of a corner. Tars stopped; the creature stepped back in perfect sync. It was a game of cat and mouse that promised to go on forever.

  "Didn't you say I smelled good?" Tars called out, emboldened. He scrutinized the creature. Once he saw it clearly, his tension eased.

  The figure looked like a human child but possessed two long, thin antennae atop its head. It wore a simple, monochrome robe, with chitinous joints visible at its shoulders and elbows. These features reminded him of a rare humanoid race Aiskin had mentioned: the Bugfolk.

  "It's not the stinky spell," the little Bugfolk explained earnestly, its voice steady despite the tears streaming down its face. "It's the scent of your mental power. It smells very nice."

  "You're a Bugfolk?" Tars didn't drop his spell. He had been wondering if he could learn to control the aura enough to be near Aiskin without harming her.

  "Chrysalis-folk, of the Chrysalis Tribe," the child corrected, hesitating as it weighed its words. "Some bad people are chasing me. Can I... can I give my younger brother to you?" The child held out a round, egg-like object.

  "Maybe you can start by telling me who's chasing you? Lizardmen?" Tars looked at the egg, which was about the size of two fists. He could sense life gestating within.

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  The child shook its head, tears falling faster. "Aunt 175 said they are wizards. She said I must never let them catch me. This is my favorite brother, but he hasn't awakened his sapience. An egg without the Light of Wisdom will only ever be a bug-beast, not a person. I... I can't carry him anymore."

  That's a lot of aunts! Bugfolk must be even more prolific than kobolds and lizardmen, Tars thought.

  "Then you should give it to one of your aunts..."

  "All the aunts are dead. The maternal aunts are dead, too." The child began to sob even more uncontrollably.

  "Alright! I'll take it," Tars agreed. "But I want to know what a wizard looks like. Tell me where they are." He felt a surge of excitement, though he quickly tempered it by thinking of Karyu's diary and the mysterious half-man.

  "The wizards are dead too... well, a few are still chasing me," the child said fretfully. "But I don't know where they are now. Whenever I sleep, they find me. I'm so sleepy... I haven't slept in so long..." The little one yawned, looking ready to collapse.

  "I was going to leave earlier, but you smelled so nice I stayed for a few days. I really must go now." The child raised the egg high above its head. "I can't take him. Maternal Aunt 728 said I must reach the Inner City; then the wizards won't find me."

  The child didn't point in any specific direction, but Tars felt an inexplicable urge to follow the path toward the end of these tunnels, a journey he had often daydreamed about.

  "But I can tell you where the dead wizards are. If you want to see them, look there. They don't smell good; the beasts probably won't eat them."

  As Tars hesitated, the little "Crybaby Bug" began to nod off, its eyes slipping shut. It struggled to stay awake, tugging on its own antennae to keep from falling over.

  "Put it down," Tars said, choosing to keep his spell active.

  "Here is a nursery bag. You can put him inside; it's very convenient and won't be a burden." A flicker of joy crossed the child's face, though the tears never stopped. To Tars, it looked like a dam had burst—perhaps it was a racial trait of the Chrysalis-folk. This was, after all, a world of magic.

  The child was in a desperate hurry. It placed the egg in the bag, set it down, and vanished into the darkness, its small body seemingly "swimming" through the air.

  Didn't those hundreds of aunts teach you about keeping your word? You haven't told me where the wizards are! Tars thought.

  Just as he cautiously picked up the nursery bag, the child darted back out of the shadows, apologizing profusely. It tilted its head and pointed a long antenna into the distance.

  "When I grow up, I'll come back to play with you! You really smell wonderful. My brother will like you too." With those words, the child vanished for good.

  At that moment, Tars felt a ripple of mental energy. Upon contact, he "read" a crude map directly into his mind. He hooked the nursery bag onto his hide belt and hurried away. He pored over the map as he walked; there were several "burial sites" for wizards, none of which matched the location of the half-man. This was good news—it meant he wouldn't have to rely solely on that creepy stranger for information. And apparently, the fleeing Bugfolk hadn't bothered to loot the bodies.

  He returned to a familiar stretch of tunnel and chose a new path. As the passage widened, he knew he had finally chosen correctly. His previous use of Bull's Strength had made him feel like an absolute juggernaut, but once the effect wore off, his body had been wracked with soreness. It was clear the spell required a certain level of physical hardiness to sustain.

  His mind was on the Holy Lord's fruits. He crept toward the Great Cave, but all he found was a floor drenched in blood.