“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” I asked, almost fearing the answer. My eyes swept the area, catching on Aerion’s horrified expression.

  “They didn’t evolve this way voluntarily,” Aerion replied. “They were corrupted, somehow. After a cycle long ago.”

  I frowned wondering if this was going where I thought it was. “Let me guess... right after the cycle ended?”

  She nodded. “It seems the territory boundaries shifted. In that cycle, the Sylvanglades were transferred to Dominion. That was when it happened. Their oral, or rather, telepathic—history says so.”

  “And she told you all this?” I asked.

  Aerion nodded. “In a manner. She showed me the memory. Of the ones who experienced it firsthand. Their agony, their suffering... everything.”

  “Damn.” I shook my head. “That is some heavy shit. If they can preserve memories that well, that’s record keeping on a level the world’s never seen.”

  Perfect memory? The ability to convey thoughts? I had to admit I was more than a little jealous. But when the ramifications hit me, I realized I probably shouldn’t be.

  “So this means this was all related to the gods’ deals,” I said, trying and failing to keep the anger out of my voice. “Sounds like the elves got shafted as part of that.”

  Aerion nodded.

  “Sure, they’re gods. Sure, they’ve got almighty power, and people worship them. But to forsake an entire people for eternity? What the hell did the Reavers do to deserve this?”

  “The Cilian Fae,” Aerion muttered.

  “Sorry?” I asked.

  “It’s what they were called before they became Reavers.”

  “I see,” I muttered. “Well, as shitty as that makes me feel, there isn’t a whole lot we can do about that right now. We need to get back to the Sylvanglades, pick up the Mythril armor they promised us, and head to this dungeon.”

  Aerion nodded. “It would seem our time in this wonderful forest is drawing to a close. However, there’s a stop we must make before we leave the city.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “And what’s that?”

  She gave me a grin I knew all too well. The same sort of grin I wore when I was thinking something devious.

  “Oh, nothing,” Aerion said, smirking. “Just a little vault full of soul crystals.”

  The vault turned out to be buried deep underground, within the very building we were in—the most central and secure place in the entire village. It made me dizzy thinking of how difficult it would be to raid something like this. First, navigating that maze, then descending down that spiral staircase into the cenote only to fight your way to the center, going underground only to be ambushed the second you got out. These Reavers didn’t mess around.

  “How did you manage to convince them to let us take the stuff?” I asked.

  “It was simple,” Aerion replied. “I showed them images of us fighting the Cataclysm. It seems telepathy can convey only that which I wish to convey. Our deception wasn’t detected, for what I showed her was real. It proved beyond doubt that we were who we said we were. For all their faults and the aggression they cannot control, the Cilian Fae hate the Cataclysm as much as we do. Not only for their own self-interest, but for the world’s.”

  “Huh.” I grunted. “Wouldn’t have thought a group of berserkers would care about anyone else. Guess that just goes to show things aren’t always what they seem.”

  “Indeed,” Aerion replied.

  As it turned out, the Cilian Fae didn’t let us into the vault proper. They instead brought out a small mountain of soul crystals—so many my eyes nearly bulged out of my sockets. There were over a hundred commons, dozens of [Uncommons], [Rares], a handful of [Epics], and even a [Legendary], which sparkled with such dizzying brightness, it might as well have been a magical light source of its own.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  My head nearly swam with the possibilities, but I didn’t have an opportunity to gawk, seeing how it took all I had to stop Galia from gorging on them. Though she was as stunned as I was, she nevertheless made a beeline for the [Legendary] crystal. I only just barely managed to grab her in time. Not even soothing words could calm the bird in front of such a feast, so I was forced to stick her in my inventory.

  She’d get her fill in due time. Just not that [Legendary]. That was going to Aerion or me. Knowing Aerion, though, I doubted she’d let me give it to her unless I also had one…

  “She will be a problem later, you know?” Aerion said with a smirk.

  I sighed. “I know…”

  “It is your fault for spoiling her,” she said, chuckling. “Regardless, we came away with quite a haul, yes?”

  “Sure did. No armor or weapons, but the Sylrithar will provide on that front.”

  It seemed the Reavers’ technological advancement was nowhere near that of the other elves, which made sense given their, er, condition.

  Our business done, we followed our Cilian Fae guide as he silently led us out of the cenote, through the tunnel network, and finally out into the forest. He pointed in a certain direction.

  I looked around only to see green upon green. “Uh, you wouldn’t be able to guide us all the way to the Sylvanglades, would you?”

  The man ignored my words, instead staring at Aerion and pointing again into the distance.

  “Right. Thanks,” I said. “Then let’s be quick about it.”

  It didn’t take us long to return to the tree where the guide had dropped us off. It was clearly closer to where we had entered, and as such, we made it back without trouble—riding the lift all the way up into the canopy.

  There we ran into the Sylrithar, animatedly talking to several others. When he saw us, his eyes went wide. He waved them away and rushed over.

  “Where have you two been? We sent out search parties! We looked everywhere—you just disappeared. You didn’t even tell us where you were going.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that,” I said, scratching my neck. We really should have told them what we were up to, but honestly it had started as nothing more than a simple foray to train Galia. How the hell were we supposed to know we’d get ambushed by Sylvan Reavers?

  We explained the situation to the Sylrithar, including the little detail about Aerion being a Champion. Needless to say, our reception changed dramatically after that little bombshell.

  “To think you were Order’s Champion… No. That Order has even summoned a Champion! The ramifications…” the elven ruler said with a thousand-yard-stare.

  Aerion nodded. “It was the only reason we survived their ambush. They led us to their city, and I uncovered a terrible secret.”

  Aerion explained how their kind came to be, how their society functioned, and why communication with them had never been possible.

  “I see,” the Sylrithar said, stroking his chin as he frowned. “This is… most concerning, but also more information than we have ever had. We have you to thank, Champion. If only you had revealed your identity earlier, we could have avoided so much chaos.”

  “Yes. But it’s not something I care to advertise, lest it attract unwanted attention.”

  The Sylrithar nodded.

  “Yet as much as I feel for the Cilian Fae, this is not the revelation that shocked me most,” Aerion went on. “There is a Cataclysm dungeon. And it sends monsters by the thousands. The Reaver scouts have ranged north, fighting them off, protecting the forest before they can reach here.”

  “You don’t look surprised,” I said.

  “We’ve known of Reaver activity—or should I say, Cilian Fae activity—to the north. But we thought nothing of it. It is not unusual for them to range outside the forest. Those recent forays have caused us no end of pain with regards to Dominion. But to think a new Cataclysm dungeon has descended… That is dire indeed.”

  He turned back to Aerion. “So. Your orders, Champion? I assume you intend to tackle it.”

  Aerion nodded. “Greg and I are planning on heading out as soon as the armor we requested is ready.”

  “The armor was ready long ago,” the Sylrithar replied.

  “Er, about that,” I said. “We’re gonna need more than just one set apiece.”

  The Sylrithar cocked an eyebrow. “And how many would you require?”

  “For her, one. For me, one light and one heavy. But I’ll need five more prepared. Six of each total.”

  The Sylrithar’s eyes widened. “We cannot… as much as we are honored to be in the presence of the Champion and her retinue, we cannot possibly—”

  I raised my hand, cutting him off before he could continue. “Relax. The Champion will only take one set, and as her guardian, I’ll take one heavy and one light. But I’ll need six of each prepared.”

  “And why would that be?” the Sylrithar asked.

  “It has to do with my Blessing,” I explained. “I intend to enchant the armor. But given the rarity of Mythril, I fully expect to fail many times. No damage will come to the armor, and the pieces I don’t succeed on can be returned to whoever needs them. But the pieces I do manage to enchant, I’ll keep.”

  “That can be arranged,” the Sylrithar said with a nod. “The heavy Mythril armor is exquisite in its construction and uses more Mythril. The light armor is simpler to procure. Even still, I believe we can assemble six sets that would fit you, though we may need to make alterations.”

  “Understood,” I said. “We greatly appreciate the assistance.”

  “It is the least we can do,” the Sylrithar replied. “To arm you is in all of our interests. Especially when a dungeon knocks on our doorstep.”

  “Good. I’m happy to hear you say that. Because there are a couple of other things we’ll need.”

  “Do tell,” the Sylrithar said, his lips curling upward into a smirk.

  “Your best forge that can fit in a ten by ten by ten space, ideally less. Oh, and as many of the highest-rarity soul crystals as you can procure. I’m hoping that won’t be too much of a problem.”

  The Sylrithar smiled. “You truly hold nothing back, do you?”

  “That’s why I’m her representative,” I said, matching his smirk.

  He shook his head. “Very well. I’ll ask our Forge Master for what you seek, and you will have access to our forge. As for the soul crystals—you’re in luck. I assumed your gluttonous bird would crave more, so I had already asked my people to assemble as many as we can.”

  “Well then,” I said. “It sounds like we have a deal.”