An electric hum underlaid the raucous energy of the Central Court, a clean, persistent thrum of power that was entirely alien to this world. It was the sound of progress. One that settled in the bones and promised a future that had, until now, been unthinkable. From his vantage point on a second-floor balcony cafe, Roy took a slow sip of a cool, fizzy drink. A small island of normalcy in the controlled chaos he had unleashed.
His eyes scanned the scene below. Adventurers, a river of scuffed leather and steel, flowed through the main thoroughfares. Dwarven masons directed Presidroid lifters with gruff, efficient commands. The whole place was a living, breathing testament to a truly insane idea. He felt a surge of something that was one part profound pride and two parts gut-clenching terror.
His gaze caught on a familiar figure. Across the court, a bright orange safety ladder was propped against the half-finished facade of what would soon be the second restaurant. Near the top, her back to the sprawling spectacle below, Takara was methodically installing a new display panel, the delicate work of connecting wiring harnesses seemingly at odds with the industrial setting. The sight of his brilliant, guilt-ridden, world-class engineer doing simple manual labor brought a smirk to his face. It was an opportunity too perfect to pass up.
Leaning over the ornate metal railing of the balcony, he cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey, Takara! Don't look down!" he called out, his voice pitched in a mock-spooky tone.
She didn't even flinch. The only acknowledgment was a slight shift of her weight on the ladder's rung as she tightened a final screw with a decisive twist of her wrench.
"Roy." Zehrina's voice was a quiet but firm reprimand from beside him. He turned to see her looking at him over the rim of her teacup, her expression one of mild but distinct disapproval. "Do not try to make her fall. It is an eight-foot drop onto solid stone."
He let out an exasperated sigh, slumping back into his chair. "Oh, come on. A couple weeks ago we watched her get blasted through a two-foot slab of sprite-enchanted, living wood. A little fall like that would feel like a summer breeze to her."
Zehrina set her cup down with a deliberate, soft click. She leaned forward, her elegant posture uncoiling with a sudden intensity. A perfectly manicured finger jabbed lightly at his chest, a gesture that carried more weight than a physical blow. "It is not about the fall, Roy, and you know it. You know she likes you. For you to actively and playfully wish her harm, even in jest… it will wound her feelings far more than any impact with the ground."
"Blah blah bl—"
The world tilted. The back legs of his chair were suddenly gone, kicked out from under him with a sharp, precise motion. For a heart-stopping moment, he was suspended in a state of weightless surprise, the ceiling of the balcony his entire world. A familiar, soft black cloud of Navi'N dust swirled beneath him, a silent promise of a gentle landing. He felt a surge of gratitude for Zehrina's quick intervention, a feeling that lasted right up until the swarm parted like a theater curtain in a gust of wind.
His back hit the hard tile with a solid, echoing thud that knocked the air from his lungs. A groan escaped his lips as he stared up at two figures looking down at him. Zehrina, with an expression of perfect innocence, and Takara, wiping a smudge of grease from her hands with a rag, and an absurdly large multi-tool peeking out of the back pocket of her work pants.
Her hand shot out, a sudden, firm grasp that pulled him upright with a surge of power. Then, a flurry of brisk taps, like a mother tidying a child, dusted the grit from his coat.
"What happened, Roy? Not careful?" she asked, her voice laced with a sweet, feigned concern. A triumphant smile spread across her face, and she held it for a beat, letting him bask in his utter defeat before she turned and trotted off back to her ladder.
He rubbed the back of his head, a dull ache already forming. He pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Zehrina. "Don't you dare let her bully me! That's a captain's order!" he whined, the words sounding pathetic even to his own ears.
Zehrina picked up her teacup, her composure flawless. A small, elegant giggle escaped her lips. "You gave me free will, Captain. I am merely exercising it."
A sudden, collective gasp from the crowd below snapped him out of his indignation, drawing his attention back to the grand spectacle of the court.
The face of a dwarf with a magnificent beard filled a fifty-foot screen. He yelped, stumbling backward as the adventurers around him erupted in startled laughter. The game was on. A woman struck a heroic pose; a man tried to hide behind his friend. The initial fear of the strange technology was melting away into a chaotic, interactive spectacle.
Roy's earpiece chirped. "Most of them look like scared and curious barn owls," he murmured.
"Speaking of barns, Captain," Serenity's voice replied, laced with dry amusement, "the air filter array is working overtime just to keep this court smelling like, as you put it, a 'lightly used gym sock.' Perhaps we should revisit that mandatory shower policy? The filters won't ever make things smell good without that."
"Stupid Lutrian," Roy grumbled, clutching his nose as if it held the last scrap of his rapidly dwindling sanity. "Preaching about not ostracizing people immediately. Does he not comprehend the agony? My very essence is draining out of this organ, and he expects me to be… tolerant? I'm practically on death's door, and all he offers is moral platitudes!"
"He made a fair point about cultural sensitivity, I suppose," Serenity conceded, her tone suggesting she was enjoying his agony, just a bit.
In the court below, a dwarven mason was gesturing emphatically at a Presidroid lifting a massive block of stone. "No, no, by the Great Ass of me Aunt Moradee, not like that!" the dwarf boomed, miming lifting with his legs. He then pointed at the Presidroid's back and shook his head furiously. "You'll snap your electric vein things, you clanking fool! Use your sturdy chassis, not your spine!" The Presidroid paused, its head cocked, and its optical sensors swiveled up toward Roy. Roy just shrugged. The Presidroid turned back to the dwarf and, with painstaking care, adjusted its posture before lifting the next block with an exaggeratedly correct form.
A sharp crash from the Temporum seating area pierced the air. A roaring drunk adventurer, belligerent and unrepentant, was being ushered out with firm politeness by two members of the security detail. Brym, one of the guards, propelled him toward the exit with an odd, glowing amulet, the man scrabbling at tables and decorative pillars in a desperate attempt to anchor himself. His partner walked alongside, nonchalantly swatting away the man's flailing hands from anything he tried to grip.
"That's a three-day ban," Brym's low voice just barely carried up to the balcony, thick with barely concealed annoyance. "Come back when you remember your manners, and perhaps…" Brym subtly fumbled for a note card, his eyes quickly scanning its contents. "Ah, yes, a breath mint. You can find some at the outside kiosk labeled… 'Help Yourself'. Technomendi-Mints, please take one. Please."
With a quick shift of his eyes, Brym looked up and saw Roy practically vibrating with glee, giving two enthusiastic thumbs up.
"N-no! Please! I'm sorry! The food...I beg you!" the adventurer wailed, his cries abruptly cut off as he was firmly escorted out of Technomendia's front doors. A lingering scent of stale ale and dread followed him.
"Yes! He read the card! …No one tell Lutrian about that card," Roy whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across his face.
"Comms open," Lutrian replied flatly in Roy's ear, voice devoid of any discernible amusement.
"Good to see the security team is working out," Roy remarked instantly, trying to change the subject.
Zehrina nodded. "Indeed. It would be better if they weren't constantly salivating while standing guard at the restaurant, however. I'm starting to think their 'security' briefing involved a very detailed diagram of the menu."
As if summoned, a polished form snapped to attention near their balcony. Presidroid Grant, flanked by Hayes and Garfield, rendered Roy a crisp salute before marching toward the registration desk. The bored elven attendant looked up as three Presidroids came to a halt before him.
"Team name?" the bored elf asked, his voice flat.
"Analysis of our shared primary facial characteristic indicates a ninety-eight percent probability of thematic cohesion," Grant stated. "We are... Team Beard!"
The elf's quill froze. He looked up, his gaze sweeping over the three identical, stoic, beardless Presidroids, then returned to his ledger. "Fine. Whatever."
Moments later, Presidroid Eisenhower arrived with Andrew Jackson and Benjamin Harrison in tow. "Team General!" he boomed, before the elf could even ask.
"Super," the elf replied.
"Serenity," Roy keyed his comm, his voice carrying an undeniable weariness, "let's put a temporary hold on any more Presidroids entering the dungeon. Let these six run wild for now, but we need the others on their regular duties." A collective groan, bordering on a wail of theatrical misery, erupted over the comms. The distinct sound of complaining Presidroids.
"Ugh, I just put on my shoes, too!" JFK whined, a note of petulant indignation clear in his tone.
The colossal screen dominating the main hall of the court pulsed with a vibrant, live feed. Every eye in the assembled multitude was fixed on the chaotic scene unfolding within the dungeon's depths. A collective "oooh" rippled through the crowd as a seasoned team of adventurers, their armor glinting with arcane enchantments, cornered a monstrous crystalline beast. Its jagged edges shimmered with an inner light, reflecting the frantic slashes of swords and the bursts of elemental magic.
With a final, synchronized assault, the creature shrieked, a sound that seemed to vibrate even through the screen, before shattering into a million glittering fragments. The ground beneath where it had stood was instantly littered with iridescent shards, but one object, larger and more distinctly formed, lay amidst the rubble. It shimmered with an unnatural glow.
Before the eager adventurers watching the screens could even see the dropped prize, a distortion field, a kaleidoscope of blurred colors, instantly enveloped the loot. A unified groan of frustration swept through the vast court. The audience found their desires thwarted by the automated censorship, an inescapable reminder of the strict regulations governing the display of rare and valuable treasures. Even through the disappointment, a buzz of speculation began to spread, each person in the crowd wondering what unimaginable power the newly acquired item held within its hidden form.
"You censoring their loot on the feed?" Roy asked, looking confused.
"It's a security thing. After four muggings, I figured it was best to censor items so no one gets specifically targeted," Serenity explained.
Just then, Roy pointed at the leaderboard. "HA! Who in their right mind calls their group 'Team Kablam'?" he asked, loud enough for folks nearby to hear.
From the crowd below right below Roy, a panicked voice shouted, "I-I was in a rush! There was a line behind me and I panicked!" A young man broke from the crowd and scurried away in shame.
His three teammates shot Roy a glare before chasing after him.
"Okay… kinda feel bad about that one," Roy muttered.
His comment was drowned out by a child's indignant cry nearby. "Hey, that's mine!"
A chair scraped across the stone beside him. "Looks like a good spot. The little ones wore me out." Evarran grinned, already seated and taking a large bite out of a pastry he had clearly just liberated from a small child. "But I noticed a puzzle in there. The dungeon's bleeding treasure. Far more than any of the legends say."
Serenity's voice came from Roy's AllPhone on the table. "A plausible hypothesis, Evarran, is that the treasures of Stage One were never claimed. It's logical to assume the dungeon reallocated the unclaimed assets of the preceding stage."
Siren, who had been standing silently nearby, stepped closer. "It may also mean the treasures from the dungeon that vanished a thousand years ago have rolled over as well."
"Don't scare me like that... You came out of nowhere, dude," Roy whispered.
Evarran's grin widened into a look of pure chaotic glee. "A surplus, twice over! How delightfully absurd!"
The conversation continued, but Roy's attention was snagged by a commotion near the court's entrance. The adventuring party he'd noticed earlier was walking past. The swaggering man in polished steel led the way with the woman whose gaze was like chips of ice. Behind them, the three kids struggled under a mountain of gear.
A small, staff-wielding boy, the littlest of the group, stumbled under the weight of a gear-filled bag that obscured his vision. The woman's head snapped around. "Watch your feet, you useless lump," she snarled.
Beside him, a short, powerfully built youth with a large sword strapped to his back adjusted the bag he was carrying. The weapon, as wide as his body, resembled a comically oversized dagger. "It's okay!" he chirped, "Tall people can carry stuff easily! I'll carry Rava's and Althandrius' loads as well!"
"Let's dock the weaker brats two days' food rations for being pathetic, and dock four days' food rations from Orin for being annoying," the leader said with a cruel smirk.
Several onlookers laughed. One man sitting in Temporum's outdoor section picked up a bread roll as if to throw it, then seemed to remember the celestial quality of the food in his hand and placed it back on his plate with reverent care. That small act of stinginess in the face of cruelty was the final straw.
Guttural vibrations emanated from Roy. The metal table began to tremble, a faint shimmer of raw mana bleeding into the air. His earpiece crackled. "Roy! Your mana levels are fluctuating wildly, displaying an alarming degree of instability. Are you okay?" Tranquility's soft, worried voice asked.
From a half-finished structure across the court, Eryndra's head snapped up. Zehrina felt her eyes watching and gave a subtle, calming wave. The flare of power subsided as Zehrina placed a cool hand on Roy's thigh.
She had been watching him, not the adventurers. "They seem to bother you, Captain," she murmured.
His gaze snapped to hers, the casual smile he summoned a brittle, fragile thing. "Some things," he said, his voice quiet and dangerously flat, "are worth starting a war over."