Chương 63: Chapter 60: Ice Cream, Cows, and Battle Hymns

The Academy was quiet, as always, even in those areas that didn't have sound-muffling enchantments engraved in the walls. The only people this early in the morning were post-graduates, professors, and the occasional over-achiever, who didn't have time for frivolities like "hanging out with friends" and "being loud." Ellesea fell into one-and-a-half of those categories: most certainly the first, one day possibly the second, but, recently, she was steadily moving away from the third.

When exactly did she stop seeing her adventuring party as a stepping stone on her path toward bigger and better things? Her teammates as coworkers for a temporary job, and her work with the guild part-time at best? Probably in the dungeon. Recently, she found herself pondering the arcane, dwelling on her old fascination. Why does magic work the way it does?

But instead of pursuing this noble line of research simply for the sake of discovering its mysteries, she found herself changing her approach: how can I better refine my own magic, make it more effective, more efficient? The goals largely remained the same, but gave her a stronger sense of purpose.

"Ms. Barnes." Oh no. Ellesea bottled down the dread. Was she spacing out again? This sort of attitude in class was so unlike her. She turned her attention back to the professor, prepared for a scolding.

"Good to see you today," Professor Hamilton said curtly as she approached his desk, and left it at that. Ellesea blinked. She looked at the clock on the wall. It was still early; she was still early. But the expected reprimand never came. She leaned back in her seat, slightly flustered and bewildered. Hamilton was absent last class, so Ellesea didn't know what to expect after the whirlwind that was the previous session. A demerit, followed by an immediate retraction and apology?

Would the pendulum swing drastically the other way? There wasn't a world in which she deserved to be expelled, but… her imagination conjured the possibility. Nothing of the sort happened. As other students slowly trickled in, Ellesea found her thoughts traveling back toward the arcane again. Haste. If she could speed up her casting, she could contribute more to fights. If they could take more fights, they could gain more experience.

If they gained more levels, they could take on more difficult monsters, raid better dungeons, and acquire better loot. Loot. Ellesea snorted. She was starting to sound a bit like Jessica. Things could be worse. She still wasn't any closer to the answer to the inevitable question of, "What then?" Say they did all those things. Say they got kitted out in the finest gear and found themselves at rank 7, or heaven forbid, rank 8. What then?

Was the rest of her life truly relegated to killing monsters, running dungeons, and… was that it? That was her family's biggest concern when she decided to become an adventurer. That it was a "dead-end job" in more ways than one. Given the party she was currently in, the danger may have lessened to some degree, but her doubts about the future hadn't been erased. But Ellesea found she no longer felt pressure to find an answer quickly. As surprising as it was, she felt… comfortable.

As of right now, the only question she wanted answered quickly concerned the ongoing dilemma about haste. So her mind ran in circles as Professor Hamilton droned on, eventually warping to the point where her original musings were lost. Somehow, she'd wandered into that nebulous territory of silly daydreams, speculating whether or not haste could be cast on an individual instead of modifying a spell.

If taken to its logical extreme, could it be cast repeatedly- or powerful enough -to make Jewel move faster than a crawl? What a magnificently useless mount.

Ellesea had nearly been late to class this morning, despite leaving the castle quite early. She'd passed by a field full of horses and other assorted animals, mostly of the rideable kind. She thought mostly, because what caught her eye was a gigantic turtle slowly making its way around the grounds amidst all the animals spoiling for a race. A whole host of groomers followed along like a dedicated entourage, and the turtle certainly fit the description of a celebrity. Its shell had more gems than a jewelry store.

Only because of the groomers cheering it on enthusiastically did Ellesea catch its name, and in watching them offer it praise did she understand that it was, legitimately, being cared for as a mount. Nobody in their right mind would ever ride a turtle, let alone one so… daringly decorated. No, scratch that, one person did come to mind. Somehow, Melia was behind this, and Ellesea knew it. The turtle might have, too, since it snapped its head in Ellesea's direction the moment the gnome's name left her lips.

It stared at her intently, as if demanding to hear more, but Ellesea was starting to run late and she didn't have time for unnerving turtles. Surely nothing would come from it. Eventually the bell rang, banishing the visions of giant turtles racing around a track. Ellesea glanced down at her notebook, surprised to find any writing at all, and even more so that some of it appeared to be legitimate notes. Less encouraging was the small sparkling turtle she'd doodled in the margins.

She quickly packed her books and returned them to her inventory before anybody could see and call her out.

"Ms. Barnes, a moment of your time?" Ellesea cringed. Did she get caught? Was she found out? She raised her head to see one of the faculty secretaries standing in the doorway, waving to her. She quickly finished picking up her things and joined the queue to leave.

"Yes?" she asked, somewhat nervously.

"The headmaster wishes to speak with you. He assures you it will only take a moment of your time. Are you available?" Ellesea fought back a grimace. That wasn't really a question. The demand was merely formed as one to keep up polite appearances.

"Yes, my schedule is free," she said cautiously. Even if it wasn't, she most likely would have said the same thing.

"Excellent!" the secretary beamed.

"Come this way."

In Ellesea's tenure at the school, she had only needed to step foot into the headmaster's office on a handful of occasions. She couldn't exactly say each of them was under pleasant circumstances, but she also couldn't say she really knew what to expect. The man was known to be patient, kind, and welcoming…which fit the image in her head. Her mental picture didn't really match the person seated behind the impressive desk.

"Ms. Barnes, I hope I'm not pulling you away from anything important." Again, even if he was, no student in their right mind would refuse a summons from the head of the school.

"Not at all," Ellesea replied honestly, but with a somewhat fake smile.

"I've got just the one class this semester."

"Good, good," the headmaster answered absently. Ellesea was taken aback. The man had a reputation for knowing the tiniest details about the most irrelevant student, so much so that some claimed he was omniscient. Or at the very least, he knew every secret and piece of gossip that ran across the campus. To hear him claim it was "good" that a student was only taking a single class in a semester seemed unlike him. She'd never seen him so distracted.

Ellesea waited to see what the summons was all about, what she could have possibly done, or why she'd been pulled aside right after class… but it never came. The man simply stared out of his office window into a courtyard below that was littered with several [Training Dummies], none of them currently in use. Ellesea cleared her throat.

"What can I do for you, Headmaster?" Ellesea eventually asked. The man seemed to stir, coming back to life, and turned to face her. This time, the smile he offered seemed more genuine.

"Straight to the point, I see," he said with a low chuckle, as if she were the one coming to him with a request. But he wasn't so distracted that it muddled his mind.

"My mind keeps wandering back to that teacher of yours. The gnomish [Archmage]. Quite impressive magic she has, wouldn't you agree?" Ellesea blinked. While true, this wasn't a conversation she was expecting.

"Yes, Headmaster. Though, to be frank, I wouldn't dare claim to be her student. She's offered to teach me several things- likely idle comments made in passing -but I plan to make good use of her expertise if the opportunity arises."

"Yes, I suppose such promises must be vague, lest unscrupulous sorts try to make them binding." The headmaster turned back to the window. Ellesea was becoming very confused. It didn't sound like he wanted to see her at all; he really wanted Melia. His next words confirmed it. He turned toward her again. His face was shrewd and his tone was clear.

"Do you suppose she would be open to joining the academy? Perhaps taking on a part-time post or selecting hand-picked individuals?" Ellesea almost balked. Melia? Tied down to the academy?

"I'm…sorry, sir, I really don't know. If I had to give an answer, I'd say no. She seems to have a great deal of other things vying for her attention."

"A real shame," the headmaster said, "but entirely expected. I'd hoped to see another demonstration of that magic of hers. Perhaps, if it comes up in conversation, you could pass on the word? I've tried seeking out her residence so I could extend a formal invitation, but it's proven quite impossible." Ellesea felt dumbfounded. The headmaster was serious.

"To tell the truth, sir, I don't think she'll agree, but I'll let her know." Something in the back of her mind clicked, and, though it felt silly, she decided to bring it up on a whim.

"If seeing her magic is all you really want, or, rather, if that alone will satisfy you, might I offer a suggestion? She'd taken an…interest, you might say, with the abbey in Abbyton. She's set several arcane works in motion, all of them quite accessible and free to observe. It might be worth a visit?"

"Is that so?" the headmaster asked with a degree of interest Ellesea hadn't seen before. The man had a glint in his eye, but, once again, seemed very distracted. Ellesea got the feeling that she may have just done something a tiny bit silly. She sat in silence at the headmaster's desk, entirely forgotten, as the man turned to stare out the window. After several minutes of silence, she cleared her throat.

"Is that all, Headmaster? Good day?"

"Is that all?" the man repeated, not hearing her words in the slightest.

"Good day." As Ellesea quietly left the office, she heard him muttering, "Is that so…."

A normal cow typically yielded between 400 and 500 pounds of meat. That's what Jessica's neighbor, who was a [Butcher], said. He also said that roughly translated to keeping a family of four fed for over a year. Those "normal" cows still weighed about a thousand pounds, and these [Crimson Cattle] were anywhere between 2 to 4 times as big. In the most extreme case, when Melia confronted a rare, titled spawn called an [Ourotauros], it might have been larger than 5 whole cows. It also, strangely, wouldn't die.

Meliastraza didn't want to eat it because she said it would be too wasteful if it had any good loot. Jessica supposed "good loot" was in the eye of the beholder. … she also supposed that to a [Looter], there was no such thing as bad loot. Case in point: after Meliastraza killed the [Ourotauros] for the fourth time, it finally stayed dead, and Jessica's skill kicked in. She received a blue item from its bloodied and broken corpse.

At first glance, it appeared similar to an ancient [Alchemy] symbol representing life, rebirth, and infinity, but it was subtly different. Instead of being a dragon twisted into a sideways eight devouring its own tail, this was simply a snake with the head of a bull spun in a circle. It still ate its tail.

[The Unending Cycle] Level: 510 Rarity: Rare Trinket On Use: Sacrifice up to 7 pounds of beef to summon up to 7 pounds of beef. Quantity, quality, and condition of summoned beef is equal to that which was sacrificed. 24-hour cooldown.

Man is born, man lives, and man dies. Somewhere in all of that, beef is consumed.

Jessica stared at the trinket in disbelief. A rank 5, rare trinket, and it had to be a joke. With a description like that, Jessica had to laugh. Especially having watched the entire process from spawning to looting. Even the rarity was probably skewed that way by the system, just so it could make a play on words about how thoroughly some people cooked their meat. Jessica snorted. Well done, system. Stolen story; please report. The trinket was probably worthless, but Jessica was going to hoard it anyway.

And really, all the item was actually doing for Jessica was distracting her from thinking about how much beef Melia was consuming. Did dragons need to worry about gout? So far, she'd eaten 7 whole-ass cows. Jessica mathed that to approximately 12 thousand pounds, and that was just the beef. This dragon had just consumed literal tons of red meat." What do you think about that one?" Meliastraza's question broke Jessica out of her stupor.

She thought she'd become numb to the dragon and her antics, but she was mistaken.

"It's a cow, Melia," Jessica said, her voice full of apathy.

"A red one. What am I supposed to think about it?"" Yes, but it's got flies. You think it's gone bad?" Jessica resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Here she was, sitting comfortably on the top of a dragon's head, discussing whether or not a monster had gone off. As in, expired. Who the hell cared if a giant monster cow was past its expiration date? Her earlier comparison to a shopping trip was almost becoming painful. That being said… if it was growing mold, she sure as heck wouldn't eat it.

Deciding she had already tempted fate enough for one day by almost refusing to go along with Meliastraza's feeding trip, Jessica peered down the long snout acting conveniently as a pointer. … Gods damn it. The cow did have flies, and now that she saw them, she couldn't un -see them. Jessica wrinkled her nose. Melia was rubbing off on her, wasn't she?

"Don't eat that one. How about that one over there? It looks fat. Maybe it'll be juicy." Jessica rode the wave up and down as Meliastraza bobbed her head. Even the rocking motion, comparable to standing on a large ship, was mostly negligible to Jessica now that she'd experienced real flight. And she wasn't talking those slow-as-balls gryphons. Once she experienced dragon-flight, there could be no substitute.

It just seemed odd that the fastest, most powerful mode of transportation wasn't being used to relocate armies or strategically position powerful members of Humanity. Meliastraza could probably be on the other side of the continent within a day if she really wanted to, raining death and destruction from above. Nobody would ever be able to stop her; they'd never even see her coming. But all she wanted to do was find some tasty grub to fill her belly. And honestly?

As long as she got to ride, Jessica didn't really care.

Moeldywn sat behind her desk, utterly and hopelessly distracted. How was she supposed to get any work done? Meliastraza had returned after all these years, and it was close to being everything she had ever dreamed it to be. Granted, some of the things she'd hoped for as a young child simply weren't possible.

As far as she was aware, nobody had discovered the existence of rainbow-colored unicorns, and she would be lying if she said she hadn't gotten her hopes up once Meliastraza's mounts started trickling into her residence. She'd never admit it out loud, never in a million years. Some things might seem outlandish and completely unnecessary this late in her life, but they'd certainly be on the table if she asked.

The dragon might not understand why, but Moeldywn could probably bully her into flying her to a distant land, far away from the troubles of the kingdom. But just thinking about getting whisked away on the back of a dragon brought her back to flying yesterday, and how magical that had been. Moeldwyn had never felt so free, so unencumbered. She was one of the most powerful spellcasters in the world, and every attempt she had ever made to create flight had failed magnificently.

The best she could do was a glorified hover, a bastardization of the [Slow Fall] and [Levitate] spells. Riding on tamed drakes and gryphons was an exhilarating experience, but now that felt like moving in slow motion, and Moeldywn wanted more. Was this the thrill of youth she was missing? Or was she simply feeling rejuvenated by the presence of what some might consider a lesser deity in everything but name? Who, at first glance, embodied lighthearted tomfoolery in order to hide her true, more serious purpose?

The gnome herself did not seem to know or care about the reputation, or, indeed, existence of her domain, but perhaps that was all for the best. Let sleeping dogs lie: it is only when they are poked that they are revealed to be hounds of hell and decimate everything in their path. Let the dragon remain disguised, content to drive the nobles of Moeldywn's kingdom crazy with incomprehensible things such as gigantic stone statues or flooding the markets with rare cloth. …

what was that auction of [Runecloth] going for now, anyway? Moeldywn had, of course, put in a bid of her own, back when it was in the low 200s. She could easily see the price soar to double, perhaps triple that before slowing to a crawl and leveling out. In her estimation, due to the rarity of said cloth, one or two more enthusiastic buyers might drive the price to a thousand, but surely no more than that.

500 gold was already more than outrageous for what was ostensibly enough material for two or three dresses, but that's what scarcity did to supply and demand. Looking back at her desk, Moeldywn's eyes fell on the [Frozen Heart of the Mountain]. What was this? If legends were true, once upon a time, this was the core of a long-dead elemental, ripped from its still-smoldering corpse, used to ignite the fires of dwarven civilization. That was the historical answer.

The literal answer was a hunk of igneous rock threatening to burst into flame, held back by an unmelting layer of ice that slowly froze everything around it. Including her desk. But the practical answer? This was a key. Metaphorically speaking. It didn't open any physical doors, but the ones it did open paved the way to greatness. Fame, riches, and unfathomable gear created by legendary dwarven smiths. In some ways, this rock could be considered a kingmaker.

The person who returned it to the dwarves would forever gain a staunch ally, for so long as they, and their children's children, lived. And Meliastraza gave it to her. For free. Moeldywn considered the implications of such an action. Perhaps the dragon needed no favor from the dwarves. It was common in stories for lesser dragons to be attracted to dwarven strongholds, lured by their greed and the smell of gold and treasures. Meliastraza had those already. What would it do for her?

Shackle her to more responsibility. Certain people might look scornfully at the dragon for abandoning what they might consider her right, her duty. Those people would never understand the free spirit that was a gnome named Melia. Such honors the rock could bestow would only take away from her playtime. And any time the [Destroyer] spent playing instead of working was better for the whole planet. … what would even happen if the world cracked in half? If the sun went out? Would all life instantly cease to be?

Would it be a slow, painful death as society crumbled? It was power Moeldywn couldn't understand, and she knew power. All the more reason to keep an eye on the demon lands and the situation in the Republic to the south. Despite what Meliastraza might claim, Moeldywn was convinced the [Destroyer of Worlds] would not return if the gods did not have some grand plans in motion. Perhaps they didn't keep her informed for… whatever unthinkable reasons a deity might have.

And perhaps, even the gods feared what might happen should Meliastraza be provoked.

"She has loosed the sword of morning on the hosts that shun the day," The commander's voice rang out above the sound of clanking armor and shuffling feet.

"Truth and mercy ride beside us as we walk the righteous way;" The trainees' voices responded with determined zeal.

"No night can stand forever when her banners blaze with ray—" Alastair grunted as he held a perfect form before shifting to the next. Raise shield, hold. Thrust shield, hold. Retreat. Reposition. Ready to counter.

"By her light we see all things!"

His arms ached from holding his hefty steel shield aloft for so long, but it wouldn't be considered training if it wasn't a workout.

""And by her light we see all things!!!""

Everybody in the courtyard repeated the last line of the Hymn of Rising Light with as much gusto as they could manage.

"Praise be the Light of Celestara's Grace!" the commander yelled, bringing the session to a close.""Praise be!!!"

Half of the [Initiates] gathered in the courtyard instantly slumped to the ground in exhaustion. Alastair looked over them with pitying eyes. He remembered back when he was a fresh recruit and he could barely hold a hammer. He'd have been right there with them. Just a few months ago, he'd have been spent from nearly an hour of nonstop exertion. Never underestimate the effectiveness of battle-hymn meditation.

As it was, he was winded, but he could feel his energy reserves replenishing, readying him for another round. Or the effect of nearly 50 levels on the physique. Not that he wanted to. There was only so much stats could do for a person before they lost any meaningful effect without a long rest to reset the body. And mind. A very crucial part of any scenario that some, foolishly, did not give its due. Alastair moved from the hard-packed dirt court to a nearby grass knoll where a table held restoratives.

Mainly water, with the occasional [Mana Biscuit] if a [Mage] could be so compelled to conjure some for them. Seeing only mundane flatbread for sustenance, Alastair filled a wooden cup with water and abstained from filling his belly with a tasteless hunk of stale bread. He drained the entire cup in one long pull, eventually slamming the cup down like a drinker might slam his mug at his favorite pub. Alastair was not against such things, but training and ale rarely mixed.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he didn't notice somebody joining him until a shadow was cast above the table.

"What troubles you, young [Paladin]?" Alastair looked up to see the gently smiling face of the training commander.

"Brother Curtis," Alastair greeted warmly. It might have seemed odd to those in a traditional military to greet a commander so familiarly, but the Order had its own rules and regulations. By the faith, Alastair was this man's equal, which was more important in some ways.

"You handled Celestara's Guiding Light very well," he said, referencing the training regimen that included the hymn, used for meditation.

"Despite seeming like you weren't really present with us."

"I suppose I wasn't," Alastair gave a small laugh before bowing respectfully.

"I apologize if my negligence was rude."

"Not at all, my boy," the older man laughed. He was Alastair's senior by several decades; he knew the harshness of reality and all its complications.

"But tell me, what's on your mind? What ails you?"

"Well," Alastair said to give himself some time.

"I think I've been…listless, of late. I've found my mind wandering."

"Matters of the faith?" the man asked kindly. Not because he thought to accuse Alastair of apostasy, but because he knew all mortal minds faltered.

"No," Alastair shook his head.

"I've simply been…drifting. Like I don't know my place in this world anymore."

"Ahh," the man said wisely. Such troubles were not unique to young men. But then again, some were more common to youth than others.

"Is it a problem with a girl?" the man asked, determined to appear helpful. His eyes crinkled as his lips twitched.

"Multiple girls?"

"Commander…," Alastair groaned, closing his eyes.

"I jest, I jest," the man laughed. Alastair's party was known for its particular composition, and the young [Paladin] was often teased for it. The man grew serious and thoughtful as he actually considered what advice to give.

"In times like these, I consider the words of the prophet, Ariliaz, on the Weight of All Things," Brother Curtis said with a contemplative look. He cleared his throat and closed his eyes, as if reading from a scroll within his mind.

"From Melchior's letter to Ir. To each own, it has its place, from the wild flowers in the fields to the stars in the heavens. So doth all fit into the tapestry we call life, from the lowliest of [Paupers] to the gods of the seven realms themselves. Do not despair of the ceaseless journey without end, for all strive to know their purpose as the creator Balances it: vainglorious mortals struggle against the gods as much as those lofty deities are limited in their dealings with flesh and blood.

One is allowed to question why, but one must strive to persevere." Alastair stood in silence and let the passage wash over him. He wanted to thank Brother Curtis for his insight, but he found it hard to be grateful at the moment. The training commander seemed to understand, simply patting Alastair on the shoulder before continuing on with his day. Perhaps he was right, though, Alastair thought. Regardless of how fast his team was leveling, how quickly the world seemed to be moving, nothing really changed.

It was still his team and they were still his teammates. And really, the overall goal he had when he and Jessica first set out together hadn't changed at all. Do good in the world. And maybe get up to a little mischief along the way. And unless he was very much mistaken, a gnomish dragon, ancient princess, and hero of lore all fit the bill for a little bit of mischief. Y'cennia stared into the glass display case, her tail swishing in anticipation. Ice cream. Real, honest-to-goodness ice cream.

She didn't know the last time she allowed herself to let loose, or when she had the funds or security to even consider it. Not just anybody could make ice cream; it took a certain level of [Chef] to turn a handful of seemingly incompatible ingredients into a literal divine treat. A lot like [Alchemy], she supposed. Okay, maybe she was exaggerating just a little. It wasn't like the gods literally descended in a column of golden light just to bestow a bowl of frozen treat upon Humanity. … she assumed.

She was at least 90 percent sure. Maybe 85. She'd have to confirm with Alastair just to be sure, because the longer she stared at the dozen tubs of various flavors, she felt her resolve slipping. But back on track, making things freeze or stay cold wasn't a skill novices or amateurs had. It almost always involved magic, and magic mostly involved [Mages]. Or [Engineers]. But those were weird, strange, and frankly terrifying creatures, prone to blowing themselves up.

That being said, perhaps that was even more reason why an [Engineer] could have been the one to invent ice cream. Nobody else could be insane enough to make it work.

"Sorry for the wait! What can I get for you?" The lady behind the counter finished wiping down her hands and drying off the scooper. Another thing ice cream shops needed: lots of water. That's why they could survive in the capital, where they had running water, but in small towns that relied on wells, it might be more hassle than it was worth.

"One scoop of strawberry, please," Y'cennia tried to hide her excitement, but her tail betrayed her. The lady dipped her head in acknowledgement and got to work. From a beautiful display behind her, she removed a single glass bowl, a work of art in its own right, and set it on the counter. She used her metal scoop to dig into the tub, bringing up a small mountain of soft, pink dessert.

Once it was in the bowl, the lady layered it in hot fudge, sprinkled it with chopped nuts, and placed a very bright red cherry on top.

"That'll be one silver." Y'cennia reached into her inventory and pulled out a shiny silver, placing it gently on the counter. Some might consider the treat far too expensive, a show of opulence bordering on wastefulness. Y'cennia didn't care. It might be more expensive than staying a full week at a cheap inn, but it was more than made up for by how it made her feel. The lady took her coin, slid a spoon into the bowl, and moved on to the next customer, with her thanks.

Y'cennia wasn't the only customer willing to splurge on a cold treat during the hottest months of the year. The small shop was full, not packed, but there was only a single seat in the corner open and Y'cennia had to pounce on it. She could eat standing up, but then she wouldn't be able to savor it. She dug the spoon into the treat, raised it to her mouth, closed her eyes, and paused. … yes, she had noticed several nearby patrons also paused to watch her eat.

What, did they really think she'd take a huge bite and immediately suffer brain freeze? The audacity of them! She'd only done that once, when she was very small and had sampled the frozen dessert at a celebration! Nobody told her something could get so cold… or that eating it too fast would make her brain hurt in the worst of ways! Instead, she took small, dainty bites, savoring the rare treat.

It was always a balancing act, eating ice cream, because she had to eat fast enough before it melted, but not too fast so that her head felt like it was caught in a vice while also exploding. Thankfully, strawberry ice cream was just as delicious as ever. Even with the recent trend her team was going through of eating world-class food, the treats she knew and loved hadn't been diminished. Though that being said, Y'cennia was afraid to admit that knowing this was starting to confirm her suspicions.

She was turning into a foodie. Not a critic. Y'cennia wasn't convinced those people actually liked food; they just liked to complain and use fancy words to appear better than her. And if she was becoming a foodie… did that mean taking up [Cooking] was her path forward? Would doing that lock her out of taking a combat class? Not that it would actually lock her out, but Y'cennia knew herself well enough that leveling three classes wasn't something she was really capable of doing at the moment. Maybe not ever.

As much as she loved food and stuffing it in her body, she also really enjoyed hanging out with her team. That dungeon, as stressful as it had been, was now firmly cemented as one of the key moments of her life. It impacted her in so many ways, from a deeper understanding of how the world worked, to really seeing her team in action. She didn't want to miss out on joining them if they decided to run more.

Maybe she wouldn't go into the biggest, baddest dungeons the group unlocked the second they unlocked them, but after they'd run them a few times? Or if they were highly overleveled and weren't running the risk of instantly dying? She was so on board. Once they were back in Lakeridge, if things didn't pick up and everybody was going through the motions just for the sake of it, she was considering bringing it up. They could all take a trip to the guild and see if there was a dungeon in the area right for them.

Or, maybe they could ask Melia? It was hard to remember the gnome was a walking, talking, repository of history when most of the time she was busy cracking jokes or thinking up great pranks. But she was the one who told the group about [Astoria]. Maybe she had something else up her sleeve? Only time would tell.