This Used To Be About Dungeons полностью

“She said—well, she said a lot of things, but one of the main ones was that she was a dungeoneer, and she was going to be based out of Liberfell,” said Mizuki. “We talked for a bit, until I got the sense that maybe I was saying more than I should, and then she just left. But she said, um, that you still have her love.”

Alfric groaned and laid back on the couch, closing his eyes.

“Should I not have talked to her?” asked Mizuki. “Because if I wasn’t supposed to say anything about the party, it’s kind of on you for not giving me a heads-up.”

“It’s fine,” said Alfric, still sitting with his head back.

“Is it?” asked Hannah. “Because you don’t have the face of a man who’s fine.”

“There’s a very long story I have to tell and really don’t want to,” said Alfric, sighing. He sat up. “I’ve known Lola since we were little. Our parents intended us to marry, or not ‘marry’, it’s complicated, but we’re pacted. Technically, we’re still intended to be, but the only reason anyone thinks that is still going to happen is that we haven’t told our parents how much things have deteriorated between us.”

“Okay,” said Mizuki. “So she’s your ex?”

“It goes far, far deeper than that,” said Alfric. He screwed his eyes shut. “I have a confession to make.”

“Another?” asked Verity, who had been eating a pressed sandwich that rivaled the one Mizuki had made. Like that one, it was hard to eat in a dignified way.

“Lola is a chrononaut,” said Alfric. It seemed like saying the words pained him. “And… I am too.” This he said with actual anguish, as though the words were being extracted from him at great expense by circumstances beyond his control.

There was silence in the room.

“Wait,” said Mizuki. “How many times did—how many times did you try to recruit us?”

“You can go back in time?” asked Isra.

“I can live a given day two times, sometimes three,” said Alfric. “Yes. And to answer the question, Mizuki, anything that I’ve done with this party, I’ve done only once. My family has very strict rules about disclosure, and I’ve followed them to the letter. More than to the letter.”

“We didn’t do the Pucklechurch dungeon twice?” asked Hannah. She wrinkled her nose. “It was only once?”

Alfric let out a sigh. “Yes,” he said. “Everything was only once, Pucklechurch, Traeg’s Knob, any personal time we’ve spent or conversations we’ve had. This is my first time living today. The only way I would have chosen to do it over would be if something horrible happened.”

“Wait,” said Mizuki. “Why didn’t you tell us that? I would have been way more relaxed about the whole thing if I’d known you could just undo it all.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” asked Verity, setting her food down.

“That,” said Alfric, gesturing at her. “And that,” he said, gesturing at Mizuki. “Those are both very good reasons not to breathe a word of it to anyone.” He shook his head. “Lola.”

“If she hadn’t come along, when would you have told us?” asked Verity.

“I was planning to,” said Alfric. “I just needed to build up trust, to build up the team, to get us working together. Maybe it would have been tonight, if things were going well, or at least after the next dungeon.”

“You understand why it’s hard to trust you,” said Verity. “Why we might think that you’re hiding things? More things, that is?”

“I never lied,” said Alfric. “Just… lies of omission.” He seemed to really believe this and to see it as a defense. Verity found herself enormously frustrated with that line of thinking.

“That’s the magic you know,” said Mizuki. “You’re a chrononaut.”

“Yes,” said Alfric. “But—” He turned to Verity. “If people know that you can do the day over, they’ll worry that you’ve done the day over, and there’s no proof you can offer them. Some people get it into their head that you’re just… I don’t know, an evil person or someone who’s casually playing with their life.”

“Wait,” said Mizuki. “This Lola person too?”

“Yes,” sighed Alfric. “And if you’re wondering whether she’s had a conversation with you before, whether this is her second time through the day, then the answer is probably yes.”

“Seems a good power for a dungeoneer to have,” said Hannah. “But you’re the one who gets to decide whether or not to use it, ay?”

“I would use it if anything happened to any of you,” said Alfric. “And then you’d have no memory that anything bad had even happened, and I would have to disclose whatever did happen that required the power to be used.”

“Or you would just lie,” said Verity. It felt bad to say it, once the words were out, but the possibility needed to be put out there by someone, and she seemed like the only one to do it. Her emotions were getting the best of her.

“I wouldn’t,” said Alfric. “And if I had told you right from the start that I had this power, you would have had the same thought, that perhaps I was lying, or you would think that you were safe and didn’t need to worry, and—it’s a gift of my bloodline, it is, but the way people deal with it is… why I wanted to wait to tell you. I’m sorry.”