TravelingDreamer
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B6—Chapter 2: Mahya Wants a Core, Al Wants an Ant, I Want Sanity
🕑 Added 2025-03-17 11:15:26 +0000 UTCMorning sunlight streamed through the kitchen window as I flipped a cheesy omelet in the pan, the scent of sizzling butter and melted cheese filling the air. The rhythmic scrape of the spatula was the only sound until Mahya and Al slunk down the stairs, looking like a pair of kicked puppies.
Mahya hugged her arms, her braids swinging as she stared at the floor. Al shoved his hands deep into his pockets, avoiding my gaze like a kid caught stealing cookies.
I raised an eyebrow, letting the silence stretch. “So… you remember what happened yesterday?”
Both of them nodded, shifting uncomfortably.
I waited. They fidgeted. I waited some more.
Finally, Al cleared his throat and straightened his posture. “Let us please avoid any further discussion of that matter,” he said, stiff as a board.
“Oh, really?” I drawled, flicking the spatula with exaggerated casualness. “No further discussion?”
His eyes darted up for half a second before dropping back down, his fingers drumming a restless beat against his leg.
Mahya groaned, dragging a hand down her face before tugging sharply at one of her braids. “You can’t accuse us; we were drugged! Besides, it’s not like we hurt you or anything. We just had some fun.”
I sighed, shaking my head as I slid the omelet onto a plate. Yeah, I couldn’t accuse them or even really reprimand them. She was right.
Rue, however, had other opinions. A deep, rumbling growl rolled through the room. “Rue no have fun,” he grumbled, ears flattened in irritation. “Rue chase after Al in forest, protecting Al from snakes. Al was silly and strange and try to pet snakes!” His last words were downright indignant.
Al fidgeted harder, clearing his throat like he was trying to dislodge something. His fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against his leg before he gave up and looked anywhere but at Rue—ceiling, walls, even the salt shaker on the table suddenly seemed fascinating.
Rue exhaled sharply and gave a little shake, his fur bristling. A wave of resignation hit me through our bond. My poor dog was done with them.
Breakfast passed with an unusual quiet, the two of them still subdued. But, predictably, it didn’t last.
As I stacked the last dish and reached for a cloth to wipe the bar, Al turned to me, his expression suddenly serious. “Will you accompany us into the dungeon?”
The plate nearly slipped from my hands. I caught it just in time, staring at him in utter disbelief.
Al shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking away as he fidgeted with the edge of his sleeve. “I believe that if we manage to capture one of the ants, we could extract the substance responsible for the fog,” he said, attempting to maintain a composed tone. “It might prove useful in potion-making, or perhaps even allow me to formulate an antidote to clear the dungeon.”
I set the plate down with a deliberate clink, folding my arms as I arched a brow. “Yeah? And how do you plan to handle being stoned again? Or are you planning another seduction expedition in nature?”
Mahya groaned, dropping her head into her hands. Al flinched, his fingers drumming an anxious rhythm against his leg before he cleared his throat. “Healing spells,” he mumbled.
I let out a sharp breath and shook my head. “They don’t work. You think I didn’t try to heal Mahya? I tried everything—even neutralizing a curse. Nothing.” I jabbed a finger at him for emphasis. “Whatever the ants sprayed you with wasn’t a poison, a curse, or even something healing spells recognize as a disease or ailment. If you go in there again, you’ll be stoned, and I’m not going in there.”
Al frowned, rubbing his chin as his gaze turned thoughtful. “I am uncertain about the effectiveness of the potion masks, as the fog does not seem to be a potion. But it may be prudent to confirm this information.”
“Rue can go in and bring an ant out. The fog didn’t affect him,” Mahya suggested, lifting her head slightly. She turned to Al. “If you have a sample, you're sure about creating an antidote?”
Al straightened, some of his usual confidence creeping back. “Yes.”
Rue growled, baring his teeth as his ears flattened in clear disapproval. “Rue no go into pink dungeon,” he said, tail flicking sharply. “If Mahya and Al want pink ant, Mahya and Al get pink ant.” His lips curled back, showing more teeth, and he shook his head with an exaggerated huff. “But next time, Rue not protect them. You get pink ant, you go be crazy alone.”
“But why?” Mahya asked.
Rue huffed louder, chest puffing. “Mahya or Al bring ant out. Ant make fog. Now Mahya, Al, and John go silly. Rue no can stop three people from silly things. Rue is one. You are three.”
With that, he turned with a dramatic flair and sauntered out of the room, his massive paws thudding against the floor in deliberate, exaggerated steps.
He had a valid point. A very valid point. So, naturally, I copied him. Lifting my head high, I turned on my heel and strolled out with just as much theatrical indignation.
Stepping outside, I told the house to open the deck, took out a beanbag from my Storage, and flopped down with a book. I was done with them—for now, at least. Rue settled in front of me with a heavy sigh, his massive body stretching out as he closed his eyes for a well-earned snooze.
Propping my feet up on his back, I flipped open my book and tried to relax. The morning was quiet, the breeze cool against my skin.
It lasted ten minutes.
Footsteps creaked on the stairs. I glanced up just in time to see Mahya and Al striding toward the dungeon, heads bent in hushed discussion.
I sighed, snapping my book shut before nudging Rue with my foot. “Let’s go see what the idiots are up to now.”
Rue cracked an eye open, exhaled loudly, then heaved himself onto his paws with the air of a martyr. “Rue no rescue silly ones this time,” he grumbled, shaking out his fur.
We crept after them and watched.
Well, they had an interesting plan.
Al strapped on the potion mask with an air of forced confidence. Mahya, lips pressed into a tight line, wrapped a rope securely around his waist, giving it a firm tug to test the knot.
“Alright,” she said, gripping the other end. “In you go.”
Al squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the dungeon.
Rue and I exchanged a look.
Two minutes passed.
Mahya braced herself, then yanked the rope with a sharp tug. Al shot backward like a fish on a line, stumbling onto the ground in a heap.
Al groaned as he sat up, his eyes unfocused and glassy behind the potion mask. He lifted a hand, waving it in front of his face. “The colors…” he whispered, voice filled with wonder. “They’re dancing.”
I folded my arms. “Uh-huh.”
Mahya crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
He turned to her, blinking as if seeing her for the first time. He half lifted the mask, and a wide, goofy grin stretched across his face. “Mahya,” he breathed. “Your hair… it’s alive. It’s like a river of sunset and moonlight. Did you always glow like that?”
Mahya’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Al wasn’t listening. He tilted his head back, staring at the sky. “The butterflies,” he whispered, awe-struck. “So many butterflies…”
I glanced up. There were no butterflies.
Rue snorted. I gawked at him. Dogs could snort?
Before I could agree and snort in solidarity, Al gasped dramatically and scrambled to his feet. “I must follow them!” he declared, and ran straight into the forest.
Mahya cursed and bolted after him. “Al, get back here!”
I sighed, rubbing a hand down my face as Rue and I watched them disappear into the trees. The sound of branches snapping and Mahya’s increasingly murderous shouts echoed through the clearing.
We returned to the house, and I sat back down on my beanbag with a tired groan. “She’ll catch him… eventually.”
About an hour later, Al sprinted past the house, arms flailing, his potion mask hanging crookedly off one ear. “The butterfly!” he shouted, voice full of frantic devotion. “I see it! It’s calling me!”
I barely looked up from my book.
A minute later, Mahya strolled into view at a leisurely pace, looking completely unbothered. She rolled her shoulders, cracked her neck, and watched Al disappear down the path. Then, just as he got a little too far ahead, she blurred forward in a burst of speed, covering hundreds of meters in a blink—before slowing right back down to her previous lazy pace.
I shook my head and turned the page. Not my problem.
The following day, breakfast was a battlefield.
Al, arms crossed and scowling over his plate, jabbed his fork into his food with unnecessary force. “It is your turn,” he declared. “I was the test subject yesterday. I sacrificed my dignity. Now it is your turn.”
Mahya barely looked up as she took a slow bite of her toast. “You’re weaker than me. If something happens, I can stop you before you hurt yourself.”
Al scoffed. “That is exactly why you should go in today. You will recover faster.”
Rue groaned loudly, flopping onto his side with an exaggerated thud.
The argument raged on, bouncing between stubborn logic and sheer pettiness. Forks clinked. Accusations flew. After half an hour of relentless bickering, Al threw up his hands with a dramatic huff. “Fine!”
And so, they tried again.
This time, with a gas mask.
Same result.
The only difference was that Al was now chasing something else.
“It’s right there!” he yelled, diving into the underbrush. “The glorious pink stag! It wants me to ride it!”
Mahya, standing with her hands on her hips, let out a long sigh.
A rustling sound came from the trees, followed by a startled yelp. A second later, Al came crashing back into the clearing, covered in twigs and flailing wildly.
“IT DOES NOT WANT TO BE RIDDEN!” he shouted before face-planting into the dirt.
I sighed, snapped my book shut, and stood. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”
Rue trotted over and sniffed Al’s twitching form. “Al broken again.”
Al groaned into the dirt. “I can still see it….”
I clapped my hands, the sharp sound cutting through Al’s groans. “Alright, great experiment. We’re done here. Let’s drag him inside before he tries to befriend a rock. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Mahya spun toward me, arms crossed, her jaw set. “I want the core, and Al wants the ant extract.”
I threw up my hands. “I don’t care!” I was done with this insanity. “This is madness, and I’ve had enough of it.”
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with calculation. “This dungeon is dangerous. If someone else stumbles across it, it could kill them. At least we know what we’re dealing with.”
I barked out a laugh, shaking my head. “Oh, don’t give me that crap. Since when are you such a philanthropist?”
Her lips pressed together, and she glanced away.
I took a step closer, lowering my voice. “Besides, this world is choked with dungeons. You can skip one core. And Al—” I gestured to where he lay sprawled in the dirt, one hand lazily reaching for invisible butterflies or stags or whatever. “—will survive not getting one weird drug. God knows he already has enough of them from Earth and those mushrooms from the gorge.”
Rue let out a low, amused huff. “Al no need more crazy.”
Mahya exhaled through her nose, but she didn’t argue. Progress.
The next day, they tried to talk Rue into bringing an ant out.
He wasn’t having it.
Rue stood firm, ears pinned back, tail flicking with irritation. “Rue no go in pink dungeon. Rue no chase pink ants. Mahya and Al go if Mahya and Al want pink ant.” His growl left no room for debate.
Mahya and Al exchanged glances, then turned identical, betrayed expressions on him, as if he’d shattered their dreams.
“You could help,” Mahya muttered, crossing her arms.
Al sighed dramatically. “I thought we were a team.”
Rue flattened his ears further. “Rue smart part of team.”
I grinned and patted his side. “Good boy.”
With no backup plan and no way to guilt-trip Rue, they ran out of bright ideas. Finally, finally, we left.
We flew for another four days.
Mahya and Al needed time to cool down, so I didn’t bother asking the wind about dungeons. Let them sulk. I was just glad we were finally moving.
During those days, we passed over two settlements. Both were smaller than the cities we’d seen before but larger than the old Sanctuary. Both had high stone walls, sturdy and well-maintained, but none of us felt like stopping.
On the evening of the fourth day, a city appeared on the horizon.
I already knew. Even before we got close, even before I could make out the details, I knew what we’d find.
No walls. Tall buildings, their skeletal remains reaching toward the sky. A familiar, empty stillness hanging in the air.
A ruin.
Mahya’s grin could have outshone the sun—if the sun were still in the sky. The sheer excitement radiating from her was almost blinding.
Al, on the other hand, was still sulking, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, brooding line. Clearly, four days weren’t enough time for him to recover from his tragic loss of the pink ant extract.
I sighed and silently crossed my fingers, hoping this place was mercifully free of LSD ants.
Comments
Danielle Warvel
And yet they dare to call John the weird one of this group? Hypocrites~!
Angela Roberts
Hilarious!
