Up there, far above, there is a small field of flowers, quiet and untouched. It sits cradled by a rocky outcrop amongst the shadows of carefully constructed majesty; next to the traces of worn roads faded away, where a grand hall might have stood or maybe a palace, a forge, in the middle of a thriving market – or perhaps just the humble abode, lived in by those who dreamt of more.

Though the wind howls over it, its treasured flowers remain rooted strong. Up here in the sky, its blusters have become a part of life. The sky has become part of life. A place deserted and silent for so long is now once more host to morning greetings between passersby, to hammers hitting nails and saws on wood as new houses, new homes are put together with as much hope and care as wood and stone. And of course, the sound of children running and playing, and calling out for their parents.

The shadecrawler is first to arrive, a black axe by his side, his characteristic lateness defeated by the familiarity of the field which grasps his spirt and commands his presence. A blue claw tightly, and proudly, clutches onto a worn and weathered wide-brimmed hat as his poncho buffets in the wind. He stands there, calmly waiting, eyes fixed on the field. The others are not far behind.

A luminymph wrapped in shawls of dark blue and cream, like wings in the wind. Once expressionless, today she smiles with understanding and acceptance as she enters the field, a strange, mechanical spear in hand. Joining them is a volgecko of obsidian scales and orange quartz. Who struggles through winds both from her small size but also from the large sword she drags behind her on her route to the field. But it is not this sword she holds as the others hold their weapons, but rather three small wooden figures. A volgecko, a luminymph and a shadecrawler. Tears well in her eyes and even though she says she understands, something within her is not certain.

They greet each other silently with nods and looks beneath the open sky, and amongst the flowers they gather, stepping between the remains of an old hut towards a crudely carved headstone and one my one they lay down their tribute. The axe and spear are thrust into the earth, the figures buried carefully. A large shadow of a bird falls over them and the wind dies down, if just for a moment.

In the pause, the shadecrawler utters but two words:

“Adventurers… Dissembled.”

The wind picks up and the moment passes. They smile with a weight of something else. Then they laugh as one and amongst cheerful talk they amble off into the distance to whatever might lie beyond. Towards home, towards building something new and who knows, towards maybe getting lost along the way.

– Written by Barnaby C.

Somewhere rather far removed from the bustling towns, marble sculptures, and sweeping buildings of the Sky Islands…

---

“Pull! Oh, watch the pincers, will you!”

An intrepid party of five wriggle their way out of the tunnel opening: a Shadecrawler, a Luminymph, a Mydlin, a Beastkin, and a Volgecko. Or as the Sky Islands School of Lost Finding terms such a group, an Adventurers’ Initiative.

Following a chance discovery, a densely interlinked network of tunnels connecting Lux City and other locations is the hot new frontier for exploration. Here be secrets and treasures aplenty. Some claim that the network could reach as far as Myddul or even the Swamp, but those are largely unproven, mainly due to the tunnels being so uncomfortably narrow. Still, nothing an Initiative can’t power through.

A larger cavern opens up ahead of them. It’s collapsed in parts, and still rather narrow, but it sure beats wriggling through tunnels face-first. The Shadecrawler and Luminymph put their darkvision and barbel-light to exploring the darkened space, well-practiced after several hundred hours of cave-crawling together.

The Initiative whispers to each other in the dark amongst the occasional dripping of water.

“Ok, so there's some evidence of mining marks here. And a lot of rubble. A few pillars…we're looking at a very artificial cave.”

The excited clicking of pincers. “Artificial is good. Artificial means treasure.”

“Dunno, looks pretty empty to me.”

“Looks? You can't see, Charting. Stick closer or we'll lose you.” A pause as the stray Mydlin is dragged along by the arm.

Rock scraping against rock. “Not easy on the crystals! Oh, we're definitely under the Lizard's Fangs right now. Some hard metamorphic stuff– wait, those are volcanic tuff bricks.”

“Huh. I've never seen them like that before.”

“We'd better follow them. Also, are those footprints? I'd better get to tracking…”

A slow advance, with much discussion.

“This is gonna be a pain to map.”

“Okay, so half-brick and half-cave surface, supports for some kind of tunnel–”

The tunnel widens once more to reveal a stone platform built to support a rough-hewn pillar. The top of the (rather short) pillar is wedged firmly into the ceiling, forming an artfully load-bearing midpoint to the room.

“Whoa, there’s a plaque here.”

A large slab of metal, engraved with faded words.

“Ha, so much for uncharted territory.”

“Dust it off then.”

“It's cold!”

“Uh…”

“Wait, get closer, I can't read. Get those barbels on it.”

“Aye-aye, cap'n.”

“…Myth…handler…II?”

A flurry of boost-booted footsteps.

“Wait…the Mythhandler II?“

“No way.”

“Founder of the School of Lost Finding? Fosterer of the Golden Age of Adventuring? Greatest adventurer to ever walk the highest and lowest points of Mydreign? That Mythhandler?”

“No way. The old man’s been lost for decades.”

“And not without reason. According to my great-great-grandma, his bravest act was his final one. Saved his students from a collapsing cave, trapping him in there forever.”

“Well, we at least know he was here.”

“He's been everywhere. Doesn't exactly narrow it down.”

“Good place to camp, anyway.”

“Wait, your great-however-many-times-grandma…knew him?”

“Oh, yeah. She was one of his first students. She wrote down so many stories about him. Mythhandler disappearing in the Deep Woods for a year. Mythhandler diving to the lowest point of the Sea of Light in a metal box. Mythhandler parachuting off a flying machine into a volcano. Seriously, I’d be surprised if there’s something he didn’t do.”

“Well, he probably didn’t squeeze his way through miles of rocky tunnel just to stop here.”

“Hear, hear. We should adventure on in his spirit!”

“But first, food.”

“I say it’s time for bread.”

“High time for bread.”

“And then sleep, maybe?”

They sit down and munch quietly, gathering closer for warmth. The Mydlin sketches the beginning of a map by dim lantern-light, while the Volgecko begins to catalogue rock samples.

“Oh Mirthful, you remember when we were just tiny trainees?. And then old Mythhandler IV was talking about how his grandpa went right down below the surface of the Lizard's Fangs into that massive cave system. And then he tried to make us crawl through that black ore maze, but we just dug under it and had a grand old time with the treasure?”

The Luminymph shakes its barbels disapprovingly. “For legal and Academy record purposes that absolutely did not happen, thank you very much.”

“Yeah it doubly didn't happen when we all got lost trying to put our so-called knowledge to the test in the underwater caves. I told 'em we got Chela'd and forgot the whole thing so we wouldn't have to write up a report for that one.”

“I'm collecting an awfully large amount of blackmail material right now, I'll have you know.”

“Hey! I saved you from that giant Obsidiling!”

“That Tephra sent at us as a prank.”

“You two stop with the legs! I'm mapping here!”

As they settle in for the night, telling each other stories of their own adventuring, another faint glow slowly begins to permeate the room.

“Oh. Oh Chela.” Blue and amber light dances across distant walls as the Luminymph stands and moves closer.

“What?”

“Look.”

Behind layers of settled sediment, the load-bearing pillar in the narrow cave tunnel gazes down at the students of his students’ students' students.

The eternally-frozen form of an aged Mythhandler II gleams proudly.