As she made her way through the sandy labyrinth, Pithy could not help throwing the occasional concerned glance over her shoulder. So far, the blades of ice combing the path before her had turned up nothing of note, beyond the occasional bone buried in the dust, and the only sound that reached her was that of her boots sinking in the sand, a sound that seemed to rake at her ears no matter how carefully she stepped forward. Not even the magelight floating ahead had managed to draw the attention of any beasts that might dwell in this darkness.
 
For all intents and purposes, she was alone in these tunnels, but she still could not keep herself from seeing sudden, fleeting movement in the shadows ahead and behind. [i]Imagining, not seeing,[/i] she told herself. That was more likely, but it did little to dispel her concern. If she was forced to retreat down this maze, she was not certain she would be able to retrace her steps.
 
She almost did not notice when the light of her magelight began to merge with the warm, flickering light of fire, but when she did, she warily drew it back to herself. [i]Because fire often means life. It could not have lit itself.[/i]
 
Pithy paused, listening for any sounds that might clue her in to another’s presence, but only the sound of her own breathing reached back. After a moment, she nodded to herself and, with a steadying breath, allowed the magelight to vanish. The corridor was immediately plunged into darkness, held at bay only by the fire coming from the room ahead, and by the faint light coming from the runes on her rapier. With a thought, the blades of ice ahead of her slid out of the sand and rejoined the weapons that hovered behind her.
 
Pithy approached the passageway slowly, cursing the awkward footing she had in this sand and the shuffling sound that inevitably rose from her footsteps.
 
Soon, she found the source of the rotting scent she had followed within the room opposite to the flame. Corpses of… [i]things[/i]. Much too large to have made it into the tunnels normally, which meant that whatever had killed them had taken the trouble of reassembling the carcasses once it had brought them there. As for the purpose of that, she could not tell. If they were to be food, keeping them assembled meant little. If they were to be bait for different prey, the stench would be just as powerful if not more were the innards carelessly expose to the air. It was this focused analysis that prevented her from retching at the sheer smell of rot, but she could not get rid of the rancid taste in her mouth.
 
Having enough of the sight, she inched closer to the passage from which light poured out. She peeked into the room and blinked.
 
At most, she had expected a bonfire in an otherwise empty room, but what greeted her eye was proper furniture and mounds of scroll and paper. It seemed that she had chanced upon someone’s studio, one that reminded her far more of her own world than the offices of the Citadel.
 
Just then, her own blue eye met the piercing gaze of the creature sitting within. Pithy froze when she realized the room’s only occupant had noticed her, had likely been aware of her presence long before she became aware of his. Pithy reflexively licked her lips and found them dry.
 
Rather than show hostility for her intrusion, however, the beast spoke.
 
“Good evening.”
 
Politely, at that.

“I mean you no harm, I assure you. I thought I detected a new aroma on the breeze, one far more refined than the malodorous repugnance of those bloated spindlelegs. Welcome to the humble lair of Actaeon. You must be here for the tournament. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
 
Its body reminded her of the werewolves she was familiar more with, but rare among them were those that managed to string together a coherent sentence in their transformed state. This one, however, was quite talkative. It was likely something else entirely.
 
Thinking it best to play along, she stood at the door’s frame, allowing the creature—[i]Actaeon, it said. Treat it as a mindless beast at your own peril, for it is clearly not one[/i]—to get a good look at her. Her blades of ice held still, hovering outside of the room where Actaeon could not see them.
 
Had she not seen its like among those called by the College? She realized she could not quite recall. The memory felt muddled. Had something happened when she was transported to this strange city? Pithy shook her head. She had held the impression only participants and College staff would be within this city, and as far as she had seen that staff had been entirely composed of humans.
 
“Are you not a participant?” She answered the question with a question.

Giving no evidence of being offput by his visitor’s standoffishness, the hunter shook his head.  “No. I do not know why, but these catacombs and I were whisked here out of the blue some time ago. It felt like a dream—a dream of blood and hunger, and when it faded away, I was here.  The spindlelegs were here before me, but I exterminated them. If I had the proper chemicals I could make better trophies of them, but alas, I’ve been more focused on shadowing the personnel of that institute when they’re in the area.” Unprompted, Actaeon treated Pithy to a torrent of information, perhaps seeking to establish himself as personable and—despite his appearance—not a threat.

Pithy grimaced as she sifted through the creature’s words, latching on to the most important part. 

Namely, that this tomb had been transported here separately from the Crucible’s contestants. That would account for the sudden shift in the architecture between the Justice Hub’s building and this crypt. Had the Justice Hub itself been brought over from a different world as well, then? [i]Too soon to tell, even if this one speaks true. In that case, he could have learned of the Crucible when stalking the College staff.[/i] 

Whatever the thought, she knew better than to put words into the mouth of one she hoped to interrogate, so she continued, “How did you come to know of the tournament?”

Actaeon’s gaze did not deviate. “During my frequent trips throughout this citadel and its surroundings, I have encountered people from the institute a handful of times, and they mentioned the tournament often. I expected it would only be a matter of time before others started arriving.”

[i]Word of mouth will sell a battle royale even in a deserted city.[/i] Pithy grunted, mildly annoyed by the idea. Still, if the beast spoke true, he could prove valuable as a source of information. The woman took a breath, deciding diplomacy would yield the best results. 

“Actaeon, you said?” she began, “As you have deduced, I am a participant in the College’s tournament. That said, I only recently arrived in this city, so I would ask you of your time spent here, and about these tunnels. Will you speak to me, even if I have little to offer in return?”

A moment of silence passed between the two, and the hunter’s expression changed. If a ferocious fanged maw could be said to be smiling, his was, without a doubt. “The company alone is reason enough. I would be happy to talk to you.”

With those words, the dim light faded from her rapier’s runes, and the rustling sound of something sliding into the sand came from outside the room. 

“Good,” Pithy said as she moved past the arch.