One of my eldest kobolds had made his way down to the Skylands.

I perched overhead, a couple points of awareness swiveling in; he had been a conundrum, never quite as strong as Rihsu, never quite as leaderly as Chieftess, but powerful in his own right. But then he had abandoned his tribe and struck off on his own, which. Was certainly a choice? He hadn't even evolved yet.

But down he had gone, and I could respect that. Going solo meant he could move faster, beating the other kobolds who were still making their way through the tunnels of the Jungle Labyrinth—which was interesting for other reasons, considering in a few hours they would be crossing paths with Rihsu, who was coming up to meet them—and so was well on his way down.

I didn't think he'd be jumping down another floor, though. He was watching the scorch hound in front of him with a determination I'd never seen in him before.

What was it with my kobolds and finding odd, wild missions to swear themselves toward?

He was crouched before the scorch hound, one clawed hand extended, warbling something soft and crooned. The scorch hound was an intelligent beast, for all it—she, I noted—was an unevolved mammal, and she watched him with wary eyes as he tried to cajole her closer. He wasn't even using food, the fool.

She was a hungry thing, as with all of her pack. The Skylands weren't built for her; while the size was right, and her long-legged gait carried her far and fast over the interconnected islands, there wasn't enough prey for her size.

That unfortunately familiar prickle of guilt settled in my core. I'd put her and her pack there because I'd wanted to use the schema, even knowing that I was going to switch the Skylands to a more storm-based floor, but it wasn't built for her. Wasn't set up so that she could hunt and thrive.

But did I want to focus on helping her now, or just rush towards starting the fire-themed seventh floor?

Being a dungeon core carried its own share of problems.

I turned away from them for now, some vague reminder in the back of my mind to help them later, and turned back to what was more immediately interesting; the sixth floor.

The sixth floor that was already filling up with a beautiful cast of characters, actually. Now that I had finished filling in the third room with coral, every new bit of mana I had to spare went towards creating prismatic dartfish; small, slender little things that changed colour in a riveting, rippling wave. Blue-orange-green-maroon-azure, spiraling throughout—with the plain cream-white of the coral below, I'd been needing some colour, and they were absolutely delivering. Mesmerizing in all the best ways. Not dangerous, really, given they were about a foot long and cowards at heart, but beautiful. I'd give them that.

Certainly some of the prettier elements of my new floor. I mentally nudged one of the larger schools into more of a purple-violet-indigo effect and set them loose.

They weren't the last, though. With the coral in place, cream-white, I'd also thrown up a few curtains of bloodline kelp and green algae—not a lot, mind, because it was already so present on my others floors and I didn't want this to become a boring copy of what had come before, but enough to serve as food for those that couldn't nibble at the coral or dartfish. I'd provide some help for those that made the insipid little choice to stay vegetarians, the fools.

Other creatures poured down, summoned by my mana's siren call—Seros had, with great delicacy and posturing, successfully moved my core down to the sixth floor, into a hollow I'd carved right over the den I'd made for the fledgling sea serpent. It hurt, in a weary sort of way, to leave my hoard room in the Skylands behind—I'd worked for those artefacts, dammit—but I knew it had to be done. My coral needed to be fed with mana, and my dungeon functioned best when my core was on the lowest floor.

And. Well. I was still keeping a very, very close eye over my hoard room, with the silver-covered walls awash in draconic runes to a god that no longer watched over me, to stolen—won—swords and rings and staffs, to the delicate little patch of moonstar flowers that had grown two more buds, though they weren't yet blooming. It was still my love and my beauty, but I had to descend deeper.

Eventually, I'd appoint a proper guardian for it. Someone who wouldn't move down when they evolved, so hopefully someone I could get the deity who became the Patron of said floor to appreciate them. That was why I didn't make hoard rooms on every floor. It was actively the worst to say goodbye.

I soothed that old draconic fury by peering back to my sixth floor.

Of course the sea serpent was among the most ferocious of the new territory—a proper beast in every sense of the word, coiling through the forest-reef of the third floor. He was still a fledgling, still young, but already he was a monster. No murky water to hide in so he swam deep and low, twining around the base of the great pillars of coral with his burnished silver frills extended and jaws wide. Near thirty feet long, sea-green scales catching every beam of quartz-light, golden eyes like lanterns in the deep water.

Gods. What a glorious beast. I couldn't wait until he shed the title of fledgling.

Other interesting characters as well; a triggerfish who was doing his damnedest to make the entire second room his territory and failing miserably; a trio of roughwater sharks, swollen fat and strong with mana; a mated pair of greater crabs scuttling through the lagoon in search of a nest for eggs; a greater pigeon with wings spread wide and scarlet over her talons taking roost in a cloudsire palm. All wonderful little monsters.

Including one lichenridge turtle from the Drowned Forest. She was an old thing, one of the originals from when I'd made the trap way back when—but she'd lived a stationary life on those pillars I'd made for her. It was odd to see her moving, honestly, but she'd followed my siren's call and plodded her way through sandy canals and the murk of the Underlake to go to this deeper land.

And no sooner had she emerged onto the floor, eyes blown wide in the face of her new home, before golden letters flitted their way across my awareness.

I, who had definitely not been awaiting this message with gleeful anticipation, sank into my core to read it.

Your creature, a Lichenridge Turtle, is undergoing evolution!

Please select your desired path.

Reefback Turtle (Rare): Far above mere algae and moss, this creature welcomes all to root over their great shell. Swimming close to the sunlight, they house an army of loyal defenders as they support an ecosystem, creating new and fascinating strands of life.

Snapjaw Turtle (Uncommon): From a beak of stone comes a beak of iron. There is little alive that can escape their feared bite, and most lose their tenuous hold on life if they attempt it. Slow and ponderous, they lurk in murky waters and claim all who stray too low.

Discus Turtle (Uncommon): Only defense no longer, this creature grows jagged scales over their shell and large flippers to propel it forward—one strike of their blade-esque back incapacitates if it doesn't kill, and they are free to eat at their leisure.