We began the morning by following Ryn into the Outer Ring.
At this point, neither Spathian nor I question her decisions anymore.
This is partly because experience has taught us she is usually correct.
And partly because questioning her often results in educational suffering.
Mostly the second reason.
Our first destination was another shop.
A terrible shop.
Not terrible in quality.
Terrible in appearance.
The building looked as though it had lost a fight with weather several decades ago.
The walls leaned.
The sign hung at an angle.
The door seemed emotionally exhausted.
I looked at the structure.
Then looked at Ryn.
I understood the pattern immediately.
Confidence filled me.
At last, I had learned something.
I smiled.
Then proudly declared:
"This must be the best supply store in the city."
Ryn looked at me.
For a moment I felt victorious.
Then she shook her head.
"Cheap."
My self-esteem suffered a critical hit.
Inside, Ryn began purchasing supplies.
Lots of supplies.
Far more supplies than I expected.
Rope.
Chalk.
Flint.
Lanterns.
Oil stored inside thick leather bottles.
Clean bandages.
Linen cloth.
Needles.
Water.
Hard bread.
Beef jerky.
Knives.
A shovel.
Sleeping bags.
And an alarming number of arrows.
I watched the pile continue growing.
Eventually I became concerned.
Not because the items were strange.
Because they were sensible.
Too sensible.
The sort of purchases made by people preparing for problems.
Many problems.
Possibly all problems.
What confused me most were the arrows.
As far as I know, none of us use bows.
Not well, anyway.
I considered asking.
Then remembered that questioning logistics often leads to lectures.
I remained silent.
But internally I was becoming suspicious.
Was this truly a short trip?
Or was Ryn secretly planning to live underground for a month?
The cart grew heavier.
My confidence grew weaker.
Afterward we visited a weapon and armor shop.
The building was simple.
Functional.
Unimpressive.
I studied it carefully.
Then reached another conclusion.
Surely this one was chosen because it was cheap.
Before I could say anything, Ryn looked directly at me.
She sighed.
The sigh again.
The one that suggests disappointment before a conversation has even begun.
Then she said:
"Best quality in the lower price range."
I froze.
Slowly.
Carefully.
I began developing a theory.
Ryn can read minds.
No other explanation remains.
Inside, she purchased a saber for Spathian.
The weapon looked surprisingly ordinary.
No glowing runes.
No legendary aura.
No dramatic history involving ancient kings.
Just a saber.
A practical saber.
Spathian stared at it.
I stared at it.
Then I finally asked a question.
"Do I need a weapon too?"
Perhaps a shield.
Or armor.
Or something capable of preventing death.
Ryn answered immediately.
"No."
That was all.
I waited.
There was no additional explanation.
Eventually she added:
"We aren't planning to fight anyone."
I felt relieved.
Then slightly confused.
Then suspicious again.
Because if we were not planning to fight anyone—
why did Spathian need a saber?
Spathian asked the same thing.
Ryn replied:
"For fighting if necessary."
Silence followed.
A long silence.
I did not understand.
Spathian did not understand.
Ryn appeared convinced this explanation was sufficient.
Somehow this conversation raised more questions than it answered.
By afternoon she announced our final stop.
The Scarward.
Finally.
The Inner Ring.
The expensive district.
The prestigious district.
The district I had imagined from the beginning.
At last.
Something impressive.
Something magical.
Something worthy of every storybook I had ever read.
As we approached, my optimism returned.
The building itself was magnificent.
Large.
Elegant.
Busy.
Filled with people seated at tables.
Writing.
Studying.
Comparing documents.
The entire structure radiated importance.
I immediately became excited.
Perhaps enchanted scrolls.
Perhaps rare magical supplies.
Perhaps protective charms.
Perhaps—
Maps.
Ryn bought maps.
Three maps.
Fifteen Gold Crowns.
I nearly stopped breathing.
The entire cart currently contained supplies worth roughly five Gold Crowns.
Meanwhile a single sheet of paper cost the same amount.
A beautiful sheet of paper.
A useful sheet of paper.
But still paper.
I stared at the maps.
Then at Ryn.
Then at the maps again.
She purchased floor maps for Levels Two, Three, and Four.
Nothing else.
I finally asked why she only bought three.
Surely we needed one for Level Five as well.
And perhaps Level One.
Ryn informed me that neither level required maps.
Then immediately began walking away.
I was left standing there holding several new questions.
None received answers.
Eventually we reached our destination.
The Spike Maw.
The entrance to the Heartspike Catacombs.
The enormous wound at the center of Vaultreach.
The place every treasure hunter talks about.
The place every newcomer dreams about.
The place that appears on paintings, stories, maps, and tavern rumors.
Standing before it felt strange.
Not frightening.
Not exciting.
Just...
Larger than expected.
The black stone spike rose from the depths like something that did not belong beneath the earth.
Cold wind drifted upward from below.
People moved constantly around the entrance.
Hunters.
Porters.
Merchants.
Healers.
Guards.
Everyone seemed busy.
Everyone seemed tired.
Nobody looked particularly heroic.
Which somehow made the place feel more real.
Then Ryn informed us she needed to register our group.
And disappeared.
Leaving me waiting.
Again.
I am beginning to suspect treasure hunting involves significantly more paperwork than the books ever mentioned.
Forms.
Permissions.
Inspections.
Registrations.
Official seals.
Apparently entering a Treasure Vault is not something people simply do.
Someone, somewhere, insists on organizing the madness.
As I finish writing this, I am sitting near the entrance while Ryn handles administrative procedures.
The wind from below is cold.
The crowds are loud.
And the Heartspike waits beneath us.
Tomorrow, if everything goes according to plan, we descend.
Strangely enough—
after all the deserts, storms, scams, maps, supplies, lectures, and shopping—
this feels like the first moment the adventure has actually begun.
Which probably means something terrible is about to happen.
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