The scarred warrior—Tara has started calling him "Scarface" in his head—stuffs Tara into a bag.

  It is a rough, canvas-like material, and Tara finds himself surrounded by darkness. Or at least, what should have been darkness. But Tara's perception isn't limited to what is directly in front of him. He can see through the bag, through the fabric, through... well, through a lot of things.

  It is like having X-ray vision. He can perceive the warrior's hand holding the bag, the other adventurers walking nearby, the dungeon corridors they are passing through. His vision extends through objects, though it gets fuzzier the more objects are in the way. After about ten or fifteen feet, everything becomes indistinct, like looking through frosted glass.

  "Interesting," Tara thinks. "So I can see through stuff. Pretty useful."

  They walk through the dungeon corridors, and Tara observes everything he can. The walls are covered in more runes, different from the ones in the treasure room. These look older, more worn. The torches here are different too—regular fire instead of the blue-green magical flames.

  As they move through the dungeon, Tara can sense creatures in the distance—monsters, probably, drawn by the commotion or just patrolling the corridors. But the adventurers handle them with practiced ease. A goblin appears around a corner, and before Tara can even process it, one of the warriors has already cut it down. A pair of skeletal warriors emerge from a side passage, and the mage dispatches them with a single spell. A giant spider drops from the ceiling, and the rogue's daggers flash—it's dead before it hits the ground.

  "Wow," Tara thinks, watching through the bag. "These guys are good. They're making short work of everything. I guess that's why they survived the dragon fight."

  The adventurers move efficiently, clearing the path without slowing down. They've done this before. This is routine for them. The dungeon's lesser creatures are no match for a party that just defeated a Poison Drake.

  The adventurers are talking, their voices muffled by the bag but still audible.

  "Did you feel how warm that pyramid was?" one voice asks—Tara thinks it might be the scarred warrior. "It was generating energy, right? That's what you said, Elena?"

  "Yes, Garrick," a female voice replies—the mage, Tara assumes. "It's definitely generating energy. Constantly. That's rare for an artifact. Most artifacts need to be activated or charged, but this one seems to generate energy on its own."

  "Interesting," another voice says—this one sounds younger, it's the rogue. "So it's like a perpetual energy source? That could be valuable."

  "Potentially very valuable, Kira," the mage—Elena—replies. "Energy-generating artifacts are always in demand. Mages use them for experiments, nobles use them for their estates, merchants use them to power magical devices. If it generates enough energy, it could be worth a fortune."

  Tara listens, piecing together the information. So the scarred warrior is Garrick. The mage is Elena. The rogue is Kira. And they know he generates energy—they discovered that when Garrick picked him up. Now they're discussing what to do with him, treating him like a valuable commodity.

  Which, he supposes, he is. But still, it's strange to hear himself being discussed as if he's just a thing. A useful thing, a valuable thing, but still just a thing.

  They continue through the corridors, and Tara can sense they're getting closer to an exit. The air changes slightly—less stale, more movement. The sounds of the dungeon fade, replaced by... something else. Something new.

  Finally, they exit the dungeon room—Tara can sense the transition, the shift from enclosed stone to open space. They step through what feels like a doorway, and suddenly everything changes.

  They are outside. In the world. A world Tara has never seen before.

  The air feels different—fresher, cleaner, though he doesn't have lungs to appreciate it. The light is different too, filtering through the bag in a way that suggests sunlight rather than torchlight. Natural light. Real light. Not the artificial glow of magical flames.

  Through the bag, Tara can perceive the landscape. Trees—massive, ancient trees that tower overhead, their leaves filtering the sunlight into dappled patterns. The ground beneath them is uneven, covered in what feels like grass and fallen leaves. The sounds are different too—birds calling, wind rustling through branches, the distant sound of water. Real nature. Not the stone and darkness of the dungeon.

  He tries to see more, to observe the landscape in detail, but everything is moving too fast. Trees blur past. The ground is uneven. They are walking, but quickly, as if they want to get away from the dungeon as fast as possible.

  "This is it," Tara thinks. "The real world. Outside. I'm actually outside."

  The storage counter keeps climbing. 8,000 units. 9,000 units. 10,000 units. Tara watches it, a constant reminder that energy is building up inside him, second by second, unit by unit.

  "What happens when it reaches 1,000,000?" Tara wonders, not for the first time. "Do I become super powerful? Do I turn into a different shape? Do I get a free pizza?"

  The adventurers stop to rest, and Tara can hear them setting up camp. The crackle of a fire being built, the sound of food being prepared, the smell of cooking meat filtering through the bag. They laugh and talk, their voices relaxed now that they're away from the dungeon. It's another successful dungeon run, another haul of treasure.

  The pizza thought makes him pause, especially as he senses the adventurers cooking and eating. He hasn't thought about food in... well, since he's become a pyramid. He doesn't have a stomach anymore, or taste buds, or anything that could appreciate a good slice of pepperoni. That is depressing.

  "Focus, Tara," he tells himself. "You're a magical energy-generating pyramid. Pizza is not your concern right now. Besides, for many people it would be a privilege to not be dependent on food to survive. Let's see the positives here!"

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  As the adventurers finish their meal and pack up, Tara watches them through the bag. There's something almost romantic about their lifestyle—the camaraderie, the shared meals around a campfire, the sense of adventure. They're living a life he never had, a life of freedom and exploration. And here he is, stuck in a bag, being carried along like luggage.

  They start moving again, and the journey continues.

  Hours pass. Tara tries to do something with the energy. Anything. He focuses on it, tries to move it, to shape it, to use it. Nothing happens. The energy just sits there, accumulating, like a battery that can only charge and never discharge.

  "Great," Tara thinks. "That's like having a million dollars but it's all in a bank account you can't access."

  As night falls, the adventurers gather around the fire, and Tara can hear them eating, their voices clearer now that they are stationary.

  "Valdris," Elena says. "Haven't been there in a while. It's gotten bigger, I hear."

  "Much bigger," Garrick replies. "They've expanded the walls twice in the last decade. The merchant quarter alone is huge now."

  "Good place to sell things," Kira adds. "Lots of buyers."

  "Speaking of which," Elena says, "what are we going to do with that pyramid thing? Sell it or keep it?"

  "Depends on what it's worth," Garrick says. "If it's just generating energy, we might be able to use it. But if someone's willing to pay a lot for it..."

  Tara listens, feeling like a piece of merchandise being discussed. Which, he supposes, he is.

  "Besides generate energy and look decorative?" says another member.

  "Maybe it does more than that," Elena says. "Artifacts are tricky. Sometimes they have hidden functions."

  "Like what?" Kira asks between bites. "Does it season food? Because this meat could use some salt."

  Garrick snorts. "Be grateful. If it was your cooking, we could have killed the dragon by feeding it your food."

  "Or maybe," Elena says, her voice taking on a mysterious tone, "it's a cursed artifact that will bring doom upon whoever owns it."

  There's a moment of silence.

  "Elena," Garrick says, "please tell me you're joking."

  "I am," Elena laughs. "But you should have seen your face. You looked terrified."

  Everyone laughs.

  "You're evil," Garrick grumbles. "Absolutely evil."

  As the mood gets lighter, the night gets darker. Tara can sense it through the bag—the light dims gradually, the fire's glow becoming more prominent. The sounds change too. The adventurers finish eating, their conversations becoming quieter, more relaxed. Some are already settling down, their breathing becoming steady and even.

  Tara watches through the bag as best he can. He can see the shapes of people lying down, wrapping themselves in blankets, finding comfortable positions. One by one, they fall asleep. Their breathing slows, their movements stop, their consciousness drifts away.

  And Tara... just keeps existing.

  He doesn't feel tired. He doesn't feel the need to rest. He is a pyramid, and pyramids don't sleep. They just... are. It is strange, watching people sleep when he can't. Like being the teetotaler at a rave.

  The storage counter: 100,000 units.

  "One hundred thousand," Tara thinks. "That's... a lot. Still only ten percent of capacity, but it's a lot. If this were money, I'd be rich. If this were pizza, I'd have way too much pizza. But it's energy, and I have no idea what to do with it."

  The fire burns lower. The stars—Tara can sense them through the bag, pinpricks of light in the darkness—move slowly across the sky. The moon rises, casting silvery light that filters through the canvas.

  Everyone is asleep now. Tara is alone with his thoughts and his ever-climbing energy counter.

  He tries to release the energy, like he has in the dungeon. He focuses on it, tries to push it out, tries to make it flow away from him. In the dungeon, he's been able to redirect it, to pull it back, to store it. But now, when he tries to release it, nothing happens. The energy stays locked inside him, accumulating, building up.

  "Great," Tara thinks. "Earlier I was struggling to stop the energy flow. Now I am struggling to start it."

  He tries again, focusing harder, imagining the energy flowing out in a stream, dissipating into the air. Still nothing. The energy remains trapped, the counter climbing steadily: 101,000 units. 102,000 units. 103,000 units.

  The next day passes in a blur of walking and resting.

  Tara observes what he can through the bag. They pass through forests, cross a river (he can hear the water), walk along what feels like a road. Other travelers pass by—Tara can hear their voices, sense their presence through the bag.

  They are getting close. Tara can tell because the sounds are changing—more voices, more activity, the sense of more people nearby. The ground feels different under the bag, smoother, like cobblestones.

  And then, Tara sees it. Or senses it, rather. Through the bag, he can perceive something massive ahead—walls, tall and imposing. A gate, huge and fortified, with guards standing watch. The gate itself is made of thick wood reinforced with metal bands, and above it, Tara can sense towers, watchtowers probably, with more guards.

  "So this is Valdris," Tara muses.