The Dungeon Child

I sat in the small circle of humans, trying to shrink as much as I can to avoid touching them.

I'd had a day - a single day - to prepare for the realization that I would have to be in the same room as other humans. After I had been 'dropped off' by the Mother, I had been led unwillingly to this small room, where a dozen snot-nosed children now sat in a circle, a human with a beard talking animatedly to them.

"Now then, can anyone say-" He paused dramatically as if he was about to say the true name of a spider rather than the monosyllabic words he's been throwing at the children for the past ten minutes. "-head?" He touched his own, grinning at the easily distracted crowd of children, who chorused the word at him happily.

I closed my eyes briefly, telling myself that it would likely be over soon, that it would be a blatant waste of mana to kill the man, and that my identity would be known if I did.

Ideally, I'd like to use this pitiful lifespan of (what, three hundred years?) to create an advantageous monarchy that I reign over. Unfortunately, not a single person so far has mentioned a system of any kind, and I seem to be incapable of bringing it up for myself.

The man said a name several times, and it took me a moment to recognize it as this body's. I flicked my eyes open and looked at him directly, hoping that the intimidation mentioned by the other woman would come into play. My hope was rewarded by a noticeable flinch, but he recovered faster than I would have liked and smiled. "Jason? Why don't you say the word? It's okay if you're shy."

I sighed, trying to force my voice into a deeper register and failing miserably. "If all we're going to do is say one sylla- one sylb-" I almost snarled my frustration, but contained myself. It's more important to maintain appearances, and I sounded the word out carefully. "Sill-a-bull."

He looked gratifyingly surprised, and I grinned to myself. "As I was saying, if we're only going to say one-syllable words, might we at least learn some useful ones?"

Paladins and knights, my voice was too squeaky. The message carried across regardless, thankfully, and the man's forehead furrowed his confusion. "Um. Sorry, Jason, but we, uhhh... we don't need to learn the bigger words until the others get to the next level, which we'll be covering soon. Doesn't that sound fun?" He said, grinning with a practiced smile at the other children.

I narrowed my eyes. So that's what was going on - the humans raised their children to be stupid on purpose! That explained quite a lot, really. If the bigger words were unnecessary, why did every adult human know them? Or was it possible that the children developed slower than my old guardians? All I really had to do to get their levels in the seventies was pump them full of mana and let them loose on the weaker creatures.

My core paused for a brief instant, a feeling I'm unused to. If humans raised all their children to be stupid and not know good words, then my excessive knowledge of their language could possibly prove unhelpful.

It was an incredibly frustrating realization. I was going to have to intentionally sound unintelligent to maintain my cover, or I would likely end up stuffed and on display. The picture is more amusing than I expected, and a quiet, bubbly laugh escapes my mouth, to my absolute horror.

A young girl with curly blond hair and a pink dress seated next to me scooted over, then whispered in my ear. "I know what you mean. Daddy and Mommy use big words all the time, and I never get to use them here."

Finally, an intelligent human near my age! She'd be the perfect cover. If I ever messed up and appeared smarter than I was supposed to, then I could simply point to her and all questions would go away. Humans are stupid, after all.

I leaned towards her, totally ignoring the man with the beard, and looked her dead in the eyes. She shrieked briefly before placing a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The man saw her and an irritated look passed over his face for a split second, before returning his attention to the other children and asking them to say 'cat'.

After she made sure no one was looking, she uncovered her mouth and told me quietly, "Your eyes are really cool." I smiled confidently. "What do they look like?" Her forehead wrinkled and her head tilted slightly. "Do you not know?"

I curled my lip in an attempt at condescension, which I'm sure failed horribly. "Why bother asking me if I didn't know if I allur- ald - already told you I didn't know?" She pouted slightly as she pulled away. I almost panicked. My cover was literally escaping me! "Wait, wait, wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." The word 'sorry' tasted like acid on my tongue, even worse than that horrid slop that had eventually replaced the cream.

She seemed suspicious of me, but came back closer. Yes! Let me use your moderate intelligence as a cover for my own colossal intelligence! "Your eyes are really dark. All the way around." I reached up to my eyes, wishing that I could use mana to create a mirror without drawing attention to myself. It's probably just as well that I couldn't do it, since I didn't know if light bounced off surfaces in the same way that it had in my dungeon. Thanks to some of my more unusual defenders, reality had been... inconsistent, to say the least.

She held out a small, chubby hand to mine with a smile. "My name's Charlotte, but you can call me Charlie. What's your name?"

I considered what I was going to say, and the probably pathogen-infected hand she was extending towards mine, before taking it in my own pathetically weak hand. "My name is Jason, but you should call me Argus."