Damp earth and the heady musk of decaying vegetation filled the air with a thick, cloying scent as Castalla moved through the tight, dungeon corridor. Each hoof-fall was quiet, careful, soft against the moss-covered ground as she subconsciously curtailed her movements to let the silence sleep undisturbed. Cavernous walls, now wild with nature’s touch, loomed either side of her. It was a slow and gentle change – the receding of moss, yielding to stone blocks that seemed wrought with long forgotten history. As though it were holding it’s breath, the air was still and silent. The impassive expression adorning Castalla’s features did little to betray the thrill that skittered up her spine as her pale eyes roved the changing cavern with restrained curiosity.

All around her, the air had grown colder, and the sound of water softly kissing stone broke the quiet like a pale dawn. The chamber opening up like a flower before her was vast, lined columns that seemed to stretch on forever into the unseeing eyes of darkness. Arches spider-webbed their way across the ceiling far above her. Between the pillars frescoes adorned the walls, depicting Coursers in mid-dash, their powerful forms frozen in time, immortalised in art yet brimming with an energy that seemed ready to burst free.

Castalla stood before one particular mural. It depicted a Courser rearing before some beast of the deep, powerful and mighty and entirely undeterred by the deadly creature before it. These were the tales Castalla had been raised on, the Courser she trained to be – dauntless and unafraid.

Water pooled around her hooves, rising with each step until it lapped at her ankles, cool and clear and mirroring the looping archways above. The realisation that she was standing in the remains of a cistern came to her, not with a jolt of surprise, but with a slow, deliberate understanding. Her education, decided upon by her father, had been extensive and she was no stranger to ancient things. Yet this cistern seemed to beat with a heart of mystery, as though the walls themselves whispered secrets long forgotten. Castalla stood ankle deep in history, beneath tales and legends and myths. Her lips curled into a small smile at the delight of it, and perhaps in satisfaction at her discovery.

What tales were scarred into the ancient brick work? What mysteries lay in the shadows that stretched beyond? Fear had no hold on Castalla as she pressed on into the darkness, chasing curiosity and the promise of more discoveries.