Wolf’s hooves clattered a steady rhythm against the ancient stone, the sound echoing through the silence of the Buried Kingdom’s forgotten halls, an ode to the history of man and beast. Age-old dust and the faint, earthy tang of the moss that clung stubbornly to the cold, crumbling walls filled the air. Faint glimmers of light, cast by softly glowing fungi, painted the cavernous passage in hues of emerald, amethyst and sapphire, flickering like distant stars in an ever-dimming sky.

Emberclaw skittered beside him, their fiery form a stark contrast to the dull gloom of the dungeon. Wolf had an inclining that the large lava art would have preferred to venture into the angry heat of the Earthen Furnace, but they scurried alongside him anyway, their mandibles clicking away reassuringly in the quiet, like the ticking of a clock in a long-forgotten room. Happenstance had granted the Courser his new companion, but Wolf found himself enjoying the company of his newfound friend.

In a shadow-shrouded corner, where the light barely dared to linger, something unexpected caught the Courser’s eye. A glint – sharp and sudden, like a spark of fire in the night – drew his gaze to a heap of discarded barding. The armour, once proud and gleaming, was now tarnished, dulled by the endless river of countless years. The barding lay in disarray, a forgotten relic of battles long ago. It wasn’t the heraldry or even the armourthat snagged his attention though; Wolf nudged them softly aside, the sound of metal scraping against stone was a violent assault on the gentle, curious silence. What he found made him pause.

Two horned beetles, their chitinous shells shimmering like polished gems, were locked in battle, their tiny, barbed legs scrabbling against each other with surprising ferocity. Their tiny bodies seemed adorned in gems, casting flashes of light across the dim chamber.

For a moment Wolf could only stare, entranced by the sight. He could almost hear the faint echo of a battle cry, as though these tiny soldiers were re-enacting battles lost and long forgotten. His first thought, reckless as always, was to pocket them. Perhaps they’d fetch a pretty price at the market, or better yet, he could show them to Phoebe. But then another, slightly more primal and less civilised thought tickled the back of his mind: what would they taste like?

He grinned. It was a foolish thought, he knew that, but the temptation lingered there all the same, like a wisp of smoke curling tendrils around his thoughts.

Emberclaw chittered at him reproachfully and Wolf’s eyes flicked between his fiery companion and the tiny little bugs.

“Fine, fine, I won’t eat them.”

A soft sigh escaped him, half in humour, half in disappointment. “Guess I’m not that hungry anyway,” he muttered, a lop-sided grin pulling up the corner of his mouth. He nosed Emberclaw’s back softly. “Let’s just go.”

With a final, longing glance at the discarded barding and the beetles battling there, he turned away, moving deeper into the heart of the Buried Kingdom, where the ancient stone walls whispered their secrets in the language of the lost and the shadows kept them.