The adventuring party cautiously enters the next chamber, and are greeted first by the soft, pleasant crunch of dry sand beneath their hooves. Nightshade tries her best to tune out the tension lingering between the team of Coursers, but despite her best efforts, it’s proving to be quite the distraction. Beryl, the champagne mare, almost feels like they think they’re better than everyone else in the team; granted, Nightshade can’t exactly say she’d definitely be wrong in thinking as much, and at the very least she seems to be making some attempt to work with her new peers. The same cannot be said for Falcon and Harrier, a duo of tobiano brothers who, despite everything, seem to get along the worst out of everyone in the party; and Falcon in particular doesn’t get along much better with his new companions either.

Behind them, something slams, and a loud, booming sound echoes through the chamber. Nightshade whirls around with a yelp of shock to find a gate now blocks them all from leaving the same way they arrived, and if there’s another exit, she certainly hadn’t managed to find it at first glance. Harrier shoots her a harrowing glare for her moment of weakness, and she withers under his harsh gaze.

“Great, we’re trapped in here,” Falcon grumbles, before his ears pin back with alarm. “Shit- and we're not alone, either!”

The rest of the team follows his vaguely fearful gaze up to the edges of the chamber, where a silent, shadowy crowd peers down at them all from seats that line the room; despite their silence, the audience seems almost lively, chattering wordlessly as they observe the Coursers below.

“It's an arena,” Beryl notes uneasily, scanning the rest of the chamber. “Which means-”

“Fighting…” Nightshade interrupts her with a small voice, eliciting an irritated ear flick from the smaller mare. There is no obvious opponent yet, a fact that fills the grullo Courser with dread. If there’s nobody to fight, maybe they're all supposed to fight each other, and if that’s the case… She doesn't stand a chance.

“And that would be their champion,” Harrier guesses, squinting at something on the other side of the arena; after a few seconds, Nightshade can just make out what he’s spotted. A Courser seemingly made of pure shadow has materialised out of the gloom, and is cautiously yet confidently approaching them.

The shadowy warrior strides to the centre of the arena, circling the small group, preventing any possible escape to the edges of the round chamber. It has no face, and it looks about ready to fall apart, but everything about its body language screams that it is challenging any one of them to step up to oppose it. With wide eyes, Nightshade freezes with fear. It may look like a decrepit spirit, but she has this sinking feeling that it will make for a very formidable foe.

“I can take it,” Falcon says with a little too much confidence, taking a step forward to meet the shadow's challenge; only to be blocked by his older brother's shoulder.

“Not today,” Harrier firmly tells him, his eyes narrowed at the smaller Courser. “I will take the lead here, thank you.”

The seal bay stallion strides ahead toward the tattered challenger before his brother has so much as a chance to protest, leaving Falcon nothing to do but pout with the rest of the group.

“Dunno why you even bother keeping me around at all if you never let me do anything, but sure…” the flaxen Courser grumbles under his breath, and Nightshade could swear there’s a morose tone to his low voice; Beryl lightly flicks her tail at his hindleg.

“It likely has tricks up its sleeve,” They point out in the same steady tone they always seem to use. “Your brother may need backup, and that’s where we might come in.”

“I really hope not…” Nightshade mutters, but she intently watches Harrier as he stops right in front of his foe, standing as tall as he can; she'd be useless in an arena match, but perhaps she can at least spot opportunities or threats for the others.

“Guessing you're not after a discussion?” The imposing horse asks the shadow, who only responds by whirling around to kick at him with its hind legs. The champion moves impossibly quickly, and Harrier only just manages to dodge.

“That's a no,” he hisses, and immediately rears up with a fearsome whinny; the battle has truly begun now.