Varin’s hooves echoed sharply through the hollow corridors of the dungeon, each crisp click strangely amplified in the still air. Her coat shimmered even in the dim light, catching on the damp stone walls as she moved with her signature sway, tail flicking in time with her thoughts. A soft flutter of wings from behind made her glance over her shoulder, and she smiled—too wide, too bright—at the tourmaline-green creature that trailed her.

Nidhogg, her curious pygmy drake, hovered just a few feet behind, ruby-red eyes wide with cautious interest. His wings beat in a soft hum, and every now and then, he’d dart forward as if compelled to stay closer, but then hesitate, his skittish nature pulling him back. Varin chuckled softly at his hesitation.

First time? Oh, darling, please. She shot a playful look over her shoulder, her words aimed more at herself than the drake. I practically grew up in halls like these.

The thought warmed her for a fleeting moment, but the heat quickly faded. Her memories of the dungeon were tangled—some gleamed like polished gems, others were jagged, threatening to cut if she lingered too long. She could still feel the cold stone beneath her flank that first time she and Valke had woken up here. That memory clung to her like the damp air, no matter how many times she tried to shake it loose.

Nidhogg let out a faint trill, hovering closer to the walls as they walked deeper into the labyrinth. Varin glanced at him, her heart softening just a touch. He had been with her for weeks now, and yet, he still acted like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her. He was no mighty dragon, of course, but there was something endearing in the way he always stayed near, even if he was wary of her.

She turned her gaze forward again. They were so small then, she and Valke. Barely out of their first year, lost in the dungeon’s depths with only each other. She still remembered the tremor in Valke’s breath, the way her twin pressed so close their sides nearly became one. Valke had always been the quiet one, the cautious one. But even back then, Varin had seen the same fear in her sister’s eyes that churned in her own gut.

The world outside had vanished, swallowed by the dungeon, and they had no idea if they’d ever see it again.

Nidhogg, seemingly sensing the tension in her posture, drifted closer, his wings brushing against the cool stone. His presence grounded her, as if the little drake’s skittishness echoed her own unspoken fears. She reached out gently, offering a flick of her tail toward him. He recoiled slightly, then darted forward, curious despite himself. Varin’s smile grew softer, though she wouldn’t have admitted it.

But then came them—the adventurers. A couple, seasoned and strong, with coats that gleamed like silver in the torchlight. They found Varin and Valke wandering, terrified, and took them in without hesitation. Their kindness, their strength—it had been intoxicating. Varin admired them, adored them. They weren’t just adventurers to her—they were heroes. Under their care, the dungeon wasn’t an endless nightmare anymore. It became a world of infinite possibility.

Nidhogg suddenly darted ahead, his tiny body weaving through the air, inspecting a crack in the wall before quickly retreating again. His nervous energy filled the space between them, but Varin only smiled at his antics. Even in this damp, dark place, she appreciated his company.

She’d never forget the first time the couple took her and Valke to one of the safer sections, the mapped areas. The torches flickered like stars overhead, casting a warm glow that made everything feel alive. Every crevice held a secret, every corner a promise of something thrilling. Varin’s heart had raced, not from fear, but from the rush of adventure. She had imagined herself, years later, leading her own expeditions, lighting up the dark. Someone admired. Someone remembered.

A soft coo from Nidhogg pulled her back to the present, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. She could still see her parents laughing at her and Valke’s excited chatter after their first exploration, their voices mingling with the crackle of a fire. There had been so much warmth, so much life. They had been a family. They had been whole.

Until they weren’t.

The day her parents left for their deeper exploration was still a scar she carried, raw and vivid. Varin and Valke had been giddy, their parents promising to return with stories of uncharted wonders. Varin had kissed them goodbye, her eyes alight with anticipation, already imagining the treasures they’d bring back.

And then... nothing.

Days passed. Weeks. Silence.

She’d kept up the optimism for Valke’s sake. She had to. She was the spark, the one who kept the flame alive, even as everything around them grew colder. But the waiting... the not knowing... it gnawed at her, hollowing her out bit by bit.

Nidhogg settled on a nearby ledge, peering at her with his curious red eyes, his little body tensing as though unsure of whether he should stay near her or not. She reached out again, not expecting him to come closer but offering the gesture all the same. To her surprise, the drake inched toward her, his claws clicking softly on the stone, though he remained just out of reach.

They had gone after their parents, of course. Old enough by then. Ready—or so Varin had convinced herself. But the dungeon stripped away illusions. The moment they passed the mapped areas, reality sank its teeth in. The dungeon didn’t care about hope or promises. It was indifferent to love, youth, anything that wasn’t its own hunger.

They never found their parents. Only empty halls, broken traps, the cold whisper of failure echoing through the stone. Varin had been the one to insist they turn back, though it nearly broke her. She couldn’t lose Valke too.

That day had hardened something deep inside her. The dungeon was a place of loss, yes, but also of discovery, of transformation. It was cruel, but it was honest in its cruelty. It didn’t pretend to care. It took, but it also gave. Those who survived learned to balance between the two.

And that’s why she returned.

Why she always returned.

There was something in the way the darkness pressed in, the way the air grew thick with the promise of danger and delight in equal measure. Down here, Varin could be more than just a Courser—she could be a legend. Every time she stepped into the dungeon, she wasn’t just walking into her past or her grief. She was walking into her future. Into the stories that would outlast her.

The dungeon was her stage, and she its star. Every flicker of torchlight felt like it was for her. Every challenge, every narrow escape, was a testament to her brilliance, her resilience.

And deep down, as much as she hated to admit it, Varin knew that as long as she kept coming back, she’d never have to truly face the emptiness her parents left behind. Because in the dungeon, there was always something new to chase, something to distract her from the void. Something that made her feel alive.

“Why do I answer the call of the depths?” she muttered, her voice soft but lit with familiar fire. Nidhogg cocked his head, watching her with those ruby eyes. “Because the dungeon... darling, the dungeon makes me unforgettable.”

And Varin? Varin could never bear to be forgotten.

Nidhogg gave a low, hesitant trill, inching a little closer. She chuckled, not needing to reach out again, content just to have him there. Maybe we’re not so different after all, she thought, casting one last glance into the darkness before pressing on. Together, of course.