Deep into the darker reaches of the tunnel, a small group of four Coursers, dungeon dwellers each, roamed through the dark, damp stone. The silence they listened to was suddenly pierced. The mournful cry was a long and haunting one, echoing off the stone walls like an old, traditional hymn of mourning. Grenwyx stopped, and her abrupt halt brought the whole group to a stop.

“Did you hear that?” Grenwyx asked, eyes wide. The two brown orbs were almost rolling back into her head as she tried and failed to stay calm. “They need us, they need our help!”

“No, they don’t.” Bob huffed. The green and white Courser quickly blocked the bay mare’s path. She bumped into him, as he had stepped forward right as she stepped did the same, preparing to canter down the passage. Grenwyx hissed at him as she stumbled but he did not pay her any mind. “It’s the dungeon. It should be obvious to you that this is really a trap.”

“It feels like one, at least.” A pale purple and blue Courser laughed. Their matted, braided mane swung with their excited piaffe in place. “How exciting! I hope it’s something fun.”

“Hush, Mercuras.” Ganymede turned their lantern to the passageway loomed out of the darkness. So they grabbed it, the iron ring cold around their lips and then their foreleg. They raised it high but nothing appeared. The darkness in the passage was swallowed by a thick mist that seemed to cling to the stones, hanging thick in the air itself. “Your foolish excitement will give us nothing but trouble or death this deep down. Better to be safe here. To be careful- and be afraid.”

“Fear helps us to survive, dear sister. But will it help us thrive?” The mad stallion laughed, dancing around her like a surface dweller during a parade might have done. He was the oddest of them all down here, and it showed. “But, you’re right.” He sighed. “So shall we continue, then?”

“Let’s.” They said. Not waiting on an answer, the white and brown Courser quickly took the lead. As they did, raising their lantern high, the other two Coursers shared a look. Mercuras, purple coated, moved in to take his place behind her. Bob followed him and Grenwyx took the rear, not wishing to be left behind in the dark. All of them had lanterns, but their light did awfully little against the looming mist reaching out to take them with icy fingers. “Let’s find somewhere warm.”

“I’m on it.” Bob stammered out. It was so cold that even his thick coat felt frozen and stiff. His teeth wanted to chatter while a tiredness was creeping up on him.

Shivers crawled up and down their spine as the crying continued- and grew in strength. The noise grew louder and shriller the further they walked. The air here was misted too, and the cold it brought worsened by the seconds. It became the deep, cruel cold of a long winder. Their armor threatened to freeze to their coats and the vapors clung to their manes to create soft sheets of ice. Even their hooves, coated in metal and expertly forged after years of venturing through the dungeon, clinked as if they were made of ice.

Clink-clink, each step echoed. And like a heartbeat the crying echoed that too. They walked down the hallway. The voice followed, screeching from the second passageway they passed. The third. As their pace quickened into a canter, then a gallop, it did the same. It felt like they were being chased. Each time their lights turned into the dark there was nothing but mist and ice to be seen. But when their candles began to flicker, Mercuras finally spoke.

“I have to apologize. I didn’t know how to bring it up, but it’s eating our light. This thing feels familiar to me, such a horrid thing.” Mercuras voiced in a moment of quiet. “Spectral, for sure. I heard about beings like this before. They’re often seen on the third floor, are they not?”

“The only third-floor dweller your talked to was that traveler.” Ganymede muttered, lost in thought. And then they blanched. “It’s an ice spirit. Feeds in complete darkness. So that means it is a…”

“Banshee.” Grenwyx finished, finally realized what they were dealing with. “We need fire, and fast. Before it decides we are easier to deal with in close quarters or an open room.”

“On it.” Bob stated. He dug into his pack. Right as more mist began to rush from the darkness he drew out their spare lanterns and torches. “Light them, before they can snuff out all our light.”

As one, they struck the torches. The tunnel lit up with a warm wave of light and the banshee hissed and shrieked as the wave of heat pushed it back into the dark.

“Let’s hope that thing does not come back.”