Phoebe’s ears twitched before she even saw him. Something wasn’t quite right with the floor—an odd, bubbling sound. But her attention was still on the path ahead. She had just navigated through a series of twisted tunnels, tracking the changes in airflow and stone patterns with her usual ease. And shifts in the environment weren’t very uncommon, she just had to stay alert.

Then she spotted him. A horse, standing motionless like a statue, his pale blue eyes distant, as if lost in his own world. Phoebe’s focused gaze intensified. She trotted closer, intending to perhaps offer some guidance or a new path to explore—but before she could, something caught her eye. The dungeon moved faster than she could have plotted.

The floor beneath him was moving.

“Uh-oh…” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. Her sharp eyes widened as the stone under the horse’s hooves began to shift. A sheen of red-orange glowed from beneath the cracks, growing brighter by the second. Lava. The dungeon floor was turning into magma. “Oh boy.”

Phoebe’s heartbeat quickened, her instincts screaming for her to move, to find an escape route before the entire ground was engulfed. But she couldn’t leave the poor horse standing there, oblivious to the danger. She darted closer, hooves tapping lightly as if the floor itself might collapse at any second.

“You! Move!” she called out, her voice urgent but still somehow polite in her usual way.

Frosting didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance, his expression unreadable. Another adventurer? No… the shape was too still, too solitary. Then his eyes, clouded with some far-off thought, slowly focused on her as if he was waking from a dream. He was pale, almost ghostly against the backdrop of molten rock, his head low, gaze distant. The air shimmered around him with an eerie, almost melancholic stillness. His expression was hard to read—calm, almost too calm for someone standing near a pool of lava.

And then, to her utter disbelief, she spotted the creature swimming in the lava. It wasn’t just a strange animal—it was a dragon. A small one, sure, but unmistakable. The slick, scaled body twisted playfully in the bubbling pool, its tiny wings fluttering occasionally as it moved through the molten river with ease. ‘No way, a dragon? Swimming happily in the lava?’ Phoebe blinked, her usually sharp focus faltering for a second. A dragon? On the second level? She had only ever spotted dragons once, and that had been far, far deeper in the dungeon. What was a creature like that doing here, this close to the surface? And more importantly, who was this horse standing so calmly near the lava like it was just another day in the dungeon? Its tiny body was cutting through the bubbling magma like it was nothing more than a warm bath. But surely the horse wouldn’t have the same luck. And Phoebe snapped from initial trance on the surprise of a dragon.

And the floor started to break and crack. The lava was too intense for what looked like to be a thin floor. And little stone isles started to float on the magma. Phoebe caught in one and Frosting in another. Phoebe stood on the edge of a crumbling stone tile, her hooves barely keeping balance as the heat from the rising magma consumed the air around her.

“Aw dangit.” They were caught in the trap. What now? Wait for the floor to slowly melt from hooves to mane? Phoebe was upset, more at her than anything else. She let herself get distracted. This was rare for Phoebe.

“You there,” she called out, her voice steady but laced with curiosity. “What are you doing up here?”

“Huh?” was as best an answer Frosting would offer. Finally acknowledging the horse’s presence.

“You’re clearly not from here. And even more so isn’t your.. dragon.” Phoebe narrowed her eyes, her attention now fixed on the dragon again. "Is that yours?" she asked, incredulity clear in her tone. “A dragon… here?”

The dragon, completely oblivious to the growing tension, continued to splash through the molten rock like it was enjoying a leisurely swim.

The pale horse finally spoke, his voice low and almost emotionless. “He’s with me.”

Phoebe’s brow furrowed. "I've only seen dragons once, much deeper than this. What are you doing here?" She took a step closer, her eyes not leaving his for a second. There was something about him, something familiar in a way that tugged at her instincts, but she couldn’t place it. He looked like he was born in the depths of the dungeon, she’d met someone else like him. She needed to know more.

Frosting stared at the amber iridescent eyes. All his focus now concentrated on the question asked. What was he doing here?
Was Frosting looking for him, the one love of his life still? It was maybe an unconscious choice he made, to sometimes linger on higher terrains to try and find him.
"I might’ve... been looking for someone," he said after a long pause, though his voice carried little conviction.

Phoebe tilted her head, still puzzled. "Someone?”

Frosting turned his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “I... don’t know.”

Phoebe's eyes searched his face for a moment, but he offered no further explanation. She could feel something behind his words, a weight to them. And whatever it was, he clearly wasn’t going to share it with a stranger. Phoebe didn’t want to prone any more information out of this horse. He seemed sad, troubled. But most importantly. The floor was starting to burn. She could almost smell the sizzling on her hooves or was she imagining it?

She cast a glance across the pool of magma at Frosting, who stood remarkably still despite the dire situation. His pale coat seemed almost translucent in the fiery light, his expression as distant as ever. But there was something else—something that felt… strange. A calmness that didn’t fit the imminent danger.

Frosting turned aways his head from her slowly, his eyes drifting as if he were contemplating something far away. He looked down at the bubbling magma, then at his small companion—the dragon, who was still casually dipping its tail into the molten rock below as if it were nothing more than a warm bath.

“Please.” He directed at the little dragon. Phoebe was confused as he saw the dragon swim under the magma. What was he up to? ‘Please’?

“Do you—uh—have a plan?” she called out, trying to get his attention, her voice tense but steady.

“We need to drain it,” Frosting said softly, almost to himself, his voice barely louder than the crackle of the magma.

Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Drain it? The magma?” His voice trailed off, but Phoebe’s sharp ears caught it. Down below? She glanced at the whereabouts where the dragon dipped into. “You just—” Phoebe started, but her words were lost in the surrealness of the moment. For what felt like minutes, there was only the sound of bubbling magma. The heat intensified, and Phoebe’s hooves shifted uncomfortably on the burning stone beneath her. She was starting to doubt whatever plan this was when suddenly, she heard it—a deep, low rumble from far below. Then, with a sharp, almost mechanical hiss, the magma began to swirl.

Phoebe blinked in disbelief as the molten lava started to drain, spiraling downward as if pulled by some invisible force. The level of magma dropped rapidly, revealing the charred ground beneath. The oppressive heat began to ease, and the islands of stone on which they stood landed almost like instantly. Phoebe let out a long breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Her ears flicked in disbelief as she stared at the now-draining pool.

“You got the little one to drain it!?” Phoebe asked, her voice louder this time, as the floor beneath her continued dissipating the heat and pressure that was above it just seconds ago.

Frosting merely blinked at her. His expression as impassive as ever. “It works,” he said quietly, as if that was explanation enough. Frosting shifted his gaze to the dragon and gave it a soft nudge with his muzzle. The little creature perked up, turning its head back to him.

Phoebe shook her head, half-laughing despite herself. “Alright, I’ve seen a lot down here, but a dragon unplugging magma? That’s a first.”

She trotted across the now-solid ground toward him, still shaking her head in disbelief. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice softer, the weight of her curiosity more pronounced.

“Frosting.” He paused for a second, unsure how to answer this. His voice distant and heavy with an unsaid sadness. “Some call me Frosting.” It was as if he wasn’t too sure himself. What to name him. Unsure of the name he was holding onto.

And away he walked. Nodding politely at the golden horse.

“I guess that’s that.” Phoebe conformed to the little reply she got out of the almost not present horse. Frosting. What an interesting horse. The dungeon sure is full. She was content as she could be. Saved by a little dragon. Despite the scares it was a sight to see, and she would keep it in her mind for as long as she could. As she trotted away, she could feel Frosting’s eyes following her, though she couldn’t shake the feeling that his mind was somewhere else entirely.

And sure enough as he continued walking through, he looked back, taking a commanding stance and noted, “By the way, for your knowledge, dragons do tend to migrate to this level to swim around. Something about retaining their fire.” He blinked, a sense of imposition? Superiority? Did he want to prove himself better. Better than the surface dwellers, better than his kind?