It had been three days since the four of them began their campaign into the dungeon.

Closing his eyes against the onslaught of dust, Dúnedain prayed for forgiveness. He wondered when he had talked himself into believing that he was still a good soul. Years ago. Maybe it had only become apparent to the stallion when he talked himself into accepting the gold these four desperate, deranged Coursers had offered in his favorite bar.

And then, because of course it would, something had gone wrong. As it always did. A mechanism had been triggered, doors had shifted, and now the four of them were once again stuck in an unknown part of the dungeon.

“That’s not good,” Dúnedain muttered, his hoof resting on the button that had triggered the mechanism. Before the others could stop him, he pressed it again, only to be met with a dull, lifeless click. "Ah, no. No going back, then."

“Not unless we find another button to trigger the mechanism,” Grenwyx replied. She quickly shook her head, dust settling into her mane. “It’d be far easier for us to find a way out instead. Better to pick a tunnel and walk through it.”

“Not yet,” Ganymede protested, her voice upbeat. She always seemed to thrive in moments like this, where things could be figured out. Her wanderlust and love for puzzles were evident in her vibrant tone. "Let’s figure it out."

“Now, dear darling,” Mercuras interjected, a wave of relief washing over the group at the sound of his calm voice, “we will have to be careful about this. It could easily be a trap, like those stairs a few rooms back.”

“I already apologized for that,” Ganymede snorted. “And I don’t see you coming up with better ideas, oddball.”

“Alright, enough with the banter!” Dúnedain snapped at the bickering Coursers. “We need to find either the mechanism or another exit fast, before all that bloody dust chokes us to death. Or worse—the Reaper.”

The mention of the Reaper silenced them. They knew the danger that loomed in the darkness. As the other three Coursers scattered to search for an escape Dúnedain sighed, cracking his neck. Rubbing his aching muzzle with a foreleg he turned one ear to the group. As they split up their bickering resumed, though quieter this time. At least they were trying to find a way out, even if it was emphasized by a lot of petty squabbling. He shook his head and turned around, pacing a round around the room.

The chamber they found themselves trapped in had once been an old smithy. Workbenches lined the walls in neat rows, their surfaces littered with dust and debris. The previous entrances, the ones marked on the map they had acquired through less-than-legal means, were now sealed shut. In their place were four new exits, paths they had not accounted for.

Dúnedain’s thoughts wandered as he moved through the room. Five years of hiding in the dungeon as a disgraced guard had made him no stranger to bad souls, but these three... these three took the cake. Grenwyx, Ganymede, and Mercuras. A dysfunctional bunch, brought together by desperation. Mercuras and Ganymede were siblings, but that was where their connection ended. None of them were friends, just equally desperate to avoid the Reaper—the most terrifying Courser Dúnedain had ever heard of.

The Reaper was a legend, known for his marksmanship and relentless pursuit. Once a noble from the surface, the only heir of House Ashenstar, the Reaper now hunted them down with a singular purpose. They knew his name, his face, his past, and his family. But rather than face him, they chose to flee deeper into the dungeon, hoping to outrun him.

“We were hired to inconvenience his parents during one of their travels,” Ganymede had confessed one night over drinks. “Grenwyx was their bodyguard. Bought off, same as us. The ambush succeeded... too well.”

“Sabotage,” Grenwyx had added darkly. “Our leader blew it all up, killing the Reaper’s parents and sisters. Now he’s after us.”

“And that leader?” Mercuras had chimed in before being shushed by his sister. “Nowhere to be found, leaving us to deal with his mess.”

It didn’t matter. The Reaper wouldn’t stop until he had all their names. Dúnedain knew too much, too deep into the web to escape. So here they were. Four souls that fled deeper into the dungeon to avoid an enraged stallion haunted by the ghosts they had caused. Dúnedain, Grenwyx, Ganymede, and Mercuras were haunted by the ghosts of two noble Coursers and their daughters.

What a life. What an adventure.

“Spite’s as good a reason.” Dúnedain reminded himself. Even if his every step was weighed down by the unavoidable encounter with their pursuer. It had soon proved prophetic and true. The Reaper was always two steps behind.

“Any ideas?” Dúnedain asked, glancing back at the group. “We need to figure this out, and fast. Don’t want to spend the rest of my life in jail.”