The shadowy form of a ghostly courser looms above, its hooves poised to crash down on Hazel. She lies helpless, drained of energy, her leg twisted beneath her. With a heavy heart, she squeezes her eyes shut, bracing for the end—praying for a quick, merciful death. But the blow never comes. Hesitantly, Hazel cracks her eyes open just in time to see Orble, a blur of motion, darting around the phantom horse, striking again and again until the spectral beast shudders and fades into nothingness.

Suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion press even harder on her, Hazel slumps back against the coarse sand. Her vision blurs as she glances around the arena, confusion creeping in. She could have sworn the stands were full when she first stumbled into the center, but now they’re empty—crumbling ruins, as cold and lifeless as the dungeon itself. Cold... it’s cold now, though it wasn’t when she first set foot on the sand. If she weren’t so beaten down, maybe she could make sense of it all, but the steady throb of pain pulsing through her legs keeps dragging her focus back to the agony.

She can't stay here—it’s far too dangerous. With a few strained breaths, Hazel forces herself to stand, carefully keeping weight off her injured leg. Orble, frantic, flits around her, buzzing with nervous energy. Step by step, she moves forward, searching for a way out—or at least somewhere more secure to heal. Each dragging footstep takes her from sand to cobbled stone beneath her, and just when her legs threaten to give out, she spots a door. Pushing it open, she stumbles into a smaller, dimly lit room. It’s no escape, but it’s shelter. Healing will have to come before any chance of getting out.

Hazel drops to the floor with little grace, exhaustion making her movements sluggish. She fumbles through her bags, desperately searching for anything that could help. But she’s no healer, no magic user—just a traveler with a few scraps of knowledge. All she finds are a handful of devil's claws, a plant known to help with inflammation. She mutters a quiet thanks to whatever force is watching over her that her leg isn't broken—just twisted, judging by what little movement she can still manage.

With Orble’s help, she mixes a rough, makeshift salve, applying it gingerly to her injured leg. The pain eases slightly, enough for her to lay back, body heavy with exhaustion. She closes her eyes, hoping for rest to find her before any danger does.