Shion stepped into the vast chamber, her hooves sinking slightly into the loose sand that coated the floor. The arena was round, with high walls and seats that rose up in tiers like a coliseum. The air was still, heavy with the weight of expectation. Around the arena, shadowy figures crowded the stands, their indistinct forms leaning in, gesturing soundlessly. Shion felt their gaze, though no eyes were visible. It was as if the arena itself were alive, watching, waiting. Yet no sound reached her ears from the distant crowd—it was as though the entire space existed within a void of silence. Eerie.

Shion took a deep breath, feeling a chill crawl down her spine. "What is this place?" she murmured to herself, her voice feeling small and hollow in the oppressive quiet.

"An arena," a whimsical voice echoed beside her. "But not for watching, no-no. For waiting. Always waiting. It knows you. It sees you."

Shion glanced at Fetch, the bluish-purple Courser standing just to her left. Fetch’s silver, ghostly mane flickered faintly, like starlight shifting in a breeze. Their expression was as unreadable as ever, but there was a strange intensity in their eyes as they stared at the center of the arena.

Shion followed their gaze, spotting the figure of a Courser standing motionless in the middle of the sandy ring. It was a silhouette—tattered and featureless, as though molded from shadow itself.

Shion frowned with confusion. "What do you mean? Waiting?"

But Fetch only smiled mysteriously, their ghostly mane shimmering like starlight. "It remembers, Shion. The dungeon always remembers."

"Waiting for you, of course, our hero," came a teasing voice from her right. Before Shion could respond, Terrence sauntered up, his iridescent pelt gleaming in shades of purple and blue, his red eyes flashing with amusement. He tossed his mane arrogantly as he fixed his gaze on the center of the arena. "Looks like we've got ourselves a challenger, Shion."

Normally, Shion was on the same page as Terrence's bravado, but for once, she wasn’t comforted by it. She felt that there was something deeper happening here, something more significant than a mere duel.

"Does it have a face?" she asked, tilting her head, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Her dark vision was normally even above the average Courser, but all she could make out was a pitch-black silhouette.

"Doesn't seem like it," Logue chimed in, his tone soft and curious. Shion turned to the pale champagne-colored stallion who stood further back, his olive-green eyes wide with quiet awe as they usually were when he encountered something new in the dungeon. "I don’t like this," he added softly. "It feels... wrong."

Shion nodded in agreement. There was something unnatural about the figure, as though it wasn’t truly there. She couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, it wasn’t bound by the same rules as they were.

She glanced around at her companions, feeling a strange mix of gratitude for their presence and unease at the situation they found themselves in. Terrence was already sizing up the arena, probably thinking of ways to take down the ghost if it came to that. Fetch, on the other hand, seemed entirely unconcerned, humming softly to themselves as they traced patterns in the sand with their hooves. And Logue... well, he was always the quiet, steady one, keeping his distance but watching everything with that same deep curiosity.

"It’s challenging you," Fetch whispered, their eyes flashing with sudden clarity as they looked at Shion. "Not them. Just you."

Shion tensed, her heart pounding in her chest. "Me? Why?"

"Because it knows your name," Fetch said, their voice dreamlike. "Because it remembers."

Before Shion could question further, Fetch gave her a firm shove, sending her stumbling forward into the arena. Steadying herself, she realized with horror that the ghostly figure had moved. It advanced and circled her slowly, gliding soundlessly across the sand, its form flickering like a shadow caught in a gust of wind. Shion felt her muscles tighten, instinctively reaching for the knife strapped to her side. The air around them grew thick, heavy with the tension of an impending duel.

"I don’t like this," Logue muttered. "Something’s off. We should leave."

"Leave? This is just getting good!" Terrence chuckled, though his voice carried an edge of unease. His eyes flicked warily toward the advancing shadow and his muscles were tensed.

Shion’s heart raced as the featureless Courser stopped directly in front of her, its head tilting as if studying her. Then, with a sudden flicker of movement, it lunged.

"Shion, watch out!" Logue called from the sidelines, but his voice was distant, swallowed by the eerie silence that filled the arena.

Shion barely had time to react. She dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the ghost’s attack. It made no sound as it struck, its body moving with unnatural speed. Shion scrambled to her feet, her knife in her grasp, but the ghost was already circling her again, its movements fluid and predatory.

Terrence was already stepping forward, his muscles tensed as if ready to leap into the fray, but Fetch raised a hoof to stop him. "No-no," they said quietly. "It’s her fight. Her test."

Shion’s eyes narrowed. "A test? For what?" She didn’t have time to think. The ghost lunged again, its tattered form swirling like mist. Shion parried with her knife, the blade passing through the figure as if it were made of smoke. Her hooves skidded on the sand as she spun, trying to keep her balance while also keeping her eyes on the enemy. The ghost was relentless, its attacks swift and precise, though it never seemed to strike with lethal intent. It was toying with her— testing her.

Frustration bubbled up in Shion’s chest. "How can I fight something that isn't solid, that can't be touched?" But she had to keep moving. The ghost circled her again, its motions hypnotic, and Shion found herself drawn into its rhythm. Every step it took, every flicker of its form, was a pattern.

A dance.

Suddenly, she understood. This wasn’t a fight of strength or weapons. 

Her mother’s voice echoed in her mind, a memory from long ago: "Sometimes the greatest battles aren’t won with force, but with patience."

Despite every alarm bell sounding off in her body, Shion steadied her breathing, forcing herself to calm down and be more deliberate with her movements. She stopped swinging her knife, stopped trying to fight the ghost head-on. Instead, she mirrored its movements, matching its pace, its steps, its rhythm. It wasn’t attacking anymore—it was leading her.

Fetch’s voice drifted through the quiet. "Yes, yes... Dance with it."

Shion suddenly had the epiphany: the ghost wasn’t just an enemy—it was a reflection of herself, of her fears, her doubts. This arena, this challenge, was a symbolic test of her ability to face the parts of herself she had always run from. The ghost flickered, its form growing more transparent as Shion continued to move with it, rather than against it. She didn’t need to fight it. She needed to accept it, to embrace it.

The silence around her deepened, and the weight of the watching crowd seemed to press in on her. Shion’s eyes flickered to her party members waiting on the sidelines, then back to the ghost. It lunged again, yet this time, Shion didn’t even dodge.

She stepped into the movement, letting the ghost sweep through her like an icy gale that chilled her to the very marrow. For a moment, everything seemed to blur, the world tilting on its axis.

Then the ghost was behind her, pausing in its relentless circling. It hesitated, as though surprised, its form wavering. Shion stood her ground, her heart pounding in her chest, but her mind was now clear. With one final flicker, the ghost disappeared, dissolving into the air like mist burned away by sunlight.

The challenge was over.

Shion stood still, her legs trembling and chest heaving with the effort of the battle, though she hadn’t struck a single blow. The ghost had vanished, and with it, the shadowy spectators had disappeared, leaving the arena eerily empty and still-- save for a few lifeforms. She glanced at her companions.

Logue was already hurrying to her side. "Are you okay?" he asked, his quiet voice gentle and concerned.

Shion nodded, still breathless.

Terrence, for once, was also silent, his red eyes narrowing as he looked around the arena. "What the hell was that thing?"

"A memory," Fetch said simply, their gaze faraway. "Something lost, now found."

Shion didn’t know what to say. She felt too drained, both physically and emotionally, but there was a sense of accomplishment too. Whatever that ghost had been, she had faced it—and won. 

Finally, she was able to catch her breath and rise to her full height. "Sometimes," she said, her voice steady with newfound resolve, "the greatest battles are the ones we fight within."

Terrence eyed her with a mix of confusion and impatience, his gaze shifting to the empty arena. He snorted and pawed at the sand. "Let’s move. There’s nothing left for us here."

"Agreed," Logue replied, his tone firm.

The party quickly departed the now-empty chamber, their footsteps echoing in the eerie silence. As Shion glanced back at the arena, she felt a strange sense of peace. The shadows that had once felt oppressive now seemed like silent witnesses to her growth.

Just as they crossed the threshold into the familiar tunnels, Shion suddenly gasped. Her traveling companions stopped abruptly and turned to look at the mare, startled and confused. 

"I need to go see my dad!"