Meyla's heart pounded as she crept through the dungeon’s dim corridors. Every step felt too loud, every shadow too dark. She wasn’t sure how she’d ended up here, chasing rumors of loot beneath the surface.
Her ears flicked back and forth, straining to catch any hint of movement. The veterans spoke of creatures deeper in the earth, great beasts with scales that could withstand anything, flames that would leave nothing but ash. The thought of meeting one made Meyla’s breath come in short, nervous bursts. Surely they couldn’t be close, right? Yet the flickering shadow on the stone wall suggested otherwise.

It was moving closer, growing larger. Meyla’s heart leaped into her throat, and she froze, her body rigid with fear. This was it. She was going to face a dragon, and she had no idea how. Her knees wobbled, and she almost turned to flee—almost.
Then, the creature appeared. But it wasn’t the colossal dragon her imagination had conjured. It was a tiny wyrm, its wings barely able to keep it afloat as it puffed out a weak little flame. Meyla blinked, unsure if she should be relieved or even more unnerved.
“G-gold!” the wyrm squeaked, hopping up and down. “I want your gold!”

Meyla stood there, heart still racing, unsure how to respond. Her mind scrambled for something to do. She shakily nudged a gold coin from her saddlebag, watching the wyrm snatch it with glee before scampering off.
Meyla let out a shaky breath, still anxious even as the wyrm vanished into the shadows. Her legs wobbled beneath her, and her thoughts raced as she stood in the dim corridor. “It’s just a level two dungeon," she whispered to herself, her heart pounding. "How much worse could it really get?" The thought of continuing deeper into the dungeon made her chest tighten again. The shadows were playing tricks on her, and the darkness felt like it was swallowing her whole. She glanced around, wishing she had been smarter—wishing she had found a Wisp before venturing in. Those gentle, glowing spirits would have made the dungeon feel less... suffocating.

Her thoughts spiraled, as they often did. The veterans made dungeons sound like places of untold danger, filled with traps, monsters, and—yes—dragons. Meyla wasn’t built for this kind of stress. She was just a simple Courser, after all. What business did she have venturing into a dungeon, even one labeled "low level"? The air down here felt oppressive, and every shadow seemed to shift with malicious intent. Her stomach churned, and her breath came shallow and uneven.
“Why did I think I could do this?” she muttered to herself, ears pinned back in unease. The dim light from the torches flickered, casting eerie shapes on the walls, and her mind filled in the gaps—what if the next creature wasn’t so small? What if she ran into a real dragon? The thought sent a shudder down her spine.

She glanced back, thinking of retreat. But she’d come this far. Turning back now would only confirm her worst fear: that she wasn’t capable of facing these challenges. No one had forced her into this dungeon, but now, here she was—frozen in place, terrified of what might lie ahead.

Taking a deep breath, Meyla forced herself to take a step forward. “Just one more corridor,” she whispered, trying to calm herself. One step at a time, she reminded herself. One small victory at a time. But the anxiety gnawed at her, whispering that the worst was yet to come.