The dungeon seemed to grow more oppressive the deeper Levi ventured, the air thickening with a pungent mix of sulfur and copper that clawed at his nostrils and left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was an unusual scent, not entirely foreign but unsettlingly familiar, as if dredged up from the depths of some half-forgotten memory. He paused in his stride, ears twitching as he tried to pinpoint the source of the odor, the flickering light from his torch casting long, jagged shadows on the walls around him.

The passageway had been narrow, forcing Levi to move carefully, his hooves making soft, echoing clicks on the stone floor. Now, however, it began to widen into a broader chamber, the ceiling rising higher above him, the darkness retreating just beyond the reach of his torch’s flame. He stepped cautiously into the open space, his eyes scanning the room with a practiced gaze, taking in every detail, every potential threat.

It was then that he noticed the circle.

Painted in reddish-brown on the floor of the chamber was a massive circle, its edges precise, almost unnaturally perfect, as if drawn by some meticulous, unseen hand. Inside the circle, at three equidistant points, were symbols—complex, angular shapes that Levi didn’t recognize. They seemed to pulse with a faint, malevolent energy, their lines sharp and unnerving. But what drew Levi’s attention most was the symbol at the center of the circle: a crude silhouette of a horse’s head, unmistakably a Courser.

Levi’s breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight. The symbol was simplistic, almost childlike in its execution, but there was something about it that made his skin prickle beneath his coat. The lines were rough, as if drawn in haste, and yet there was a certain deliberateness to them, an intent that made Levi’s instincts scream at him to be wary.

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing as he tried to decipher the meaning behind the symbols. The smell of sulfur and copper grew stronger the closer he got, mingling with the damp, musty air of the dungeon. The familiarity of the scent gnawed at the edges of his memory, tugging at something buried deep within him—something he couldn’t quite grasp.

Levi’s torch flickered, the flame wavering as if in response to some unseen draft. He adjusted his grip on the handle, the warmth of the fire providing a small but necessary comfort against the encroaching unease. The torchlight played over the circle, causing the symbols to shimmer slightly, their reddish hue darkening to a near-black in the shifting light.

He was no stranger to strange symbols and markings in the dungeon—many of the deeper levels were littered with the remnants of forgotten rituals, ancient wards, and long-dead languages. But this felt different. The presence of the Courser’s head in the center of the circle was too specific, too targeted, to be a mere coincidence. And that smell... it was the smell that unsettled him the most, tugging at his mind with an almost primal insistence.

Levi leaned in closer, careful to avoid stepping inside the circle’s boundaries. The floor beneath the symbols was worn smooth, polished by countless years of use—or perhaps by the passage of whatever forces had once occupied this chamber. The symbols themselves, though crude, seemed to vibrate with a latent energy, as if waiting to be activated by some unknown trigger.

“What is this place?” Levi murmured to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper. He rarely spoke aloud in the dungeon, preferring to keep his thoughts guarded and his presence subtle. But the words slipped out unbidden, a reflexive response to the growing tension in the air.

As if in answer, a faint echo seemed to reverberate through the chamber, a low, almost inaudible hum that sent a shiver down Levi’s spine. He tensed, ears flicking back as he scanned the room again, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The dungeon was alive, in its own way—constantly shifting, changing, adapting. It was not uncommon for entire chambers to appear or disappear without warning, for traps to spring from nowhere, or for strange, inexplicable phenomena to occur. But this... this was different.

Levi’s mind raced, trying to piece together what little information he had. The symbols, the circle, the scent—they all pointed to something deliberate, something ancient. The crude Courser’s head in the center was the most troubling detail of all. It was as if the dungeon itself was mocking him, taunting him with an image that should have been familiar but felt warped and distorted.

He took a step back, his instincts screaming at him to retreat, to leave this place before whatever dark purpose it held could be fulfilled. And yet, something held him in place—a deep, gnawing curiosity that refused to let him turn away. The dungeon had always been a place of mystery, of secrets hidden beneath layers of stone and magic. Levi had spent his entire life navigating its depths, uncovering its secrets, surviving its dangers. But this... this felt like something new, something he had never encountered before.

Levi turned his gaze to the symbols again, his mind working to make sense of them. The other symbols didn’t match any language or script he was familiar with—perhaps they were remnants of some long-lost culture, or perhaps they were something entirely different, something not meant for mortal eyes. The Courser’s head in the center, however, was unmistakable. It was a mark, a sign, and Levi couldn’t shake the feeling that it was meant for him.

His eyes drifted to the edge of the circle, where the reddish-brown paint had pooled slightly, as if the hand that had drawn it had hesitated before completing the task. There was a sense of finality in the circle’s design, a sense of purpose that made Levi’s stomach twist with unease.

“What are you trying to tell me?” Levi muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat. He took another cautious step back, his hooves making a soft scraping sound against the stone floor. The smell of sulfur and copper clung to him, a lingering reminder of the chamber’s unsettling presence.

Levi knew better than to linger in places like this. The dungeon was full of traps, both physical and psychological, designed to lure in the unwary and the curious. He had seen it happen before—fellow Coursers, adventurers, creatures of all kinds, drawn in by something they couldn’t explain, only to be consumed by it.

With a final, lingering glance at the circle, Levi turned and began to make his way back toward the passageway from which he had entered. His torch flickered again, the flame dancing wildly as if in protest, but Levi ignored it, his mind already working to compartmentalize the experience, to file it away as another of the dungeon’s unsolved mysteries.

But as he left the chamber behind, the scent of sulfur and copper still clinging to his senses, Levi couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter was far from over. The crude Courser’s head in the center of the circle seemed to burn itself into his memory, a reminder of the strange, inexplicable forces that still lingered in the depths of the dungeon, waiting to be uncovered.

And Levi, despite his best efforts to remain detached, couldn’t help but wonder what it all meant—and whether he would ever find the answers he sought.