"Terrence, what should I expect when we reach the third level?" Meyla asked, her voice tight with anxiety as she trotted a little closer to him.

"Oh, nothing too bad," Terrence replied casually. "Honestly, the second level's more dangerous… unless you plan on sleeping down here. Don't do that." He threw in a lighthearted chuckle.

Meyla gave a sarcastic snort, ducking her head to avoid a low-hanging rock. "Oh, great. That's so reassuring."

Terrence chuckled again and moved forward carefully, his hooves tapping lightly on the ground before placing his full weight. "Just be sure to watch your step. The ground’s pretty thin here, almost like a crust over lava."

Meyla's ears shot up, and her heart raced as she whipped her head toward him. "Wait... you mean we could fall through at any second?"

“Don’t worry, this area is traveled often but just keep your eyes peeled and watch your step.” He said over his shoulder.

"Mmm, yeah, okay," Meyla whispered nervously, her ears flicking back and forth.

They continued through the winding, sweltering caverns, making their way toward the Moor of Sleep. As they emerged, the air shifted—dry and light, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat they'd been in. Meyla’s eyes wandered over the crumbling ruins and pools of stagnant water scattered across the landscape.

"Can we stop for a drink? I'm burning up," Meyla panted, glancing toward Terrence.

"Sure, let’s head over to that pond," Terrence said, gesturing with his snout toward a shallow pool, partially hidden behind some ancient battlements. They trotted over, setting down their supplies near the water's edge.

After a moment, Terrence asked with a hint of curiosity, "So, what made you want to come down to the third level? You were telling me how dungeon diving stresses you out."

Meyla lowered herself gently to the ground, staring into the still water, her reflection shimmering faintly. "I can’t live my life constantly afraid of everything around me," she murmured, eyes softening. "Lately, I've had some decent luck with these dives... and, well, it’s been paying for my knitting obses—uh, hobby."

Terrence nodded thoughtfully. "I guess that's as good an answer as any. There are no wrong reasons to venture deeper."

Meyla offered a faint smile, then glanced back at the pool. Her brow furrowed as she squinted, leaning closer to the surface. Something felt... off. Her heartbeat quickened. "Terrence," she squeaked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Terrence, who had been rummaging through his pack, looked up, puzzled. "Yes?"

Meyla glanced between him and the water, confusion etched across her face. "There's… a reflection, but not mine. It’s like a mirror… showing a battle, right here." Her voice wavered as she moved her snout closer to the pool’s surface, her breath stirring ripples in the once-still water.

Terrence’s ears perked up with concern. "Meyla? When was the last time you ate? Did you drink your water? Dehydration can cause hallucinations."

Meyla’s ears twitched as if she heard him, but her focus remained locked on the pool. Her hoof crept slowly toward the surface. As it touched the water, a piercing scream escaped her, her entire body going rigid.

Terrence rushed to her side, gripping her leg gently with his teeth and pulling her away from the pool. Huffing with worry, he pressed his snout against her neck, feeling for her pulse. It raced beneath her skin, her chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths.

"...It hurts," Meyla groaned, her voice strained. "It feels like a hundred spears have been driven into my hide." Her eyes, glazed and unfocused, welled up with tears as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision.

Terrence sighed in relief as Meyla’s breathing began to slow, though the tension still clung to her. He stood up and, with a gentle nudge, helped her back to her feet.

"We need to keep moving," he murmured, though his tone was gentle. He began packing up their items, his hooves moving with practiced efficiency as he secured their gear. He glanced back at Meyla, who stood shakily by the pool, her gaze distant. "Do you think you can keep going?" he asked, concern lacing his words.

Meyla shook her head quickly, her ears pinned back. "No... no, I can't," she admitted, her voice trembling. "That... whatever that was—it's still here. I can feel it. I don’t think I can take another step down into this place." She anxiously shifted her weight, eyes darting toward the pool as if expecting something to emerge from its depths.

Terrence paused, his pack already secured on his back. He stepped closer to her, offering a reassuring touch with his snout. "It’s alright. We’ll rest and figure it out together. You're not alone in this."

Meyla nodded faintly but didn’t seem comforted. Her body remained tense, unwilling to move any farther.

Terrence studied Meyla for a moment, his eyes soft with understanding. He knew the third level had pushed her to her limit. The weight of their surroundings felt heavier now, the pool behind them seeming to pulse with an eerie presence.

“Alright,” Terrence said quietly, nudging her again with his snout. “We don’t have to go any deeper today. Let’s find somewhere safe to rest for a while. We can reassess when you're feeling better."

Meyla’s ears twitched, but her breathing steadied a little at his words. She reluctantly moved to gather her own gear, her hooves shaking slightly as she tightened the straps of her pack. Terrence kept a close eye on her, staying near in case her strength wavered again.

As they began to move away from the pool, Meyla cast one last glance at the water. The reflection had faded, but the unease still clung to her like a shadow. Every step forward felt like an effort, the weight of the unknown pressing on her shoulders.

Terrence led the way, his pace slow and careful, not wanting to push her too hard. He occasionally glanced back, checking on her as they moved through the dry, crumbling terrain of the Moor of Sleep. The eerie silence around them amplified every sound, from the tap of their hooves to the rustling of distant ruins.

After some time, Terrence spotted a small, sheltered area beneath a broken archway. "We can rest here," he said, nodding toward it. "It’s far enough from the pool, and we’ll be out of the open."

Meyla nodded silently, moving to sit beneath the archway. She lowered herself carefully, the tension in her body still visible as she settled into the space.

"Do you need anything?" Terrence asked, standing close to her side.

Meyla shook her head, her voice soft and unsure. “Some painkillers…”

Terrence let out a soft chuckle and rummaged through his pack, eventually pulling out some anti-inflammatory herbs. He nudged a leaf toward Meyla. "Here, chew on this. It might help."

Meyla took the leaf and chewed slowly, but whatever had happened to her felt far deeper than any physical ailment. The distant screams and the metallic scent of blood from the imagined battlefield still clung to her senses. She swallowed and glanced up at Terrence, her voice quiet. "I think we should head back out. We can explore the second level, make this trip worthwhile. I'm sorry for holding us up…"

Terrence shook his head firmly, his voice warm and soothing. "No, it’s all alright. Don’t apologize, Meyla. You’ve done enough. Let’s head back to the second level. We’ll take it slow."

His calm reassurances helped ease some of the guilt weighing on her, but the lingering fear of what she’d seen still gnawed at her as they prepared to move on.