There’s a call to the dungeon. It whispers in the fluttering of the plant life. It sings in the air currents through the caverns. Faerrah’s always heard it. It vibrated through her veins like the oxygen that fueled her. She’d always ignored it, but she couldn’t deny its presence. She couldn’t pretend that there wasn’t that longing and curiosity that gripped her whenever she lingered near dungeon doors, peering inside but never taking a step. There’s an innate fear there, true and earnest. If she stepped into the dungeon’s embrace, would she be able to walk out?

Necessity drives creatures to do many things. It pushes coursers to ignore their limits, to break their rules. A family’s fall to ruin and the changes that it brought with it turned the call into a siren’s song. They were doing whatever they could to make do. But she was the oldest. The biggest risk fell to her.

Then she stepped into the dungeon. It terrified her.

“Not much longer to go now, miss, then we’ll be able to take a break.”

Logue’s voice, warm and soothing, was her anchor to the world above.  He’d found her lost and wandering, fearful of the creatures that were just out of reach. She wasn’t equipped for this life. He’d noticed it immediately, she knew. Walking with him was his way of teaching her. She could tell he didn’t want to embarrass her, and she’d owe him greatly for it.

“I’m grateful for your assistance, sir.”

She wondered if he could hear the call too. The way it cried in the rolling bubbles of the magma below.