The deeper in he went, the hotter and hotter it got. There was no way of knowing just what lurked beyond the foliage and life that seemed to thrive in the upper levels. If Petrichor had to venture a guess, he'd assume the hottest pits of a circle of hell was to come. That, of course, wasn't the most optimistic opinion formed, but it was one of the tamer ones he could conjure. He could try to convince himself it was just a warm tropical biome, but he'd kindly leave the daydreaming like that to foals.

Riot, his little Wisp companion, seemed to grow in energy the deeper they went. It was as if the life source feeding it was growing ever closer. Perhaps, it was. While he ignored most of the treasures in the layer, the lack of the mare's voice and presence became ever clearer. Her voice was muddled initially, but going this long without anything was suspicious in and of itself.

Looking at Riot — who was gleefully lighting the path without a care in the world — he mumbles out a rhetorical question, "Where did you go?"

In an instant, Riot shifts track and heads off to a lesser worn-down path. Sighing, Petrichor can only follow his friend on the side quest as where else could he possibly go? It isn't without the feeling of eyes watching his every move as he moves through the more cramped space. Wooden beams arch high above him and seem to push at the walls of rock for stability. The wood is old, painfully obviously so, as the rot of the dampness is settled into the grooves.

"Why are you bringing me here?" He calls out to the Wisp. Predictably, it does not answer, but it also does not stop to acknowledge him at all either. Slightly miffed but compliant, the stallion moves after it and blinks as the path ends abruptly just up ahead.

It was a strange, odd end of the cavern. Packed together, the pocket seemed as though it could hold heat easily if one desired to make camp. And, well, somebody clearly had. Stepping closer to a now stopped and waiting Riot, remnants of a fire are evident as well as a whole set of rusted iron cookery.

Much like the skull mounted on the wall he'd seen before, remains of what was lay dormant and untouched. The time that had passed this lodging seemed to speak for itself in the way dust filled the empty pieces of armor that had been discarded. Like another graveyard, Petrichor knew touching it would bring nothing but trouble. That, and he swears it would all crumble if he so much as breathed wrong.

How long had this been sitting here and why would they leave this all behind? Just what came for these creatures he kept seeing? His time here had been peaceful other than the many graves... well, maybe the crown had been something of an oddity he didn't enjoy. Riot's energy flickered and it brought his attention up as something in the stone walls caught his gaze.

'GALATEA'

He knew not of what such a word could mean. Was it the name of the one who called this corner home? Maybe it was the place they'd hailed from. Somewhere far away and distant enough that he'd never once heard of. It was possible. Especially if the time passed had any meaning, whatever that one word meant could be long gone now. Or maybe it was a deity Father swore didn't exist? He'd never had a family that believed of pantheons, but there were always neighbors that said they existed.

Squinting, looking for any sign of any other carving, he could find nothing. When he looks back at the Wisp, he finds it already making its way back to the main cavern.

Ever exasperated, Petrichor trots after it. What was the point of that? It was such a curious creature, so he couldn't even say it was meant to be meaningful. Maybe it had just seen something that piqued its interest and followed it... he'd have to figure out a way to communicate with it more properly. There were words he needed to have with it.

As the heat climbs, he looks back at the way he came. It was such a long journey down already. Time passage didn't seem linear down in the depths, so there was no telling just how long he'd been down here. He hopes all is well in his shop and if he should just turn around now and return to what he was comfortable and familiar with. It is only with that thought that he hears it. No, not it. Her.

'Follow me,' her siren voice says again, insistent.

His mind, for but a second, is split between turning back and continuing.