The air within the Furnace was thick and oppressive, the heat hanging over everything like an immense, invisible weight. Altair felt the intensity of it from the moment he stepped inside the chamber, the ambient temperature rising with every step forward. The walls seemed to pulse with a reddish glow, and the ground beneath his hooves radiated warmth that made his legs tingle. The Furnace was one of the most notorious sections of the dungeon—a sprawling maze of molten rock and blistering heat that tested even the most hardened of adventurers. For those who entered without proper preparation, it was less of a dungeon and more of an inferno that could easily become their final resting place.

But Altair wasn’t the kind of Courser who came unprepared. He had survived long enough to know that every challenge the dungeon presented had a countermeasure. The Furnace’s unbearable heat was just another obstacle to overcome.

Altair paused at the entrance to a narrow corridor where the heat seemed to intensify further. The glowing embers embedded in the floor crackled and hissed with each step, reminding him just how perilous this area was. He squinted through the shimmering air, his breath shallow and controlled. Sweat already trickled down his long neck, matting his light coat against his skin, but his expression remained unbothered.

Reaching into one of the saddlebags strapped to his flank, Altair retrieved a small vial filled with a pale blue liquid. The potion had been specially crafted for dungeons like this—where the temperature could rise so high that even steel would melt. He uncorked it and took a quick swig, feeling an instant cooling sensation spread through his veins. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the potion would regulate his body temperature for a while, keeping him from succumbing to the oppressive heat.

As he stowed the empty vial, he glanced around, knowing that just maintaining his core temperature wouldn’t be enough. The Furnace was infamous for its unpredictable bursts of fire, and he’d need more than just a potion to deal with those. He had learned long ago that survival in a place like this meant layers of protection.

Altair’s armor had been specifically designed with places like the Furnace in mind. Made from a blend of lightweight, heat-resistant materials, it didn’t conduct heat as easily as typical armor might. Instead, it reflected a good portion of it, allowing him to withstand the scorching environment for longer than most. He tapped his hoof against the armored chest plate, satisfied with its readiness. The blacksmith who had crafted it had been a genius when it came to protection in extreme conditions.

Yet even with his armor and cooling potion, there was something more that Altair relied on—something few adventurers ever considered.

“Shadecloaks,” he muttered to himself, reaching into his saddlebag once more.

The item he pulled out was an unassuming piece of cloth, dark and nondescript, but it held a special enchantment. This cloak, woven with threads blessed by shadow-magic, could create a localized field of cool air around him. It was designed to offer protection against heat by trapping cooler air from the deeper levels of the dungeon and releasing it in hot zones like the Furnace. Altair wrapped it around himself, adjusting it so that it covered his back and sides. Immediately, he felt the magical effect take hold, a small but noticeable reprieve from the sweltering heat.

“It’s the little things that matter,” he reminded himself, smirking as he adjusted the clasp of the cloak. There were many who entered dungeons relying purely on brute force, or some mystical artifact they didn’t fully understand. But Altair prided himself on being prepared for any situation. It was his knowledge, his meticulous attention to detail, that allowed him to push through where others failed.

He took a deep breath, the air still hot but no longer as suffocating, and began to move forward again, his hooves clinking lightly against the stone. The corridor narrowed, forcing him to hunch slightly as he traversed the tunnel. The heat pressed against him from all sides now, but he kept moving, his steps steady and purposeful.

Even with all his precautions, Altair knew better than to underestimate the Furnace. It was alive, in a way. The dungeon, especially in places like this, had a way of sensing those who walked within its depths. It would test him, like it always did.

A distant rumble shook the floor beneath him, and Altair stopped, eyes narrowing as he scanned the area ahead. The rumble grew louder, and he could see the distant glow of firelight flickering at the far end of the tunnel. It was one of the Furnace’s infamous flame bursts, a column of fire that could shoot up without warning and turn any unprepared adventurer into ashes.

With his Shadecloak still keeping him cool, Altair moved cautiously, hugging the side of the corridor where the walls seemed less volatile. He reached out with his magic, feeling the familiar hum of his abilities coiling just beneath his skin. He wasn’t a master mage, but he had enough control over the elemental forces to create shields when necessary.

As the flame burst erupted ahead of him, a tower of fire spewing from the ground, Altair muttered a quick incantation, summoning a thin layer of water magic around his body. The water, barely visible, acted as a barrier between him and the intense heat. The flames roared, licking at his shield but not burning him, the magic holding strong. It wasn’t a perfect solution—he could feel the heat gnawing at the edges of the shield—but it would keep him from being roasted alive.

He waited, counting the seconds in his head until the burst died down. When the flames receded back into the ground, leaving the stones glowing a molten orange, he advanced quickly, crossing the path while the fire was still dormant.

It was grueling work, navigating the Furnace. The intense heat, the constant threat of flame bursts, the stifling air—it all chipped away at a dungeoneer’s endurance. But Altair’s preparation was what set him apart. While others might falter, he had the tools and the discipline to endure.

After what felt like hours of weaving through the fiery labyrinth, Altair finally reached a small alcove where the heat wasn’t as intense. He let out a slow breath, glancing back over the path he’d just taken. His Shadecloak had done its job admirably, and the cooling potion had lasted longer than he’d anticipated. But he could feel the fatigue creeping in. The Furnace demanded focus and stamina, draining both with every passing moment.

Altair sat down on a smooth, cool stone, grateful for the temporary reprieve. He reached into his saddlebag again, this time pulling out a water skin. The water inside was enchanted—infused with a cooling charm to keep it cold, even in the hottest environments. He took a deep drink, feeling the chill spread through his body and soothe his aching muscles.

The respite was brief, but necessary. Altair knew better than to linger too long in one place. The dungeon had a way of turning the environment against you if you weren’t careful. He wiped the sweat from his brow and stood up, adjusting his armor and cloak once more before continuing his journey.

The path ahead would only get more dangerous, the heat more intense. But Altair was ready. He had brought everything he needed to survive the Furnace. His body was protected, his mind sharp, and his instincts honed.

In the end, it wasn’t just the tools he brought or the precautions he took that would see him through—it was his unwavering focus, his refusal to be broken by the dungeon’s trials.