Levi had long since learned that the dungeon itself was an ever-shifting labyrinth, unpredictable and cruel to those who entered it without a measure of foresight. Each venture deeper into its depths held the potential for disaster, and though he often traveled alone, he never underestimated the perils that lurked in the shadows. Safety, he knew, was often an illusion. But it was one that he needed to create for himself—if only to maintain a semblance of control in a place where control was nearly impossible to find.

The feeling of protection, for Levi, wasn’t just about armor or weapons, though he carried those too. No, it went deeper than that. Protection was a mindset, a state of being that allowed him to remain calm and calculated, even when faced with the most grotesque and unnatural threats. The right tools could bolster that mindset, providing comfort and security in the darkest reaches of the dungeon.

His most trusted possession was a torch, but not just any torch—this one had been crafted with magic, its flame a cold, blue fire that never flickered or went out, regardless of the wind or moisture in the air. This torch had accompanied him on every journey since he first ventured into the dungeon alone, and its cool, otherworldly light was as much a symbol of defiance as it was a practical tool. In the deepest pits where no natural light could reach, the torch burned with a steady, unwavering glow, illuminating the treacherous paths ahead and warding off whatever might lurk beyond the range of his vision.

To Levi, this torch was more than just a source of light—it was a reminder of his own resilience. Each time he lit the flame, he could feel the spark of something unyielding within himself, a refusal to be consumed by the darkness, both literal and metaphorical. It was as if the flame represented his will to survive, to navigate the uncertainty of the dungeon without succumbing to fear or panic.

In addition to the torch, Levi carried with him a small, hand-crafted dagger, its hilt worn smooth from years of use. The blade was not particularly large or ornate, but it had saved his life on more than one occasion. Unlike the longer swords and heavy battle axes that some Coursers favored, Levi's dagger was designed for precision and quick strikes. He preferred it that way. When the time came for action, he valued speed and agility over brute force. The dagger fit perfectly in his mouth or his hoof, allowing him to react swiftly when needed, without compromising his mobility.

But it wasn’t just the tools he carried that helped Levi feel safe—it was the rituals and habits he had developed over time. Every time he entered the dungeon, he followed the same routine. He would pause at the entrance, inhale deeply, and center himself. He’d focus on the steady rhythm of his breathing, allowing his heartbeat to slow and his mind to clear. This moment of calm before the plunge was crucial. It gave him the mental space to assess his situation and make clear-headed decisions once he was inside.

Even deeper into the dungeon, when the walls seemed to close in and the sense of isolation was at its peak, Levi’s ability to create his own sense of security kept him grounded. He’d mark his path, leaving subtle but effective signs that would allow him to find his way back, no matter how convoluted the corridors became. Sometimes it was a scrape of his dagger against the stone, other times a small pile of pebbles arranged in a pattern only he would recognize. These small acts of control helped him navigate the ever-changing dungeon with a sense of purpose and direction, rather than letting the chaos dictate his actions.

Despite his cautious nature, Levi was not without courage. He had faced down some of the dungeon’s most terrifying creatures, from towering stone golems to swarms of venomous cave spiders. But even in the heat of battle, when survival hinged on split-second decisions, he remained calm. The torch’s glow at his side and the dagger’s weight in his hoof were constant reminders that he was prepared, that he had the tools and the mindset to handle whatever the dungeon threw at him.

One of Levi’s most memorable encounters occurred in the depths of the dungeon, where the air was so cold and thin it felt as if the very walls were pressing in on him. He had ventured into an unfamiliar section, drawn by rumors of forgotten treasure buried beneath layers of rock and dust. As he descended into a vast chamber, he noticed a faint shimmer in the distance—something glinting in the light of his torch.

Curiosity piqued, he approached cautiously, his hoofsteps echoing in the otherwise silent cavern. What he found was a small pool of water, its surface perfectly still, reflecting the eerie blue glow of his torch. In the center of the pool was an ancient, rusted helmet, half-submerged in the murky water. Levi’s instincts told him that the helmet had been left there for a reason, and he knew better than to disturb something so obviously tied to the dungeon’s ancient magic. But even as he turned to leave, the water rippled—something unseen beneath the surface.

Rather than panic, Levi tightened his grip on the dagger, his senses on high alert. He stepped back, giving himself space to react to whatever might emerge. The torch’s glow illuminated the edges of the pool, revealing a slithering shadow just beneath the surface. A pair of glowing eyes appeared, staring up at him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

In that moment, Levi’s sense of safety was not shaken. Instead, he felt a calm resolve wash over him. He had faced worse before. This was just another challenge, another test of his ability to survive in a place designed to break even the strongest Coursers.

With the torch held high and his dagger at the ready, Levi prepared himself for whatever came next, knowing that as long as he kept his wits about him and trusted in the tools he carried, he would prevail. In the dungeon, safety was an illusion, but it was one Levi had mastered creating for himself.