Hooves clicking on the lighter tile of a nearby structure, Petrichor feels relatively safe as he peruses the humid sector of the dungeon. Not needing to do much, Riot is content to explore more laxly and away from the leopard courser as they slowly progress further down the remains of the fortress. It was something old, far more ancient than anything he'd ever seen before. In the lines in the rock, there laid a story just waiting to be told.

He wonders if his parents ever read anything about this place. What happened to the old society was mostly left to old children's stories parents would tell to instill some kind of fear into foals. They were never meant to be true. Here, they stood as a testament that some stories were merited and lined in truth. Petrichor could recall the particular story that came from the hellish level.

Mother would lay by his side and recount the old story of a God of the Forge that was said to value bonds between coursers and the lifeforms all around them most of all. To earn his favor, young adventurers would dive into the dungeons. Only the most compatible of groups that could work through all the dangers and pains of the dungeon could make it to his grand shrine. Thereupon his grand throne would await only the best of treasures, but there would be one thing that set it apart. Only one treasure would lie in wait.

Usually, the discourse between companions would break out to fight for the treasure. It would tear bonds apart and in the eyes of the god, he would forsake the adventurers. They'd never make it back out of the dungeon again for their betrayal and greed. Should they have been generous and gone back home, accepting only one treasure for all, they'd be bathed in riches for the rest of their lives. Nobody ever succeeds in that trial...or at least has been documented.

Looking out at the grand, broken temple, Petrichor could see the influence of such a tale. Engravings of anvils and swords are vaguely inscribed in the old stone that slowly sinks further into the lava depths. Upon looking at the said "shores" of the molten lake, he happens to catch sight of something quite rare indeed.

A salamander, one he recognizes from the highest-selling alchemists, is far away from its typical home. It moved so slowly as if it were fully cooled down. Frowning, Petrichor looks back and searches for Riot. The little wisp seemed entirely engrossed in playing with a shadowy creature far off in the distance. Sighing, he goes in alone with it.

Approaching the creature, he keeps his steps light, but the salamander catches sight of him nearly instantly. It scrambles on the ground, but having cooled so rapidly, it doesn't get very far before tiring itself out. He did not need such a rare commodity nor did he enjoy the use of the creature to the extremes most coursers put them through. They were endangered enough as they were. It was cruel to keep the capture and slaughter continuing. A neverending cycle of violence and kidnapping never ended well for any species.

Picking up the small thing, he walks ever closer to the bubbling magma and feels the sweat foaming up on his coat once more. He really did not find this place pleasant. Nevertheless, he brings it close and puts it down just out of the projectile range of bubble pops. It stares back at him for a moment, eyes wide and thankful, before it dives below the depths and disappears. For a moment, Petrichor stalls and smiles in a moment of peaceful joy.

Riot eventually makes its way back over to him and curiously looks out at where he'd left the salamander before seemingly losing interest and flickering to get its host's attention. He looks over at it and concedes to follow it back to the main structure. For such a dangerous place, it held secret beauties. Was this what she wanted to show him? There certainly was a lot of bad lurking in the shadows, but in the few spots of light...true beauty lay.

He can almost feel her smile at him. It cools him with its icy caress.