Altair’s hooves echoed through the ancient stone corridors of the dungeon, each step precise, deliberate, and filled with the quiet confidence of a veteran dungeoneer. The cool draft of the subterranean air swirled around him, a stark contrast to the heat that seemed to thrum within the stone beneath his hooves. He had been traveling for hours now, and every sense was alert to the dangers that lay in wait. The walls around him were jagged, marked by centuries of wear, but something about the stillness in the air felt wrong.

He turned a corner into a slightly larger chamber and paused, his sharp eyes catching something shifting against the far wall. A shadow, flickering unnaturally in the dim light of his enchanted torch, danced against the rough stone. It was large, too large, and the shape it cast sent a chill of warning through his veins.

Altair narrowed his eyes, lowering his body slightly as he prepared for what might be a serious fight. Veteran adventurers spoke in hushed tones about dragons that roamed the deeper levels of the dungeon, but surely, they wouldn’t be this close to the surface?

He shook his head, dispelling any thoughts of hesitation. It didn’t matter. He would fight whatever came his way, dragon or not.

Then, the shadow moved again, creeping closer, and Altair tensed. His eyes tracked the figure as it slipped from the darkness into the narrow beam of his torchlight.

He blinked.

Standing before him, far from the massive, legendary dragon he had been bracing for, was a creature no larger than a dog. Its scaly body was covered in dull, rust-colored hide, and its tiny wings fluttered uselessly at its sides. The creature had a pointed snout, wide eyes that seemed far too innocent for a dungeon beast, and it coughed up the smallest puff of flame as it reared back, snarling in the most unconvincing way.

It was a wyrm. A small, pestering wyrm.

Altair straightened up, his momentary shock fading into something like bemused disbelief. This was what had cast the intimidating shadow on the wall? This was what had caused him to brace for a potentially life-or-death battle?

The wyrm, apparently unphased by the fact that it was woefully outmatched, bared its teeth and coughed again, another pitiful stream of flame sputtering toward Altair’s hooves. It made a grumbling noise that might have passed for a growl in a more fearsome creature, but in this case, it was more akin to a croaky bark.

Altair raised an eyebrow, watching the wyrm as it began to shuffle forward, its tiny claws scraping against the stone floor. Then it did something truly unexpected. The little creature stopped in front of him, sat back on its haunches, and extended a clawed hand, palm open and expectant.

“What...?” Altair muttered, more confused than anything. The wyrm tilted its head, its golden eyes glinting mischievously. It didn’t need to speak for Altair to understand what it wanted.

Gold.

The tiny wyrm, in all its ragged, scrappy glory, was attempting to mug him.

Altair exhaled sharply through his nose, his irritation beginning to flare. He wasn’t in the dungeon to be robbed by some runt of a wyrm. His eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward with the full weight of his presence, towering over the creature.

“Get out of my way,” he growled, his deep voice reverberating through the chamber.

The wyrm, either too foolish or too stubborn to care about the larger Courser’s threat, responded by huffing another tiny flame and motioning insistently toward Altair’s saddlebags. It was trying to demand gold as though it had the power to make demands.

Altair had enough.

With a swift motion, he reared back, his front hooves lifting into the air before slamming down in front of the wyrm, the sound of steel-shod hooves crashing against stone echoing through the chamber. The wyrm yelped, scrambling backward as the ground shook beneath it.

Altair wasn’t going to let a puny wyrm take his hard-earned treasure.

But the wyrm, persistent in its foolishness, darted forward again, this time lashing out with its tail in a feeble attempt to trip Altair up. Its speed was surprising, and for a moment, Altair felt a flicker of genuine annoyance. This creature wasn’t just a pest; it was an irritating little thief.

The wyrm was fast, but Altair was faster.

With a snort, he pivoted on his hooves, spinning toward the creature with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey. He had dealt with enough dungeon pests to know how to handle a persistent one. The wyrm’s eyes widened in alarm as Altair lunged forward, his teeth bared.

The creature tried to flee, scurrying toward a small crevice in the wall, but Altair was relentless. His muscles coiled, and he surged forward, one powerful hoof smashing down on the wyrm’s tail just as it was about to escape. The wyrm screeched in pain and surprise, wriggling and twisting as it tried to free itself, but Altair had no intention of letting it go so easily.

“You picked the wrong Courser to steal from,” Altair growled.

With one swift motion, he dragged the wyrm back, its tail still trapped under his hoof, and flipped it onto its back. The wyrm thrashed, but its tiny size and lack of strength made it no match for Altair’s sheer power.

The wyrm let out a pitiful whine as Altair towered over it, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the writhing creature. Its golden eyes, once gleaming with mischief, were now filled with panic.

Altair didn’t care.

He leaned down, his voice low and dangerous. “Give. Me. My gold.”

The wyrm’s tiny claws scrabbled at the air, and it let out a high-pitched whimper. It coughed, and a single coin rolled out from its mouth, clinking against the stone floor. Altair’s sharp gaze followed the coin as it settled near his hoof.

One measly coin.

The wyrm had the nerve to try to rob him for one coin.

Altair’s temper flared, and he raised his hoof, prepared to stomp the wyrm flat and be done with it. But as he hesitated, the creature let out a pitiful, almost pleading chirp. Its eyes were wide, and it trembled under his gaze.

For a brief moment, Altair considered crushing the pest and moving on. It would be simple, quick, and satisfying. But something about the wyrm’s desperation gave him pause.

He snorted, pulling his hoof back and shaking his head. “You’re not worth the effort.”

The wyrm, sensing that its life had been spared, scurried to its feet and backed away slowly, watching Altair with wary eyes. It didn’t dare make another move for his gold, not after the thrashing it had just narrowly avoided.

Altair stepped over the wyrm, snatching the coin with a swift movement of his hoof. He wasn’t about to let a tiny dungeon pest rob him of anything, no matter how small. With one last glare at the trembling creature, he turned and began to walk away.

Behind him, the wyrm let out a pitiful whine but didn’t follow.

Altair’s pace quickened as he left the chamber, his irritation still simmering beneath the surface. He had dealt with bigger, more dangerous creatures than that pesky wyrm, but somehow, the sheer gall of the creature had gotten under his skin.

As he moved further down the dungeon corridor, his thoughts began to shift. The wyrm, as annoying as it had been, was nothing more than a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things. The dungeon was full of larger threats, more dangerous enemies, and real challenges that would test his strength and skill.

Altair’s eyes gleamed with determination as he pushed forward, the echoes of his hooves fading into the distance. The dungeon was a place of constant danger, and Altair thrived in that danger. He didn’t have time for small-time thieves and pests.

No, his real focus was deeper in the dungeon, where the true challenges lay.

And whatever they were, he would be ready for them.