Reaper eyed the entrance to the dungeon with a little trepidation. His hooves kicked up a bit of dust. Anxious was not even close to how he felt. Horrid would be more accurate. He was only going so far as to the Overgrown Caverns. No one died there unless they did something very, very stupid.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Leave us behind?”

“No, mom.” Reaper shook his head, a bitter tint to his voice. “I have to do this. You named me this for a reason.”

“Alright.” She said. He would not turn to look at her, even though she wanted him to. “So you are going to walk away. That’s fine. It’s what you always wanted. Now, are you going to say goodbye?”

“How can I?” He said to empty air. “When you’ve been buried for nine years.”

Choice made Reaper took a deep breath. His eyes felt troubled and watery. Shaking the tears off he leaned forward. He could not be the adventurer his parents wanted even if he tried. He did train to a satisfactory extent to them, roughly enough to satisfy his parents but not enough as to lose himself. He was still Reaper and he was him, different enough that some of those local teens started to follow him around for some reason. He had told them off about not following him today. Today was for him, and him alone.

Down into the Caverns he went. Hooves clacked on the stone ground as he walked deeper and deeper down. Dark it was, darker than even the darkest night. And green, so very green. If he would turn back now Reaper was sure he would wash out green out his mane forever. How much would his parents try to yell at him for getting green on the carpet, he wondered. And deep down he felt quite glad they had been gone for a while. They would no longer be able to yell at him for doing this.

“You’re throwing your life away.” They would have said. But they had to night or capability to say those things anymore. Only in his head they talked. “Annoying pest.”

A slimy noise. Probably a slime. He sidestepped that green puddle. Almost there, almost to the middle. Hear the click of your hooves on stone. Stop at an intersection to look left, then look right. Stop at another, greet another Courser. Shake out your mane. Avoid the bats. And then, the buzzing started.

Reaper stopped. He raised his torch and looked. Over on his left lies a small pile of discarded Courser barding. A glint caught his eyes. Green-ish and blue. Beetles. He breathes in and closes his eyes. He should move on. And yet, here he was, 15 hands tall and hesitant to step on a bug.

“Open your eyes.”

Maybe. That is what Reaper knew he should do. Open his eyes. But the bugs, all those damned bugs would not leave him alone. Horned beetles that are covered in gemstones. Stones fused to their chitin armor. Small enough to pocket or eat as a crunchy snack. He was not yet that desperate enough to eat them, but they could be useful later. So why did it feel so wrong to flatten them below his hoof?

One step. Another. He squished the second bug between his teeth. One breath. His first kill in the dungeon was a bug. How heroic. How kind. No, he would quickly move onto the next floor soon enough. For him, this was far enough down for a first time in a dungeon. He was heading home.