The two mares walked side by side, the soft sounds of their hooves echoing through the wide, stone corridor. It was an oddly calm moment in the dungeon, a brief reprieve from the usual threats that lurked in every shadow. Fetch, as always, moved with a light, almost whimsical gait, her head bobbing slightly as if caught in the sway of some invisible tune. Lark, on the other hand, walked with deliberate steps, her posture stiff, eyes scanning the path ahead. Silence had settled between them, not uncomfortable, but fragile.

Fetch, ever-curious, broke it first.

“Where are your roots, Lark?” Fetch asked, her voice soft and curious, though tinged with her usual strange tone. “Are there any famous adventurers in your family? Or are you the first of your line?”

Lark’s ears flicked back at the question, but she didn’t respond immediately. The question lingered in the air between them, and for a moment, Fetch wasn’t sure if Lark would answer at all. But Fetch had a way of asking things that made them stick in the mind, whether or not the other wanted to dwell on them.

“No,” Lark said at last, her voice gruff. “No famous adventurers. Not in my family.”

Fetch blinked, her eyes wide with curiosity. “Oh? So you’re the first? That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

Lark’s jaw tightened. “Exciting? I don’t know if that’s the word I’d use.”

Fetch tilted her head, clearly intrigued by the response but also sensing the tension in Lark’s voice. “Why not?”

Lark let out a long breath, her pace slowing slightly as they continued through the dimly lit corridor. It wasn’t a question she liked to think about, let alone answer. The truth was, she didn’t know much about her roots, and what little she did know didn’t exactly fill her with pride.

“My family...” Lark hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. “We weren’t... known for much. We weren’t warriors or adventurers or anything like that. We were just... ordinary.”

Fetch hummed softly, her eyes still trained on Lark. “Ordinary how?”

Lark’s gaze flickered to Fetch, then away again. “Just... farmers. We worked the land. Grew what we needed to survive. That was it. No battles, no glory. Just... survival.”

Fetch nodded thoughtfully, but there was no judgment in her expression. If anything, she seemed even more interested now. “But you chose a different path,” Fetch said, her voice soft, almost as if she were piecing the puzzle together aloud. “You didn’t stay with them?”

Lark snorted, her ears flattening slightly at the thought. “I left. The moment I had the chance.”

Fetch’s eyes sparkled with intrigue. “Why?”

Lark’s steps slowed even more, and she stopped for a moment, looking at the rough stone walls around them as if searching for the right words. It wasn’t something she liked talking about. It wasn’t something she ever really thought about anymore. But Fetch’s curiosity was persistent, and in some way, Lark knew that Fetch would never use it against her. Fetch wasn’t like that.

“My family didn’t understand,” Lark said after a pause, her voice lower than usual. “They didn’t understand why I wanted more. Why I didn’t want to spend my life tending fields and animals. They couldn’t see beyond the boundaries of our farm. I could.”

Fetch nodded slowly, her expression softening as she listened. “So you left to... adventure?”

Lark grunted. “I left to survive. The farm was small. Barely enough to keep us fed. I knew I wasn’t going to make a life there. Not one that meant anything. The dungeon... it promised more.”

Fetch’s eyes widened slightly at that, her curiosity piqued even further. “And you’ve found more, haven’t you? You’ve survived. You’ve done what they never could.”

Lark’s gaze darkened slightly as Fetch’s words hung in the air. “Surviving isn’t enough. It’s never enough.”

Fetch didn’t seem fazed by Lark’s somber tone, though she tilted her head in thought. “But you are surviving. And you’re strong. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Lark huffed softly, not quite willing to agree. “Maybe. But strength doesn’t make up for the rest.”

Fetch smiled faintly, her eyes still sparkling with that strange, whimsical curiosity. “You don’t have to prove anything to them, you know. You’re already more than what they thought you’d be.”

Lark turned to Fetch, her eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t care about proving anything to them. That’s not why I left.”

Fetch’s smile remained, but it was softer now, more understanding than playful. “I know. But sometimes, I think we still carry those expectations with us, whether we want to or not.”

Lark stared at Fetch for a long moment, the words hitting her harder than she’d expected. She had never thought of it that way. She had always assumed she had left her family’s expectations behind, along with the farm and everything else. But maybe Fetch was right. Maybe there was still something deep inside her that wanted to prove she was more than they had ever imagined.

“I’m not the first in my family to do this,” Fetch said suddenly, her voice soft and distant, as if she were speaking to herself more than to Lark. “There were others. Coursers who ventured into the dungeon. Some were famous, I think. But none of them came back.”

Lark blinked, turning her full attention to Fetch now. “None of them?”

Fetch shook her head, her eyes faraway as she spoke. “No. They all disappeared. Or... became part of the dungeon, in some way.”

Lark frowned, unsure what to make of Fetch’s words. It was hard to tell sometimes if Fetch was being serious or simply speaking in riddles, as she so often did. But there was something in Fetch’s tone now, something almost sad, that made Lark believe her.

“So why do you keep coming back?” Lark asked, her voice quieter than usual. “If you know what happened to them?”

Fetch smiled faintly, her eyes still distant. “Because I’m curious. And because I want to know what happened. Maybe I’ll find them someday. Maybe I won’t. But I have to keep looking.”

Lark stared at Fetch, her mind racing with thoughts she hadn’t expected. Fetch’s reasons were so different from her own. Fetch wasn’t driven by survival or necessity. She was driven by curiosity, by a desire to understand. It was a strange thing, but in some way, Lark found herself almost envying it.

“Do you think they’re still out there?” Lark asked after a pause, her voice softer now.

Fetch’s smile widened, though it was still tinged with sadness. “Maybe. Or maybe they’ve become part of the dungeon, like everything else. Either way, I’ll keep looking.”

Lark nodded slowly, her thoughts swirling with a mix of emotions she hadn’t expected to feel. She had never cared much about her family or what they thought of her. She had left them behind, after all. But now, listening to Fetch talk about her own roots, about the Coursers who had come before her, Lark couldn’t help but wonder if there was still some part of her that hadn’t truly let go.

“Maybe you’ll find them,” Lark said quietly, surprising herself with the softness in her voice.

Fetch’s smile brightened, her eyes sparkling with that same whimsical curiosity that had drawn Lark in from the beginning. “Maybe. But even if I don’t, at least I’ll have the stories. And that’s enough for me.”

Lark huffed softly, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re a strange one, Fetch.”

Fetch giggled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “And you’re a tough one, Lark. But I like that about you.”

Lark shook her head, though there was no real annoyance in her expression. Fetch’s words, as strange as they often were, had a way of cutting through her defenses in a way few others could. Maybe it was because Fetch didn’t push. She simply asked, listened, and let Lark come to her own conclusions.

“Come on,” Lark said, her voice gruff but not unkind. “We’ve got a dungeon to explore.”

Fetch nodded, falling into step beside her once more, her smile never fading. “Lead the way, Lark. Lead the way.”