"It's dark in here," Emer muttered, his voice echoing through the damp halls of the dungeons. As the second prince of Ampela, he bore the weight of royal duty, yet his insatiable thirst for adventure set him apart. This unyielding drive had led him to skip lessons meant to prepare him for the throne, though he knows he won't get it due to his brother being further in line, opting instead for escapades like this.

The steps spiraled downward into the ruins of Dark Ebenstone, their ancient material glittering faintly and casting shimmering reflections as he descended deeper into whatever lay below.

"I'd prefer to turn back, your highness. These depths could prove dangerous," Walter commented from behind Emer. The clack of their boots continued as they finally spiraled down to the bottom.

"I know, right? The thrill is amazing," Emer said, traipsing down the hall. He seemed giddy but kept his guard up.

After all, the previous layer of this dungeon had housed powerful werewolf-like monsters.

Their goal in any dungeon was to find the center and claim the dungeon core within, as well as grab as much treasure as their bags could hold. Thankfully, he had brought a bag of holding. Well… maybe not.

As they walked, they encountered no monsters—just a straight, non-booby-trapped hall leading to a grand room draped in runes and cloth.

"Oh my." Walter looked around, amazed by the scale and the intricate runes.

However, Emer was focused on a figure draped in rags and chained upon the large altar. They appeared to be asleep yet somehow healthy. Gods know how long they had been here. This dungeon had been formed a mere 26 years ago by some sort of magic.

"Now, who might you be?" Emer murmured under his breath, his gaze fixed on the figure atop the altar.