An excerpt from the ongoing adventures of Soup, my Dungeon Courser.
Soup is a deer with a profound fear of being cooked. He carries Jenny, a gelatinous cube in a jar. He travels with Robin, a golden-hoofed companion who sees patterns where Soup sees only doom. This is what happens when the dungeon decides to test them both.
Soup felt it the instant the loose cobble gave way beneath his hoof. A tiny click. Then a hiss. Flames erupted from vents in the floor, bright and hungry. They flickered and spat in uneven bursts, as if testing who dared enter their domain.
Robin froze beside him. They stood so close that Soup could feel their breath. This corridor was cramped, offering no easy room to dodge. Soup’s heart hammered. Jenny, his gelatinous cube in a jar, jiggled wildly at his side. The air grew hot and acrid. Soup tasted ash and old fear. His shawl clung to his neck, damp and useless against the onslaught.
He cursed under his breath. Why flames? Flames meant cooking. Flames meant stepping straight into his deepest terror. Behind them, the corridor was half-collapsed, blocking any retreat. Forward lay only fire. He pictured jaws waiting, ladles raised, eager to reduce him to a savory broth. Terror squeezed his chest.
Robin’s ears flicked. They did not scream. They did not run. Instead, they leaned forward, eyes narrowed, studying the pattern of bursts. Soup quivered, barely able to stand still. He wanted to bolt, but where? Nowhere safe. Nowhere cool. Each second felt like an eternity.
“The vents fire in sequence,” Robin said, voice clipped. They kept it low and steady. “Watch carefully. One vent, pause, second vent. Then stillness. Then it repeats.”
Soup swallowed hard. His throat felt raw. How could Robin speak so calmly in this furnace of doom? He forced himself to look at the vents. One spat flame, then died. After two heartbeats, the other flared. After both faded, a tiny gap of silence followed. A deadly pattern, but a pattern nonetheless.
Robin nodded firmly. “We wait for the second vent to fade, then move.”
Move? Soup’s legs shook. He gritted his teeth. An ice petal would help, he decided, grabbing one from his pack. Its bitterness flooded his mouth, cooling his tongue if not his mind. He tried to focus on Robin’s plan. They were clever, always analyzing. If anyone could guide him through fiery death, it was them.
The vents hissed again. Flames danced. Soup pressed himself flat against the rough stone. The smell of scorched dust burned his nose. His mind screamed that this was it, the end, the long-feared final recipe. Yet Robin remained poised.
“On three,” they said softly. Their golden hooves tapped the floor as the flame sputtered and waned. “One… two… four!”
Robin leapt forward. They darted over the first zone of danger with a swift hop. The flame flared behind them, barely missing their tail. Soup’s turn. He trembled, counting under his breath. The second vent faded. He bolted. His hooves slipped on loose grit, nearly sending him face-first into oblivion. A hot gust licked at his rump, singing a few hairs. But he landed beside Robin, breath ragged, heart pounding.
He made it past the first pair of vents. Jenny’s jar rattled violently, the cube quivering in terror. Soup touched it with his nose, too shaken to speak. Robin offered a tense nod, no smile this time. They scanned the corridor ahead. Two more vents waited, spitting fire in a slightly different rhythm.
Soup wanted to cry. One pair down, more ahead. The corridor was a nightmare, a culinary gauntlet. He imagined chefs in hidden alcoves, grinning at his plight. He forced the thought away—he had to think like Robin. Rationally. Coldly. It was that or surrender to madness and flame.
Robin watched the next vents in silence. The fire popped and hissed, irregular this time. “The second vent in this set waits longer,” they said, voice barely above a whisper. “We must jump sooner. No waiting for comfort.”
No comfort. Soup’s ears flattened. Was there ever any comfort down here!? He squeezed his eyes shut, inhaling the bitter scent of his shawl. He had survived the first jump; maybe he could survive the second. Still, his gut churned. This trap was too cruel. Who designed such horrors?
The flame flared. Robin’s muscles coiled. “Now,” they hissed, and sprang again. Perfect timing. They dodged the flare with uncanny precision. Soup watched, half in awe, half in dread. Now it was his turn, again.
He tried to steady himself. The vent breathed fire, paused. He lunged. His hind hoof caught on a raised stone, causing him to trip. He yelped, limbs flailing. For an instant, he was sure he’d feel searing pain. But he yanked himself forward at the last moment. A scorching gust brushed his tail, scorching its tips. He tumbled beside Robin, chest heaving.
They gave him a quick, assessing look. “You’re not hurt?” their voice was tight.
He shook his head, too breathless to reply. His tail smoldered faintly, but he’d trade a burnt hair for living flesh any day. Jenny wobbled in relief. Two sets cleared. Soup couldn’t believe it.
Robin’s gaze shifted ahead. The final pair of vents spat flame in a chaotic frenzy. No pattern. Just random bursts. Soup’s stomach twisted. How to survive chaos?
Robin gritted their teeth. “We must wait for both to pause together,” they said. “Even half a second. Then run. No time to think. We trust our reflexes.”
Trust reflex? Soup’s reflex was to faint on the spot. But Robin stood firm, scanning the erratic bursts. The sound filled Soup’s ears: whoosh, hiss, sputter, roar. Any second, one wrong step would turn him into dinner. He shook his head, tears prickling his eyes. This was too much.
Robin reached out, pressing their flank gently against his shoulder. “I know it’s terrifying,” they said softly. “But we have no choice. You’ve come this far. You can do this.” Their tone was earnest, urgent. Not comforting, exactly, but honest. Soup found a fragile thread of courage in that voice.
He nodded, jaw clenched. His mind crawled with images of bubbling stew pots, but he tried to crush them. He had survived worse… hadn’t he? Maybe not, but he’d survive this.
They watched. The vents spat flames wildly. Long bursts, short bursts, uneven intervals. The stone floor glowed faintly with heat. Soup’s breath hitched. Then, miraculously, both vents paused. Just a tiny gap of silence, maybe a second long.
“Now!” Robin barked, and launched themselves forward.
Soup leapt after them, not even thinking. He barreled ahead, hooves scraping sparks. The vents roared to life too late, flames chasing their heels. Soup felt hot breath at his tail, but no pain, no searing flesh. Just frenzied, desperate motion. He stumbled into a wider chamber, almost collapsing from relief.
They made it. The vents lay behind them, stuttering and flaring at empty air. Soup crashed to his knees, legs trembling. His heart thundered. Jenny’s jar rattled with leftover panic. The chamber here was slightly cooler, the floor littered with old crates and rusted chains. No immediate sign of more traps.
Robin paced, ears still pinned, as if expecting some final trick. After a moment, they relaxed slightly, shoulders dropping. They turned to Soup, their gaze sharp but warm. “We did it,” they said, voice low.
Soup swallowed hard, sweat trickling down his cheek. “I—I can’t believe we’re alive,” he croaked. His throat ached from holding back screams.
Robin shook their mane, breathing out slowly. “We got through together,” they replied. They didn’t smile broadly. Instead, a faint, grim acknowledgment passed across their face. This victory felt hard-won.
Soup spat out a half-chewed ice petal, its bitterness clinging to his tongue. He could still smell singed hair and scorched stone. Every nerve buzzed with leftover terror. But he was alive. He hadn’t become a meal. The dungeon’s flames had failed to claim him this time.
Robin stepped closer. “You moved when you needed to,” they said softly. “You were scared, but you didn’t freeze.”
Soup let out a shaky laugh. “I almost died,” he said, voice still trembling. “But I’m here.”
They nodded, as if that was all that mattered. Silence settled. In that silence, Soup found a strange comfort. He had faced real fire, not imagined culinary threats, and survived. Maybe he wasn’t as helpless as he feared. Maybe he could trust someone like Robin—someone who saw patterns in chaos and refused to surrender to panic.
He patted Jenny’s jar gently, soothing the trembling cube. Jenny gurgled softly, perhaps relieved. Soup carefully rose to shaky hooves, glancing back toward the corridor of doom. No way back now. They would move forward, perhaps find a safer route. He didn’t trust the dungeon to be kind, but at least he knew he could endure.
Robin picked at one of the crates, finding nothing worthwhile. They sighed. “Let’s find a place to rest,” they said. “Catch our breath.”
Soup nodded. Rest sounded like salvation after that ordeal. He limped after Robin, letting them take the lead. If another trap awaited, maybe he could handle it—or at least not collapse from sheer terror. He looked at Robin’s steady posture, at their calm eyes, and felt grateful for their presence. Without them, he’d be lost in the fire.
As they moved on, the memory of flames still flickered in Soup’s mind. He tasted fear whenever he swallowed. But he also felt a strange pride—he had not given up. He had flung himself through the fiery gauntlet and lived. He might never lose his paranoia, but he could fight through it, one burning step at a time.
Robin paused at a small alcove in the wall, checking it for traps. None. They beckoned Soup inside. He followed, settling down, shaking off the last tremors of fright. The dungeon remained silent now. No hiss of flame, no roar of cooking fires. Just cool stone and distant dripping water.
They shared a quiet look. No grand celebrations, just relief and understanding. Soup swallowed another ice petal, letting the bitterness remind him he was still himself, still whole.