Fetch took Froider over to a new hall. This one extended into a ginormous space, big enough to fit in a whole castle. But the mist was slowly catching up to them. The wind carried an eerie, hollow whistle, sweeping through the barren landscape of skeletal trees and forgotten bones. ‘Great, more bones.’ He thought to himself. Froider’s pale eyes flicked to the ground, what looked like a fresh pattern. But not before long the fog had swallowed them away along with Fetch. He could barely see his hooves touching the ground. Was it worth screaming for Fetch? Maybe not. And the air felt thick, heavy with something unspoken. His muscles sharpened. And he took some steps into the mist.

And that’s where he saw it, a spectral Courser cutting through the misty expanse of the Moor. A sight to see, even for Freidor, he stood still as he watched the spectral move away the thick mist. The mist looked like it took on density, falling from its shoulder back into the ground. And then it was gone. As a younger horse, these sights would’ve unsettled him, gnawing at the back of his mind with questions about his own purpose, his place among the living. Now, however, his resolve was as sturdy as the ground beneath his hooves. Froider was ready and anticipating any sudden movements from the opponent. Surely Froider wouldn’t think of eradicating all threats on the moor. But what is certain is what would happen if it came across anyone else it could harm them.

But then after, it followed something else. And another specter came out of the mist. From above. It took away at Froider’s breath. A human. A human specter, following the Courser’s ground, getting ingulfed in the mist as well. It’s on top? They.. seemed to wander with no sense of direction. But were tugged at each other closely. Following each other? No, it was more than that. Froider let out a gulp. They didn’t seem to notice him, their gaze empty and unfocused, as though they were lost in some memory of a past life. Their armor was ancient, rusted in places, and torn like it had fought a thousand battles without respite. He’d seen something similar to these symbols on his book. But more importantly. This arrangement. Oh. He couldn’t hold it anymore. Something was growing inside of him. A need, a curiosity an aching longing. He couldn’t tear his gaze from the pair, and in that moment, the questions he had once asked as a young horse resurfaced. What did it mean to carry someone on your back? What did it mean to be bound, not by duty, but by something deeper — something that could persist even beyond death? Freidor considered stepping forward, making himself known to them. He didn’t fear the consequences, but something held him back. He watched the spectral Courser’s steady steps, its knight swaying gently as they moved together. They were searching for something, or maybe they were reliving some final moment—forever lost, yet forever together. Something about a pair of lost souls, companionship, tugged and revolted at him. Ached and surpassed his life. Ancestral. What were our ancestors really.

He had many questions but one thing he was certain of, this was their path, their journey. Whatever they were searching for, they would find it in their own way, in their own time. No matter the centuries it’d take them. No matter if the world turned upside down and Courses took on the human’s role or the human role taking on the Coursers. The wind picked up again, rustling the dead grass at his hooves, and the specters faded into the distance, swallowed by the fog. Freidor remained still for a long moment, the weight of the Moor pressing down on him. And then, with a quiet sigh, he resumed his slow, deliberate pace. His thoughts lingered on the pair. And so would the question of what Freidor’s role would be in that story. The one on those books. Would he have had a more specific, fulfilling role in another lifetime. For now, he was where he was, and the dungeon still had many paths for him to follow. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he would find what he was searching for.