The deeper Nazgul and Khamûl ventured into the Overgrown Cavern, the older everything felt. The roots dangling from the ceiling were twisted and ancient, their forms resembling clawed hands gripping the stone. There was no sound now, not even the faint hum of the glowing fungi that once illuminated their path. The air had grown cold and still, as if they had stepped into a place long forgotten.

Nazgul moved steadily, her hooves leaving faint marks in the dust that covered the stone floor. A strange, restless curiosity had taken hold of her since they entered this deeper part of the dungeon. Khamûl drifted beside her, the ghostly hand as silent as ever, his faint coldness brushing her flank. His fingers twitched every so often, his way of guiding her through the narrow, winding passages. His presence was calm, watchful.

They came upon a narrow gap between two jagged rocks, nearly hidden by thick vines. Nazgul, ever alert, spotted it and pushed through. The passage opened into a vast chamber unlike any they had seen before. The ceiling was high, lost in darkness, and the walls were smooth, as if shaped by something far older than the dungeon itself.

Nazgul’s sharp eyes scanned the room, and that’s when she saw them.

Painted on the stone walls, stretching across the chamber, were Coursers. Dozens of them. Running in a herd, their forms strange and twisted. Their legs were too long, their heads too large, and their bodies seemed stretched in ways that didn’t make sense. The paint was faded, but the earthy tones of red, brown, and black still clung to the stone. Nazgul took a step closer, her gaze fixed on the painting. Their strange proportions unsettled her, as if they were creatures from a dream—or a memory distorted by time. Khamûl hovered beside her, his pale fingers rising to sign. *Men. Painted these.*

She snorted softly. “Men? They painted Coursers like this?”

Khamûl’s fingers moved again, quick and simple. *Yes. Long ago.*

Nazgul tilted her head, studying the distorted shapes on the wall. “Why?”

Khamûl paused, his hand hovering in the air. *They lived with them. Needed them.*

Nazgul narrowed her eyes, considering the painted herd. “They don’t look like us. Too… wrong.”

*Memory. Fades.* Khamûl signed slowly. *They’re gone now. Only this remains.*

Nazgul had seen the remains of Men—skeletal, fragile things, left behind in forgotten corners of the world. But this was different. These paintings, strange as they were, felt alive in a way bones never could. These Men had tried to capture something, to preserve it. But whatever it was, it had faded into something barely recognizable.

Nazgul snorted, stepping back from the wall. She didn’t understand Men. They were weak, long dead, their skeletons left to rot in the forgotten corners of dungeons like this. But these paintings… They bothered her. The idea that something so powerful as a courser could be remembered like this—stretched, distorted, almost lost.

“They’re gone,” Nazgul repeated, her voice steady but laced with something unspoken.

Khamûl hovered in silence for a moment before his fingers moved again. *Everything goes. In time.*

Nazgul huffed, shaking her mane. “Not us,” she said, with a note of defiance.

Khamûl’s fingers stilled for a moment, then he signed one last phrase. *Not yet.*

Nazgul turned away from the mural, her hooves striking the stone floor with quiet finality. The strange, painted Coursers lingered in her mind, but she was done with them. The world had moved on, and so would she.

Khamûl followed silently as they moved deeper into the dungeon, leaving the ancient chamber behind, the ghosts of the past fading into the shadows.