After the unfavorable encounter with the last specter that Husein had to face, the next descent into the dungeon took place in the company of growing anxiety. Until now, the battle-hardened mercenary had no problem with any challenge that stood in his way. Now he had to face his own weaknesses, because the memories of the past were still festering inside him like a fresh wound. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones, in the blood bubbling in his veins and even his inner instinct told him that this year's Harvester plan aroused fear in him. 

Driven by an exceptionally greater caution, he decided to take Fetch with him. The presence of the second courser meant that Husein did not have to face all this alone. However, the choice of this courser was not accidental. Fetch was born in the dungeon, if the rumors were to be believed. Her eccentric and strange personality confirmed it, because no other courser born on the surface would behave like this. Or maybe Husein expected Fetch to answer his devastating questions?

“I can hear you fear,” Fetch’s trembling whisper reached his ears.

Husein pricked up his ears, feeling a sudden irritation.

“And how on earth can you hear that?”

“Thoughts can be loud. Yours are too loud.”

Fetch spoke in riddles and metaphors. Husein was not a courser suited to unraveling this information. He huffed, walking forward through the barren grass surrounded by old and ruined buildings. Legends said that the people who once lived in the Buried Kingdom fought here huge battles. Husein wondered many times what it would all look like.

Suddenly, he felt an unknown force behind him. Or maybe a presence? His subconscious told him to look back, but when he turned his eyes in that direction, he saw nothing or no one. Fetch continued walking beside him.

“So? Is fear speaking to you already?” Courser smiled sarcastically.

“Shut up.” 

He was sure he saw someone behind him. All he had to do was take another step forward, and quiet words were uttered right behind him. Galatea. Standing upright, he looked around in panic, but the surroundings remained as dead and empty as before.

“Did you hear that?” He asked Fetch.

“The Moor of Sleep is full of dead, restless souls. They like to whisper to each other.” Fetch seemed convinced of their thesis.

“The dead don’t talk.”

“Are you sure?”

He wasn’t. But he didn’t have the courage to say it out loud. A moment later, they heard more words, which became more frequent and louder. Each of them said only one sentence. Galatea. Galatea. Galatea.

Looking around in panic, but still trying to keep his sanity, he caught a glimpse of a silhouette somewhere in the corner. That one moment, however, made Husein start running blindly ahead. Fetch caught up with him without a problem at a calm gallop, staying right by his side.

“You're panicking, Husein.”

“I am NOT!” He shouted as emotions got out of him.

He had no idea how long they had been running. He stopped only when a massive, moss-covered cobblestone wall blocked their path and allowed them to breathe in peace. When he looked back, no one was running after them and the voices that had been so audible a moment ago had completely died down. The deadly silence was broken only by the slow clatter of Fetch's hooves, who smiled with great amusement.

“Your soul is restless. Tell me, Husein, what is it that you keep in it?”

The mercenary looked at the courser with hatred. The last remnants of reason forced him not to hit his companion in a moment.

“None of your business.”