The Otherworld's currents dragged Ethan deeper into the void, the river's silver glow fading into pitch-black. His lungs burned, but the ring on his finger hummed with warmth, guiding him toward a faint pulse of light—a submerged cavern encrusted with bioluminescent fungi.
Inside, the kelpie's spirit materialized: a horse-shaped entity of shifting shadows, its eyes glowing with the embers of Níðhöggr's hatred. "You've come to bargain, little Reed?" it hissed, its voice a thousand voices layered into one. "Your grandmother tried the same… and failed."
Ethan tightened his grip on the dagger. "I'm here to end this."
The kelpie reared, its hooves striking the water with a thunderclap. "End this?" It laughed, a sound like breaking ice. "The geis is a chain forged in blood. Your line has served me for centuries—ferrying souls, feeding my hunger. You think a trinket and a blade can sever it?"
Before Ethan could respond, the cavern walls trembled. The dullahan materialized at the entrance, its antlers scraping the ceiling, scythe dripping black ichor. "It's come for your soul," the kelpie sneered. "The geis demands a sacrifice… and you're the last Reed."
Ethan's mind raced. The Book of Binds had warned of the seventh moon's price—his life for the curse's end. But the kelpie's words gnawed at him: Your line has served me for centuries. What if his family's "curse" was a lie?
He turned to the kelpie. "Why did my grandmother betray you?"
The kelpie hesitated, its shadowy form flickering. "She loved your grandfather. When the ritual demanded his death, she offered herself instead… but the geis rejected her. Her soul became a prison for my essence, her body a vessel for my thralls." It lashed its tail, sending a shockwave through the water. "Now you'll follow in her footsteps—or drown the world."
Ethan's chest ached. The boy in the river, Grampa's guilt, Rowan's secrets—all threads woven into the kelpie's web. "What if I refuse both?"
The kelpie lunged, but Ethan raised the dagger. Its blade glowed with the triskele symbol, repelling the creature. "You think that toy can stop me?" the kelpie roared. "I am the Thames. Every drop of water, every lost soul—mine."
As it charged again, the dullahan's scythe whistled past Ethan's ear. He ducked, slicing the kelpie's flank. Black blood erupted, dissolving into the water like ink. The kelpie shrieked, its form fracturing. "You've cut me from the river's heart… but without a host, the curse will spread. The Thames will flood, and every soul will belong to Níðhöggr."
Ethan froze. The kelpie wasn't the enemy—it was a prisoner, bound to the geis just as his family was. The true threat lay in the pact's design: a cycle of death to sustain the river's balance.
He turned to the dullahan, its single eye fixed on him. "You're part of this too, aren't you?" he said. "The geis ties us all. Break it, and we're free."
The dullahan tilted its head, the motion eerily human. "The geis cannot be broken… but it can be rewritten." Its voice was a hollow whisper, like wind through a graveyard. "Offer a sacrifice greater than your own life."
Ethan's gaze fell to the kelpie, now weakened but still dangerous. "What if I give you the kelpie's soul?"
The kelpie laughed bitterly. "You can't control me. Not without the bridle."
But Ethan remembered Rowan's words: The bridle binds it to its master… but to wield it, you must offer a sacrifice—a life for a life. His grandmother had tried to use her own blood, but the kelpie had corrupted it. What if the sacrifice wasn't a life… but a soul?
He pressed the ring into the kelpie's chest. "Take mine," he said.
The kelpie hesitated. "You'd become my thrall—eternal slave to the river."
Ethan nodded. "But the geis would end. The seventh moon's price would be paid… by me."
The dullahan's scythe clattered to the ground. "A soul for a soul," it intoned. "The geis accepts."
The kelpie's shadowy form surged into Ethan, its essence merging with his. Pain exploded in his veins, his vision blurring as the river's memories flooded his mind: centuries of drownings, sacrifices, and the endless hunger of Níðhöggr.
But beneath the pain, he felt something else—freedom. The kelpie's hatred was a cage, but Ethan's sacrifice had shattered its bars. "Go," he gasped. "Return to the river… and let the geis die with me."
The kelpie dissolved into smoke, leaving Ethan trembling on the cavern floor. The dullahan approached, its antlers glowing faintly. "You've rewritten the geis," it said. "The seventh moon will rise… but the curse is unbound. The Thames will calm."
Ethan collapsed, the ring slipping from his finger. "What about Rowan?" he murmured. "Who is she?"
The dullahan paused. "She is Lir's daughter—bound to the river long before your line existed. She seeks the bridle to claim her birthright… and drown the world in her father's name."
Before Ethan could react, the cavern began to collapse. The dullahan vanished, and the water turned to ice. Ethan struggled to swim, his body heavy with the kelpie's essence. Just as the ceiling caved in, a silver-haired figure dove into the water—Rowan, wielding a glowing triskele pendant.
She grabbed Ethan, pulling him through a crack in the ice. They emerged onto the Thames' shore, gasping for breath. Rowan's eyes widened at the ring on Ethan's finger. "You bound yourself to the kelpie."
Ethan nodded. "The geis is broken. The curse ends with me."
Rowan's expression hardened. "Fool. The bridle's power demands a host—now you're its vessel. When the seventh moon rises, Níðhöggr will claim you… and the river will rise again."
Ethan staggered to his feet. "Then help me stop it."
Rowan hesitated, then handed him the pendant. "The bridle's true purpose isn't control—it's banishment. To send Níðhöggr back to the void, you must become its prison."
Ethan clenched the pendant. "How?"
"Merge your soul with the bridle," Rowan said. "But it'll kill you."
Ethan thought of Grampa, the boy, and all the lives the Thames had claimed. "It's worth it."
Rowan turned away, her voice hollow. "You'll die a hero… or become the kelpie's next thrall."
Before Ethan could respond, the ground shook. A colossal serpent emerged from the river—Níðhöggr, its scales black as tar, eyes burning with hatred. It coiled around them, its breath reeking of rot.
Rowan raised her dagger. "Now, Ethan!"
Ethan pressed the pendant into his chest. Light erupted, blinding them both. When it faded, the pendant was gone, and Ethan's body glowed with the triskele symbol. Níðhöggr roared, lunging—
But Ethan stood his ground. "I am the bridle," he declared. "Begone, serpent of the abyss."
The kelpie's essence surged through him, merging with the pendant's magic. Níðhöggr screeched as its form was sucked into Ethan's chest. The ground trembled, and the river froze solid. When the silence fell, Ethan collapsed, the pendant reappearing in his hand—now a cold, lifeless relic.
Rowan knelt beside him. "You did it," she said, though her tone held no warmth. "Níðhöggr is banished… but the bridle's power remains in you. You're a god of the river now."
Ethan coughed, blood trickling from his lips. "Then I'll guard it… until the end."
Rowan stood, her gaze distant. "You're not the only one bound to the Thames." She turned to leave, her silver hair blending into the mist.
"Rowan," Ethan called. "Why did you help me?"
She paused, her silhouette shimmering. "Because I owed your grandmother a debt… and because I've seen what happens when the river's balance is broken."
Before Ethan could ask more, she vanished into the night. The Thames whispered a final warning, but Ethan smiled. The geis was broken, the kelpie silenced, and the seventh moon would rise without bloodshed.
For now.