The mist thickened until the world became little more than vague shadows and the sound of my own breathing. I kept close to the Watcher, never allowing more than a few strides of distance between us. He moved with eerie precision, stepping over unseen obstacles as if the mist were nothing to him.
The river remained to our left, a slow, churning mass that whispered in languages the mind was not meant to understand. Occasionally, shapes rose from its surface, pale and formless, only to sink back beneath the current with a wet sigh.
My memory throbbed where it had been taken, an empty ache that gnawed at my heart. I forced myself to focus. Sentiment would get me killed.
Ahead, the land began to change.
The ground grew softer, less stable. The stones that had marked the path disappeared, replaced by a sticky black muck that clung to my boots and pulled at each step. Strange growths pushed up from the ground, crystalline structures that hummed with a low, discordant vibration. They lit the fog with a sickly glow, painting the mist in shades of green and violet.
The Watcher paused before a wide expanse of marsh.
"This is the last threshold," he said, his voice low. "Beyond it lies the ferry."
I frowned. "A ferry?"
He nodded. "The only means of crossing safely. The river is deeper here, and more awake."
The thought of anything being "more awake" in a place like this was unsettling.
He gestured ahead. "Come. Quickly. The mist shifts, and if it seals the crossing, you will be trapped."
I followed, heart pounding.
The marsh sucked at my legs, each step an effort of will. Invisible things slithered beneath the surface, brushing against my feet with cold, slimy touches. At times, I thought I heard laughter just beyond the reach of my sight, faint and mocking.
We reached a small island of rock jutting from the swamp. At its center, tied to a post of black iron, was a boat.
It was a strange craft, long and narrow, fashioned from wood that looked half-alive. Veins pulsed beneath its surface. Carved along its sides were symbols that made my eyes ache to look upon them. In place of oars, the boat was fitted with long tendrils that drifted lazily in the stagnant air.
The Watcher turned to me.
"This vessel will take you to the city. But be warned. The river does not forget."
He pressed a small shard of crystal into my hand. It was cold and rough, humming faintly.
"This will shield your mind for a time. Do not lose it."
I nodded, pocketing the shard.
The Watcher stepped back, vanishing into the mist without another word.
I was alone.
Taking a deep breath, I climbed into the boat.
The tendrils wrapped gently around the post, pulling free. Without any visible hand guiding it, the boat began to drift into the river.
The whispers grew louder immediately, a thousand voices pressing against the thin shield of the crystal. I gritted my teeth, gripping the sides of the boat.
The current was sluggish but determined, pulling me deeper into the mist.
Hours passed, or perhaps it was only minutes. Time lost all meaning on the river. The fog twisted into strange shapes, scenes from half-remembered dreams and long-buried nightmares. Faces floated in the mist, reaching for me with desperate hands. I clutched the crystal tighter, its light barely holding the madness at bay.
At one point, something large passed beneath the boat. I caught only a glimpse — a massive, serpentine shape lined with dozens of staring eyes — before it vanished into the depths. The boat rocked violently, but did not capsize.
I dared not think about what would happen if I fell into the river.
Slowly, painfully, a change began to take place.
The mist thinned.
Ahead, through the shroud, I glimpsed towering structures rising from the water. Spires of stone and bone twisted together, suspended on nothing, floating above the river like islands torn from the earth.
Lights burned in the mist, soft and golden.
The floating city.
Relief surged through me, but it was tempered by caution.
Nothing in this place was safe.
The boat glided toward one of the larger platforms. As it neared, a massive stone dock came into view, guarded by figures cloaked in grey. Their faces were hidden beneath hoods, and each one bore a staff similar to the Watcher's, though their weapons were etched with different runes.
The boat bumped softly against the dock.
One of the figures stepped forward and extended a hand.
"You have crossed the river," the figure said, voice muffled but clear. "You are marked."
I hesitated, then took the offered hand.
The figure's grip was cold but firm, and they pulled me easily onto the dock.
"You are not the first to seek passage," the figure continued, gesturing for me to follow. "But you are the first to arrive alone, and intact."
I did not respond. Words felt dangerous here.
The city loomed above us, vast and labyrinthine. Bridges of bone and stone connected the floating platforms, crisscrossing the sky like the web of some monstrous spider. Strange creatures fluttered between the towers, their wings translucent and shimmering with unnatural colors.
We moved through the city in silence.
The air here was different. Heavier. It pressed down upon me, filled with the weight of a thousand unseen eyes.
Finally, we arrived at a grand hall carved into the side of one of the floating islands.
Twin statues flanked its entrance, depicting beings so alien my mind recoiled from trying to comprehend them.
The hooded figure turned to me.
"The council awaits."
With that, he pushed open the massive doors.
Inside, a ring of ancient beings sat in judgment.
The Keepers.
And at their center, a throne stood empty.
Waiting.
For me.