As we approached, the man on the boulder shifted slightly, a faint smile carving its way across his face. It wasn’t a warm smile—it was sharp and crooked, like a blade drawn just for you. His voice cut through the oppressive silence, rough yet familiar, with a lilt of humor that felt out of place in this desolation.

  "My old friend," he said, the words dripping with sardonic mirth, "you look like burnt dog shit."

  I stopped in my tracks, my breath hitching in disbelief. The world around me seemed to tilt, like the Underworld itself had decided to play tricks on my senses. "Blake?" I managed, my voice raw and disbelieving. "By all the Lords, is that really you?"

  Blake’s grin widened as he hopped down from the rock, landing with an unsettling grace for someone—no, something—that wasn’t supposed to be alive. He strode toward me, his gait casual but purposeful, his piercing gaze scanning me up and down like I was a relic he hadn’t seen in years.

  "You haven’t been taking care of yourself, Julius," he said, his voice carrying that old camaraderie, though it was tinged with something deeper—something colder.

  "You haven’t aged a day," I shot back, though the words felt hollow.

  He chuckled, the sound low and unsettling, like dry leaves scraping against gravestones. "The benefit of being dead," he said simply.

  I winced, the weight of his words striking like a blow. My mind reeled with the memories—blurry flashes of the past that I’d tried to bury but could never quite keep down.

  Blake stopped a foot away, his gaze locking with mine. His eyes were steady, calm, but there was an intensity there, a depth that threatened to drown me. "You know I love you," he said, his voice softer now, but the words carried the weight of a thousand regrets.

  The pain in his voice stabbed through me, sharp and unrelenting. My chest tightened as guilt twisted its familiar knife. "How?" I croaked, barely able to get the word out.

  He smiled, a flicker of warmth behind the haunting visage. "Because you’re my best friend, you idiot," he said with a laugh that sounded too alive for someone so far gone.

  "But… but I—" The words died in my throat, refusing to form. How could I explain the years of guilt, the nights haunted by his absence, the unbearable truth that I’d taken everything from him?

  Blake leaned closer, his tone firm but not unkind. "Julius, I don’t blame you for what happened. I chose to fight, and I loved every second of it. How dare you try to take away my moment of glory."

  "Glory?" I echoed, the word tasting bitter in my mouth.

  His eyes lit up with something close to pride. "I wish you were there to see me, Julius," he said, his voice rising with passion. "I was glorious. I slung spells that would’ve made the Bards of Old weep with envy. If only they could’ve seen me—that’s my only regret."

  I shook my head, struggling to make sense of his words. "Blake, I don’t understand. I… I took your future away," I said, my voice breaking under the weight of my own remorse.

  He threw his head back and laughed, a sound that echoed unnervingly across the lifeless expanse. "Julius, do you take me for a fool?" he asked, his tone mocking but not cruel. "Do you think I didn’t know what I was walking into? Fighting a Grand Calamity doesn’t exactly come with a retirement plan. But think of the lives I saved, Julius. They remember me. The dead always remember."

  "Blake…" My voice faltered again, the words tangled in my throat.

  He placed a hand over his heart—though it was no longer a heart that beat—and his gaze softened. "Julius, I was never mad at you. The pain and guilt you feel? That’s on you, old friend. But I do miss you. You were my first friend, my best friend. We did everything together, and I thank all the Lords for that."

  "You’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me," I said, the regret dripping from every syllable.

  "Julius," he said sharply, his voice cutting through my self-pity like a blade. "Carpe Diem, remember Carpe Fucking Diem? We used to dream of glory, of being remembered, of making a difference. I got that, even if only for one day. I faced the wild forces of nature itself, and I left my mark."

  I reached out, my hand trembling, but as I tried to touch him, it passed straight through. He shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. "One of the downsides of being dead," he said lightly.

  "You waited here for me?" I asked, my voice barely audible.

  "Of course I did," he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You’re my best friend. I knew you’d show up one day, though I didn’t expect you to still be alive. But then again, Julius, you’ve never done what anyone expected of you. And," he added with a glance toward Zefpyre and Mattie, "you were kind enough to bring guests to our little reunion."

  Blake’s gaze locked with mine, unyielding, unrelenting, refusing to let me look away. His voice, soft yet resolute, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "Julius, my brother, my best friend—you know I love you, right? You know that?"

  The air felt heavier with each word, pressing down on me like the Underworld itself was listening. "Is that why you waited for me?" I asked, my voice a brittle echo of itself.

  Blake’s smile didn’t waver, but his eyes seemed to darken, shadows pooling in the depths of his irises. "Julius, don’t you remember my promise? Don’t you remember, my old friend? Or have you forced yourself to forget me?"

  "Blake," I said, the name cracking in my throat like dry wood snapping underfoot. "I could never forget you. Or our promises."

  He tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "You said we’d take on the Land of the Dead together, just like we did the Land of the Living. So...you didn’t believe me?"

  "I just thought that..." The words stumbled and fell, as useless as I felt.

  "You thought I’d abandon you because of what happened?" Blake’s voice sharpened, cutting through my defenses like a scalpel. "Oh, Julius, you really think I’d stop being your friend so easily? You think you were an easy friend to have?" He chuckled, bitter and sardonic. "The Prince of House Holmes, and I—a no-name shit-shoveler, the son of a gardener."

  "There’s nothing wrong with being a gardener," I shot back weakly. "Samwise the Brave was a gardener."

  Blake’s grin returned, faintly wicked. "That’s right, he was. And do you think his best friend was easy to deal with? And look," he said, gesturing toward the ring hanging around my neck, glinting faintly in the dim light. "You turned out to be a ring-bearer too."

  I took a step closer, desperation creeping into my voice. "Come with us, Blake. Help us free these soul gems."

  Blake’s smile faded, replaced by a solemn weariness. "I wish I could, my old friend. But I can’t leave this place. I have to wait here, for you to be ready. Ready for us to take on our next journey." His voice faltered, a sudden thunderclap splitting the oppressive silence, echoing through the void. He glanced upward, his face unreadable. "Alright, alright," he muttered. "I won’t tell them."

  Mattie, her voice trembling but curious, broke the silence. "Mr. Blake," she asked, "where are we?"

  Blake looked around, his gaze distant, his voice quieter. "My dear, we’re standing on every battlefield that has ever been, that ever will be, and that ever could be. This is one of the entrances to the Land of the Dead."

  Mattie’s brow furrowed. "There’s more than one entrance?"

  Blake’s grin returned, faint but still carrying that edge of grim humor. "Of course, my dear. Just as there are countless places for the dead to go, there are countless ways to get there. An infinite number of entrances, but this one—this one is among the most common."

  He turned to me, his tone shifting, heavier now. "Julius, you don’t have much time. You can’t linger here. Not in one place, not for long."

  "Why?" Zefpyre asked, his voice steady but cautious.

  " As long as there is life there is hope. Dont you see life brings hope," Blake replied, his voice low and edged with warning. "And the dead crave hope. They can smell it. They’re starving for it. They’ll take your life for just a silver tint of the clouds of doubt, for even a fleeting taste of what it means to hope again."

  "I thought we were protected," Mattie said, her voice small but determined.

  "You are," Blake said. "If you weren’t, this place would be an endless sea of dead. But as you continue, you’ll face the natives. And they won’t be as friendly as me—but they’ll be just as happy to see you." His grin turned grim. "There’s something you need to know. All of you. The dead remember. It’s a rule here, a cornerstone. And this place will force you to remember too. But the memories are just that—memories. Nothing more."

  Zefpyre’s brow furrowed. "So nothing can hurt us?"

  Blake’s laugh was short and cold. "I didn’t say that. There are creatures here, things that live here. The dead themselves may try to harm you. But your memories—they can’t hurt you not anymore then they already have. Not unless you let them."

  Blake turned back to me, his expression softening. "You know that I love you, my dear, sweet friend."

  "I love you too, Blake," I whispered, the words tearing their way out of my chest.

  Finally, he smiled—a true smile, unguarded and sincere. "I thought you’d never say it. Speaking of love, though, my old friend—how are you and Cassidy?"

  His words hit me like a blow, and I staggered under the weight of them. "We’re no more," I said, the regret thick in my voice. "I was banished. For what I did."

  Blake tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Huh. You know, I thought if anyone could get away with what you did, it’d be you. I’m surprised she didn’t follow you into exile."

  "She offered," I croaked.

  Blake’s eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising. "You idiot! You self-destructive, stupid, stupid asshole."

  "She deserved better than me," I said, my voice barely a whisper.

  Blake sighed, long and deep, shaking his head. "Here I am, dead, and you still manage to make me sigh."

  Mattie spoke up, her voice quiet but firm. "She still loves him."

  Blake’s grin turned wicked. "You don’t say. Well, Julius, when we meet again, I hope to hear all about how you two got back together. But for now—you have to go. The dead are coming."

  "Blake—" I started, reaching for him.

  He cut me off, his voice soft but insistent. "I know, my dear friend. I know." He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper, his words wrapping around me like a ghostly embrace.

  "O Captain, my dear sweet Captain, rise up and hear the bells. For you, the flag is flung. For us, your dear soldiers wait until your battle is done. Carry on, O Captain. For the sea waves gently yonder, and all the dreams you may yet ponder. O Captain, my dear sweet Captain—for you, bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths. Now go, my dear friend."

  His voice grew fainter as the shadows around us thickened. "For the dead are coming."

  As we walked away, I turned, unable to help myself, my gaze locked on the figure of my longest, dearest, and only true friend. Blake stood there, a ghost of a man against the desolation, his form fading into the thickening fog. I kept walking backward, each step a betrayal, each step pulling me further from the only solace I’d known in this cursed place. The mist swallowed him whole, his smile lingering in my mind like the phantom ache of a missing limb.

  The heat behind my eyes burned fierce, and I blinked furiously, willing the tears to stay hidden. Weakness was a luxury I couldn’t afford, not here, not now. But the pain in my chest didn’t listen to reason; it swelled, a knot of grief and guilt that refused to loosen.

  Mattie’s hand settled gently on my arm, her voice soft but probing. "Is he the reason you were banished?"

  For some reason, the question made me laugh—a sharp, bitter sound that cut through the heavy air. "Oh no," I said, shaking my head, the edges of my mouth curling into a humorless grin. "They didn’t care about him. Not even though he was the most powerful sorcerer to ever grace our miserable existence." My voice dropped, cold and hollow. "Just a commoner in their eyes. A gardener’s son. They didn’t banish me for him."

  Mattie’s gaze lingered, searching my face, but I offered no further explanation. Some truths were too raw, too jagged, to speak aloud.

  We kept walking, and the Land of the Dead began to unfold before us, its desolate expanse stretching endlessly in every direction. The air was thick, oppressive, pressing down on us like the weight of a thousand unspoken sins. The ground beneath our feet wasn’t earth—it was something else entirely, something cold and unyielding, like the shattered remnants of a million forgotten dreams.

  Jagged spires jutted from the barren landscape, twisted and blackened as if scorched by the fires of despair. The sky above was a churning mass of gray and ash, devoid of stars or light, an endless void that offered no comfort. The silence was absolute, broken only by the faint, hollow echoes of our footsteps—a sound that seemed swallowed whole by the darkness.

  And yet, the land felt alive in its emptiness, as though it watched us, waiting.

  The pathway twisted ahead of us like a serpent carved into the jagged cliffs, its edges crumbling into oblivion. Each step felt like a gamble, the ground beneath our boots as unreliable as a traitor's promise. The air thickened, choked with the acrid tang of sulfur and ash. Far below, the first of the Underworld's rivers awaited: the River Phlegethon, the River of Fire.

  The gorge opened like a jagged wound in the landscape, its walls steep and unforgiving, plunging into a sea of molten fury. The river roared with a relentless hunger, its surface a writhing mosaic of flame and molten rock. Smoke curled upward, dark and suffocating, blotting out what little light there was. The heat was oppressive, a living thing that clawed at our skin, searing even the air in our lungs.

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  Mattie stopped, her breath hitching as she peered over the edge. “Is… is that it?” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the infernal symphony below.

  “That’s it,” I muttered, pulling the cigar from my lips. The smoke didn’t linger long; it was devoured by the air around us, lost in the rising heat. “The River of Fire. Our first trial.”

  Zefpyre snorted, his tone as sharp as the rocks beneath our feet. “Well, they certainly didn’t name it for its scenic beauty.” He leaned on his staff, gazing down at the inferno with a mix of awe and apprehension.

  The path narrowed further, no wider than the width of a man’s shoulders. The stones beneath us were slick, not with water, but with something darker, something that shimmered and pulsed like it had a life of its own. Every instinct in me screamed to turn back, but the pull of the quest was stronger, binding us to this accursed path.

  The roar of the river grew louder with each step, a primal, guttural sound that vibrated in my chest and rattled my thoughts. It wasn’t just fire and molten rock—it was rage incarnate, a liquid embodiment of fury, forever consuming itself in an endless cycle of destruction and rebirth.

  Mattie clung to my arm as we reached a particularly precarious curve. “How are we supposed to get the soul stones down there?” she asked, her voice trembling. “It’s impossible.”

  “Nothing about this journey is possible,” I said, more to myself than to her. “That’s the point.”

  Zefpyre gestured toward a series of jagged outcroppings that jutted out over the gorge. “That’s the only way down,” he said grimly. “We’ll have to climb.”

  Mattie paled, her knuckles white as she gripped the strap of her satchel. “Climb? On that? Over that?” She shook her head, her voice rising. “We’ll die before we even touch the river!”

  I placed a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. “If we fall apart now, we won’t make it. Not here. Not anywhere.”

  She nodded, swallowing hard, her eyes locked on the inferno below.

  The gorge stretched on endlessly, its fiery depths casting flickering shadows against the walls. And in the distance, where the river raged most violently, I swore I could see something moving—something massive, its form obscured by smoke and flame. A guardian, perhaps. Or something worse.

  “Let’s keep moving,” I said, my voice steady despite the dread coiling in my stomach. “The longer we stand here, the harder it’ll be to go on.”

  The three of us pressed forward, the path narrowing even more, the heat growing unbearable. Each step brought us closer to the River of Fire, and each step felt like a descent into madness.

  The jagged rocks beneath my hands and boots were merciless, their edges biting into my flesh with every hesitant step. Each cut burned with a heat that went beyond the physical, as if the fire of the cursed place seeped into my very blood. My focus wavered like the heat-distorted air around us. My thoughts, like traitorous whispers, kept pulling me away from the task at hand, asking the same question over and over: Why am I doing this?

  I glanced over my shoulder, the climb behind us a sheer, unforgiving slope of broken stone and treachery. To go back was death; to go forward was madness. Yet here we were, inching closer to the River of Fire like condemned souls walking toward their sentence.

  The voices were relentless now, murmuring on the wind, whispering secrets that felt both familiar and foreign. Lies wrapped in the voices of people I’d lost, accusations spoken in tones I once trusted. My father's voice rang out among them, sharp and cold as steel, cutting through my resolve with barbed memories I had buried long ago.

  Ahead of me, Mattie faltered. I could see her trembling, her face pale and streaked with sweat, but it was her eyes that gave her away. Wide and darting, they betrayed the silent battle raging in her mind. She clung to the rock face like it was the only thing tethering her to reality.

  I wanted to speak to her, to reassure her, but the words wouldn’t come. The air was too thick with smoke and despair, stealing my breath and drowning my thoughts. Instead, I heard Zefpyre’s voice cutting through the oppressive roar of the gorge. His words were soft, carried on a wind that seemed to defy the chaos around us, weaving a fragile thread of encouragement. I couldn’t make out the specifics, but I felt them. He was casting a spell of sorts—not one of power, but of hope, and it was just enough to keep us moving.

  My footing slipped on the loose rock, and for a moment, my stomach lurched as I clawed at the stone, regaining my balance by sheer instinct. The jagged surface ripped into my palms, the searing pain snapping my focus back to the climb. But the voices didn’t stop. They grew louder, more insistent, clawing at my resolve with every step.

  Then I saw it.

  A towering figure loomed below us, wreathed in living flame, its body a mass of shifting, molten fire. It stood at least thirty feet tall, radiating heat and malice, an avatar of the inferno itself. Its glowing eyes were fixed on us, twin orbs of molten gold that pierced through the smoke and shadows. The air around it shimmered with its heat, warping the space as if reality itself bent to its presence.

  Mattie let out a gasp, a sharp cry of fear that was swallowed almost instantly by the infernal cacophony. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped the rock, her body frozen for a moment. Zefpyre’s voice floated to her again, steady and calm, though I could hear the strain in his words. He wasn’t immune to the weight of this place, but he kept moving.

  The figure didn’t advance, but its presence was enough to sap the remaining strength from my legs. It was waiting for us at the bottom, like a sentinel guarding the River of Fire. My heart thundered in my chest, but there was no turning back.

  Each step forward felt heavier, the air thicker, the voices louder. The figure remained still, an eternal watcher, daring us to approach. And we did. Because we had no choice.

  The drums began as a low, distant thrum, a sound that at first seemed like the pulsing of my own heartbeat. But as we descended further, they grew louder, more deliberate, each beat striking like a hammer against my chest. The rhythm became our unwelcome guide, syncing with our footfalls and turning our climb into a grim death march. Each step fell in time with the drumbeats, announcing our impending doom to the silent abyss below.

  A hot, wet trickle slid from the corner of my eye. Instinctively, I brushed it away, expecting sweat or tears. Instead, my fingers came back smeared with crimson. Blood. It wasn't the first time this cursed place had bled me, but something about it felt wrong. It wasn’t pain but a slow erosion, as if this valley stripped away more than flesh.

  I glanced back at Zefpyre, whose face was calm despite the infernal din surrounding us. His eyes met mine, steady and resolute, silently urging me onward. His strength was maddening; I wanted to curse him for it, but instead, I drew from it. The rhythm of the drums clawed at my mind, whispering despair between each beat, but his presence held me tethered.

  A weight settled over me—a pressing, suffocating force that tried to break me with every step. The jagged rocks beneath my boots, the voices on the wind, the relentless heat of this accursed gorge—everything conspired to drag me down. My lips parted, and I began to speak aloud, desperate to drown out the infernal march in my head.

  “When things go wrong, as they sometimes will... When the road you're trudging seems all uphill...” My voice was raspy, broken, but I forced it out. Words weren’t just words here—they were weapons against the despair. “When the funds are low and the debts are high, and you want to smile, but you have to sigh...”

  The drums didn’t falter, but my voice rose, clinging to the words like a lifeline. “When care is pressing you down a bit... Rest if you must, but don’t you quit.”

  The last line echoed in the oppressive air around me, a mantra against the dread that threatened to pull me under. I repeated it, over and over, forcing myself to believe it, to cling to it. Don’t you quit. Don’t you quit.

  I glanced at Mattie, her face pale but determined, her eyes fixed on the path ahead. If she could keep moving, despite the horrors clawing at her, how could I do anything less? I was a Master Wizard, damn it. The title didn’t just mean power—it meant responsibility.

  I straightened, each step more deliberate now, though the weight hadn’t lifted. It never would. The drumbeat and the whispers and the blood weren’t going anywhere. But neither was I.

  Somehow, against all odds, we reached the bottom. My legs buckled beneath me, sending me sprawling onto my hands and knees. The sharp rocks bit into my flesh, and I felt the searing heat from the ground itself branding my palms. I gasped for air, but the air was fire, burning its way into my lungs.

  The ground trembled beneath us, a rhythm that matched the pounding drums in the distance. Then came the footsteps—each one a calamity, each one announcing something ancient, something terrible. The heat surged, no longer just external but a force that seeped into the marrow of my bones. It wasn’t just hot; it was consuming, as though it sought to strip us down to our very essence, leaving only ash and regret in its wake.

  I forced myself to look up, squinting through the blinding haze. The figure before us was a living furnace, its form indistinct, flickering like a flame caught in the wind. The heat wasn’t just radiating from it—it was the entity itself, a creature forged from pure, elemental fire.

  Then it spoke.

  The voice didn’t just sound; it reverberated, tearing through the air and threatening to split me apart at the seams. Each word was a hammerblow, shaking my very existence.

  “Wash in the river and be made new.”

  The words hit me like molten lead, carving their meaning into my mind. They were more than a command—they were a demand, an ultimatum.

  I turned my head, dragging my gaze toward the river that ran beside us. It wasn’t water. It was fire, a torrent of living flame that roared and hissed as it flowed. The light it cast twisted the world into a fevered nightmare, turning shadows into demons and hope into a fleeting memory.

  My hands trembled against the ground. Wash in the river? I could barely stand under the heat from its proximity, let alone immerse myself in it. It wasn’t a cleansing—it was annihilation.

  Behind me, I heard Mattie’s uneven breaths, her resolve cracking under the same oppressive force. Zefpyre’s voice came like a thread of sanity, though even he sounded shaken. “It’s testing us,” he murmured, his words half-lost in the roar of the flames.

  Testing us? No, this was something worse. It wasn’t looking to see if we’d pass—it was daring us to survive.

  I crawled to the riverbed, my body a puppet of agony, the strings held taut by sheer willpower. Each movement was a knife, each breath a confession of failure. I pulled the first stone from my bag, its surface smooth and cold in my trembling hand, an unnatural contrast to the inferno that surrounded me. One by one, I dunked them into the fiery river—each plunge a sacrament, each retrieval a curse.

  There were eight hundred and fifty stones. I knew the number, but with each dunk, it felt like eight hundred lifetimes were burning away. The flames weren’t just consuming my body—they were peeling back the layers of who I was, exposing every crack, every flaw. I felt the flesh slough off my hands, smelled the charred stench of my own ruin, but somehow I endured. My hands moved on instinct, numbed by the impossible task, until the last stone was cleansed in fire.

  I slumped there, the bag now heavy with molten secrets, staring into the roiling depths of the river. The voice of Zefpyre came to me, faint but unwavering. “You must walk through the river. It’s the only way to the other side.”

  I turned my head, barely able to focus, and saw Mattie. She was on her feet, swaying like a leaf in a storm. Her face was a battlefield, her eyes fighting a war I couldn’t see. Then, without warning, she stepped forward and leapt into the river. No splash, no cry, no trace—just a void where she once stood, as if the river had consumed her existence itself.

  Darkness circled me, tendrils of shadow curling and receding against the licking flames. Even the dark seemed powerless here. And then the voices began again.

  They whispered at first, threading through the crackle of fire. My father’s voice rose above the others, sharp and familiar, each word a barbed lash. “Unworthy,” it sneered. “An embarrassment. A son who brings nothing but shame.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut, but it only made the words louder, their venom drilling deeper into my mind. Memories surfaced—failures, doubts, every moment where I’d fallen short. I was the fool, the imposter. A man who wore the title of Master Wizard like a cheap costume, unfit even to lick the boots of those who truly deserved it.

  The guilt cut deeper than the flames. Blake should have lived, not me.

  Then, from the depths of despair, another voice emerged—gentle, familiar, and warm. It was Blake, my dearest friend. Oh, my dear sweet idiot, he said, his words carrying the weight of a thousand lifetimes of understanding. You know I love you, right?

  I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, and something shifted inside me. I stood, shaky but resolute, and placed the bag of soul gems securely on my back. My first step into the river was met with an agony that defied description. The flames weren’t content to burn—they reached into my soul, tearing at the corners of my mind.

  One step. Then another.

  The voices clawed at me, their lies twisting into truths. Each step was a battle, each moment an eternity. The river climbed higher, engulfing me, until it was at my chest. Still, I pressed forward.

  Then the river claimed me entirely, swallowing me whole.

  Time unraveled. Seconds stretched into years, centuries folding into themselves. I walked through a purgatory of my own making, confronted by every demon, every shadow that had ever taken residence in my mind. I fell to my knees in the infernal abyss, screaming silent prayers into the fire.

  “I just want someone to be proud of me,” I whispered. “I just want to be loved. To matter.”

  For a moment, the weight of it all threatened to drag me under. I could feel the river pulling at my soul, promising oblivion, and I nearly welcomed it. But then I saw Mattie’s face in my mind—her strength, her trust in me. My apprentice needed me.

  Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to stand, the fire parting reluctantly as I rose. Step by step, I moved forward, dragging myself through the river of flame. Each step was agony, but each step was mine.

  Finally, my head broke the surface. The air burned, but it was air, and before me, I saw the faint shimmer of land. It was close, impossibly far and yet within reach.

  I stumbled onto the shore, collapsing as my body betrayed me. My vision blurred, the world spinning away. As the fire’s roar faded into silence, I closed my eyes, the whispers of the river still echoing faintly in the back of my mind.

  The first thing I heard was her voice—a melody that cut through the haze, sweet and soft, wrapping around me like a siren’s call. Then came the light, warm and welcoming, the kind of glow you imagine in your final moments. And then I saw her.

  Cassidy.

  The love of my life, the woman who had owned my heart since the moment we first met, two children running barefoot through fields. Her long bronze hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light like spun gold. Her caramel skin glowed, radiant, as if untouched by the shadows that clung to this cursed place. But it was her eyes—those brilliant, unnatural pink eyes—that pierced through me. When they locked with mine, I felt my resolve crumble. My chest tightened, my breath caught in my throat, and my head swam in a haze of longing and disbelief.

  She walked to me, her steps as graceful as a dream. I realized I was lying down, my body heavy against the cold ground. Cassidy knelt beside me, her presence an anchor and a tempest all at once.

  "Hi, Julius," she said, her voice a balm against the raw wounds of my soul.

  Before I could stop myself, my voice answered, trembling, desperate. "I miss you, Cassidy."

  She tilted her head, her lips curving into a soft, bittersweet smile. "That's silly," she said, her tone light as a summer breeze. "I'm right here."

  But I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out again, broken and raw. "I miss you."

  Cassidy leaned down, her touch as gentle as the first snowfall, and lifted my head into her lap. Her fingers began to comb through my hair, a sensation so achingly familiar it made my heart ache.

  "Then stay with me, Julius," she whispered, her words dripping like honey. "Stay, and you’ll never have to miss me again."

  In that moment, I let myself believe. Bliss wrapped around me, drowning out the horrors of this place. Her perfume—strawberry cream, vanilla, and lavender—washed over me, each note more intoxicating than the last. Her skin was warm, smooth as silk, and when she laughed, it was a symphony that played only for me.

  "Is this a dream?" I asked, my voice cracking with a mix of hope and despair.

  She smiled, but there was something off about it, something just slightly askew. "If it is," she said, her tone unnervingly even, "then it’s a good dream."

  The words hit me like a cold wind. Cassidy wasn’t one for simple answers. She would’ve teased me, thrown a playful barb, countered with wit that always left me chasing her. But this version of her... it wasn’t right.

  Still, I let myself sink back into her lap, into that false sense of security. "I’ve missed you so much, Cassidy," I murmured, the words heavy with years of guilt and regret. "I’m so sorry. My stupid actions... they tore us apart."

  She laughed again, but it wasn’t her laugh. "I’m right here," she repeated, her voice syrupy and strange. "There’s no need to miss me."

  Her words shattered the illusion, each syllable pulling at the edges of my reality. And then I remembered. Blake’s warning: Memories can’t hurt us here unless we allow them to.

  The warmth in her gaze twisted into something cold and predatory. Her perfect form rippled and dissolved, replaced by a lifeless figure draped in tattered black robes. The sweetness of her touch became a searing pain, and I felt the life draining out of me as the creature’s claws dug deeper into my mind.

  I rolled away, my body screaming in protest, as a guttural shriek filled the air. "My feast is escaping!" the wraith howled, its voice a thousand nails scraping against my sanity.

  Before it could lunge, a burst of brilliant blue light illuminated the darkness. Zefpyre, his elemental form now a fierce and otherworldly cobalt flame, leapt between us. He roared as he consumed the wraith, the fire devouring the shadowy figure in a violent dance of light and darkness.

  I collapsed beside Mattie, who lay panting on the ground, her chest rising and falling with the weight of unseen battles. She turned her head toward me, her voice weak but steady. "Boss... we need to get out of here."

  I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. "I know," I whispered, my voice heavy with the promises I barely believed I could keep. "But we have to finish this quest first. Then I swear... we’ll all leave."

  She rested her head on my shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, the chaos around us seemed to pause. The fight wasn’t over, but together, we would endure.