CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Noctis
She will never know the weight I carry. And I’m okay with that.
Hell, I’m ecstatic that the pain and guilt I hold is one she never has to withstand.
I’d brutally destroy anyone who brings anything but joy to her life.
And if I ever met her parents, I’d ensure they never stood a chance to look her in the eyes.
But just wait until I get my hands on the Ocean Mother.
There was a time that I could fly with my wings—feeling the wind through each feather, the muscles in the feathery appendages contract and release, the speed at which I could cut the sky like a blade through silk.
But there wasn’t a greater time that I wished I still had the ability to race through the clouds than when I was trying to find the cure to save Caelyn.
The only thing I had left of my wings was the phantom pains and shame.
Every beautiful thing I knew in the world was her.
Not even exile could sever that truth, and if the order of the world itself demanded her life, then I would unmake the order.
I knew it made me selfish, but when I lost her to the Ocean Mother before, the agony etched its way inside my bones, creating crevices of decay that only ravenous vultures would care to dig through.
I would beg for her. If the gods demanded my pride, I’d leave it at their feet for her. If it cost me my name, my soul, or my last breath, I’d give it without question.
The sky raged a brilliant orange, but all I saw was red. I was wrath given form and purpose. And nothing had better get in my way.
Finding the ferryman in the harbors of Grisenweld should have been only an hour flight, but storm clouds scattered across the sky in blotches, releasing their contents and weighing me down.
In my second hour of travels, I began blasting the clouds away with my power, holding onto as much as possible in case I came across conflict.
Again, nothing would stop me from saving her.
With the magic that surged through my veins, I had never felt vulnerable, and yet, I had never felt so powerless seeing Caelyn’s face crack from the curse I brought upon us.
Fuck. It would be my fault if she perished. My fault if she didn’t get to live beyond her measly twenty-four years above the ground. I would find her in the afterlife. Not even Aetheron would be able to wipe our past life memories to start again in the Eternal Vale.
The storms started to disperse, leaving me with the chill of the setting sun and sea breeze. Wind whipped across my drenched clothing and slapped against my skin when I felt a rush of her anguish… betrayal overwhelming my Blood Tie.
My eyes widened, searching my surroundings for anything or anyone to help, but I was alone. I was helpless to her in the depths. My eyes drifted closed, lips downturned.
No… no… Laziel… I’ll kill him. It had to be that merfolk. I should have kept him tied to the mast.
Please tell me you are okay, I tried to send down our bond, but I could feel her building a wall between us. The same bond we used for almost a year to speak between before the Ocean Mother stole her memories. And now, she blocked it. Blocked us.
Please, I tried to send again, but it was like my plea hit solid stone.
If she could force me from her mind, she was alive and breathing. I tried to tell myself that over and over, hoping I would eventually believe it, but it never stuck as truth.
Grisenweld approached in the distance, a minute island covered in greenery, clearly uninhabited by the overgrowth.
I contemplated destroying it all to unveil the ferryman but knew I needed to stay in the man’s good graces.
Instead, I circled the shore, searching for the rowboat and hoping he would show his face.
My strength waned as my hope began to flail and dwindle.
Crackling spread across my face—along the splintering, degenerating curse mark.
Jeering pain accompanied it, sizzling across the rips like pinched nerves.
Every day the weight of the curse bore into me deeper and deeper.
Every day I felt weaker, more helpless, as if control slipped from my fingers and I couldn’t grab the string quick enough to stop it.
I would never admit out loud that even my powers had begun to diminish.
At one time, I could destroy entire realms, and now, I could only truly depend on my physical abilities and weapon training.
There was one thing beneficial from my childhood of torture and brutality: I could unflinchingly rip the bones from a being with my bare hands, my sword would swing on muscle memory, and my fists could shatter rock and land itself.
My feet finally hit solid ground, sand flying around me at impact. An eerie silence cast over the island, the only sound the nighttime breeze dancing across the shrubs and trees that littered the inland.
Twisted vines strangled the trunks of ancient trees, their roots breaking through cracked stone paths that hinted at a long-lost civilization. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and wildflowers that bloomed unchecked.
Tiny scurrying feet sounded in the bramble to my left, catching my attention. I approached slowly—carefully. The moon barely illuminated enough light to make out the outline of the forest. Slight pressure tapped across my foot, and I kicked.
Dozens of woodrats emerged from the underbrush in eerie silence, their matted fur slick with evening dew, eyes glinting unnaturally in the moon’s light. They nibbled at their paws, eyes blazing into me as if assessing my motives. Gross.
In a blink, they all lowered and stalked around me, their tiny heads turning, never breaking eye contact. They moved with a disturbing precision, perfect unison, as if responding to some silent command.
I glared back, confused at the unnatural action of the woodrats. Wild creatures in nature usually scatter at the approaching scent of a human, but these had ambushed me as if unafraid of a towering person. Or a god.
My power prickled my palms, ready to release at the slightest threat, even the dozens of diminutive rats around me. If it slowed me down from getting the Sunder Coin and saving my Blood Tie, I would destroy them.
“Uh, uh, uh, God of the Forsaken,” a soft-spoken female voice cut through the silence of the forest, but it barely made it past the raging noise in my mind.
I spun, projecting my power in the direction of the woman, but when I turned, the shore was empty.
“Reveal yourself, or I will destroy it all,” I bellowed. There was no time for games.
“You wouldn’t dare if you want to find the farrier,” she taunted, but her voice moved right behind me.
I whirled, longsword in hand.
A childlike giggle flitted through the air, but the woman was nowhere in sight. I attempted to step over the woodrats but was met with a transparent blockade in a perfect circle. I was trapped from the ground up.
I growled, guttural.
“Play nice, and I’ll tell you what you need,” the woman sang, but I was beyond asking.
My sword struck the invisible barrier between me and the woodrats, recoiling with a sharp clang that threw me off balance and slammed my back into the wall behind me.
From the shadows, the woman stepped forward, presence haunting the shores of Grisenwald in the darkness.
Her tattered yellow dress skimmed the sand, hollow crustaceans pinching the edges.
With skin that resembled the moon, I nearly mistook her for the celestial object.
Bones protruded through her face’s skin, stretched far too thin.
The wicked smile she wore infuriated me even more.
“Where is the ferryman?” I gritted through my teeth. My patience was obsolete.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the woman replied sweetly, red lipstick smeared across her lips.
My jaw ticked. I leaned in, our faces near inches apart. My voice dropped to a cold, controlled whisper that made even the air freeze.
“Don’t test me. You don’t get to be careless with my patience.”
I had never been in control of my emotions, especially when Caelyn was involved.
“The ferryman is close and requires the Toll of Bells,” the woman cheerily said, spinning around me as she spoke.
Her legs will be the first to go.
Jun didn’t tell me of the Toll of Bells. Nor did we discuss the woman before me… or the rats.
“Explain,” I demanded.
“Every full moon—”
The woman smiled and gestured toward the sky, where a full moon hung impossibly bright, as if she had conjured it there herself, just for that moment. I blinked, certain it wasn’t the night of a full moon.
“—the bells of the swamp ring. One for each of the souls the ferryman has claimed in defamation.”
Grisenweld once stood as a refuge for the Devotees, followers of the Living Flame, an ancient tradition where elderly or sick were burned alive to send their souls to peace in the Otherrealm. The ferryman was the only living person that was a follower—per Jun.
“Defamation? His name should be spoken with scorn,” I deadpanned.
The woman’s face distorted in fury. Her lips curled in a snarl instantly, brows downturned, eyes wide.
“NO. IT. SHOULDN’T!” she bellowed at me. Quickly recovering her cheery facade, she cleared her throat sweetly. “They claimed he is mad… savage… a murderer. But who else was there to see those souls safely ferried across the waters as they burned? He was there with them. And only him.”
“I am the God of Forsaken souls. I am the decider of those souls, not him,” I replied coolly.
The woman began to slip, and I was going to play into it.
“So, yes, he was mad. Still is, from what I have heard.” I did not truly have any say in where souls arrived and lived out their eternities, only the finder of lost ones.
The woman hummed. “And what exactly have you heard?”
“That the ferryman burned this entire village with everyone in it to the ground when he lost control of his own mind. When the Devotees tried to banish him, he snapped. Claimed it was for their own good. That they were sick mentally.” I calmly inspected my nails.
“That’s just what I’ve heard, but I would love to be proven wrong. ”
The woman’s eye twitched. Perfect.
“The Bell Toll, then, is how you pay the debt to see him.” Her singing voice creaked under the frustration. “Find the bell of the sunken chapel within the swamp, ring it above the waters, and he is said to appear.”
The woodrats scurried, squeezing into the crevices of the beaten, dilapidated path. I lunged immediately for the woman, but she spun and took off into the trees.
I took off after her, shoving branches out of the way as thorns stabbed into my skin. She was gone, and I was left in a desolate, dense forest searching for the swamp of a murderous madman.