The throne room was bathed in silver light, the moon shining through a gaping hole in the ceiling. Silence hung thick – until it was broken by two soft sounds. One was the quiet scraping of black chalk on cracked stone, drawn by figures clad in dark, tattered robes. The other a faint tapping, rhythmic and deliberate, coming from the throne.
The queen sat motionless, tapping the armrest with one hand, while the other was brought to her lips, which she bit gently in thought. A breeze drifted through the broken ceiling, stirring her short dark red hair. Her eyes – dull cyan, softly glowing – watched the robed figures intently as they inscribed the runes onto the floor of her throne room.
"To think… it's finally happening."
She whispered, half to herself as she glanced up to the rafters, where hundreds of ravens perched in still silence. Their feathers were void of light, their sharp eyes glowing with an unnatural purple hue, all of them staring down at the unfolding ritual.
Minutes passed. The sigil neared completion – a sprawling pentagram, its five points inscribed with cryptic runes drawn onto the cracked floor.
The figures completed their work.
The queen covered her face briefly, stifling a smile. Straightening her black tiara – its centrepiece a softly pulsing cyan gem – she couldn't help but laugh.
"I was starting to think it would never happen. I spent so long collecting everything the creature asked for… I almost believed it had sent me on an impossible errand… But not anymore."
Her voice sharpened.
"Bring them."
At her command, four additional robed figures entered, each bearing a small wooden box. Silently, they moved to four points of the pentagram. One by one, the boxes opened, revealing their offerings:
From within, they placed four objects:
A black heart, darker than any shadow.
A green leaf, fresh and untouched by time.
A piece of coral, damp as though freshly plucked from the sea.
A small, cracked glass sphere, no larger than a child's palm.
Her chest trembled as she rose from the throne. Each step toward the fifth point of the pentagram was measured and deliberate.
"A thousand years of rest… No longer."
Holding out her hand, the room's shadows deepened as her own shadow moved up her body, covering her hand. As the shadow receded, a vial of golden light appeared on her palm. With care, she unstopped the vial. Holding it up, the golden essence floated free, drifting toward the pentagram's centre.
"I seek your aid."
She tossed the empty vial aside – the glass vial shattering against the wall as she extended her hand. From her own shadow, a thick tome rose and hovered into her grip. The ancient lock clicked open on its own, pages fluttering wildly. Glowing cyan script danced across the parchment.
Then, the black chalk ignited.
Cyan flames raced along the lines of the pentagram, lighting up the throne room with cold fire.
"My kingdom, my people are in danger. War rages and I fear if either side wins, the peace I have fought so hard to obtain will vanish. I seek… Leander – he who once bore the title of Hero in the distant past."
Moonlight intensified, beams colliding with shadow and golden light, all converging at the pentagram's centre. The collision twisted reality – the three elements spun, tightened, shrank… and vanished.
For a moment, nothing.
The space above the pentagram subtly shifted, imperceptible but undeniable. The cyan flame, drawn upward, vanished into that void.
"Heed my call!"
She cried.
"I brought everything you said I would need – the heart of the Beast born of darkness, a leaf from the Tree of Life, coral from the Guardian Reef, the inert core of an Aegis Series… and the essence of the Goddess! That is half our pact made! Answer me!"
She exclaimed, trembling.
The room's colour drained – moonlight, firelight from braziers on the throne room's walls, everything faded to grayscale. Only the colour of Melaine's eyes, the purple light in the eyes of her countless ravens and the cyan flame retained their hue.
A silence unlike any before settled. Then, a massive eye slowly opened – space itself parted at the pentagram's centre. A glowing, otherworldly eye made of pure cyan essence stared back at her.
Its gaze was crushing. Suffocating. She could not meet it for more than a second before having to look away, overwhelmed as its gaze bore into her very soul.
"Please…"
She whispered.
"I need him. Without him… I will lose everything."
She lifted her gaze.
"He is the only one who can save this world."
The eye observed her for a long moment. Then, without a sound, the offerings were drawn into its depths – one by one – consumed without resistance.
The cyan flames surged across the floor and converged at the centre of the pentagram. They burned brighter and brighter, yet the robed figures did not flinch.
The cyan flames roared to life, swelling with unnatural brilliance as they surged inwards. Rising with a hungry brightness that cast ghostly reflections across the throne room's ruined stone. The robed figures stood motionless, their silence unwavering, their fear buried beneath their queen's unshaken composure.
Like liquid flame, the azure glow flowed inward over the ancient stone floor moving harmlessly past the feet of the robed figures. It crept with purpose, tracing the pentagram's path, then converged at its centre, toward the heart of the pentagram – beneath the otherworldly eye. Inch by inch, it consumed the floor, until the centre was swallowed whole – no trace of stone remaining beneath the dancing light.
The flames grew taller, so tall they began to dance across the ceiling
Then, the eye blinked.
Suddenly everything around her was different.
The most prominent thing she noticed was the balls of light that drifted around her. They floated with quiet grace, their glow soft and sorrowful, like dying embers refusing to fade. Each one shimmered faintly, revealing ghostly impressions within — glimpses of faces, half-formed memories, emotions too fleeting to grasp. They were not mere lights, she realized, but souls — fragments of lives long passed, untethered from the world they once knew.
Compelled by something she couldn't name, she reached out toward one of them. It swayed closer, pulsing with a dim warmth that brushed against her fingers like a whispered memory. But before she could make contact, a noise stirred behind her — a soft, deliberate sound, like the crunch of footsteps against unseen ground.
She froze, the soul-light flickering anxiously in response. Slowly, she turned toward the sound, feeling the weight of a presence she had not yet seen — but which had undoubtedly seen her.
Reaching out to one of the souls closest to her, she paused hearing something behind her.
The subtle jingle of chains.
Turning around she smiled as a deep male voice spoke to her.
"Welcome, Melaine."
A robed figure stood a short distance away. Unlike the ones who bowed in her throne room, this one was not bound by her dominion. His garments hung in a liminal state – not tattered, yet far from immaculate. The hood cast a deep shadow over his face, veiling his features in darkness.
As he raised a hand, the faint jingle of chains broke the silence. The robe slipped from his arm, revealing not flesh, but bone – pale and unmarred by time.
His hand gestured to the path beside him.
"It would be wise to not keep our lord waiting."
His voice was cold – not sharp, not loud, but cold in the way deep water is cold. The sound slid through Melaine like a breath of winter air, unnoticed until it settled in her bones.
Raising her head, Melaine frowned.
The land ahead was broken – split open by a single, towering mountain that did not belong. It stood alone, as if exiled from the range it once knew, its jagged slopes thrusting upward in uneven, brutal angles. The stone was dark, with streaks of faint luminescence running like veins through its surface. The wind screamed across its cliffs but could not reach the summit.
At the mountain's jagged peak, the silhouette of a vast eye outlined with a pulsing cyan light hung, the sky visible through its empty space. It hovered there without tether or explanation, not resting upon the stone, but existing above it – motionless, enormous, impossible. It defied the natural order, unbound by wind, light, or gravity.
The eye lacked an iris, within the eyelid a single small pupil glowed with a pale, unearthly hue, like moonlight filtered through deep water. Its surface was smooth and glasslike, reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, only watching.
It was not part of the world around it. Not part of the mountain. Not part of the sky. It did not emerge, descend, or form. It simply was – a presence that had always been.
Unblinking. Immense. Silent.
And though it gave no sign of movement or awareness, Melaine knew – somehow– that it saw her.
Its gaze rested on Melaine.
Lowering her head, Melaine sighed, a hint of frustration creeping into her voice.
"If 'our' lord did not want to be kept waiting… Then why did he put me all the way down here."
The silent figure offered no explanation, he stood motionlessly, like a statue he gestured to the path up the mountain. With little less to do, Melaine glanced around, shaking her head, she stumbled for a moment. Catching herself, she glanced at her shadow.
Regaining her balance, she walked towards the robed figure.
"How long has it been, Ferryman? Are things treating you well?"
The figure – Ferryman – did not seem receptive to small talk. Rubbing her chin, Melaine held a faint smile regardless. She mimicked his action, pointing to the path ahead.
"After you."
He did not move.
"Please? I don't know the way forward."
The Ferryman slowly withdrew his hand, the motion deliberate and precise, as though each small action carried the weight of years. His fingers disappeared beneath the deep folds of his robes with a soft rustle, leaving the air heavier, more silent. For a moment, he seemed to pause, as if considering something beyond the immediate world around him.
Then, without a word, he turned. The movement was smooth, almost fluid as if he were accustomed to this precise choreography. As he pivoted, his cloak shifted around him like an extension of his form, settling with a quiet grace.
Melaine's eyes met the darkness beneath his hood. She could feel his gaze, sharp, unnerving, though not hostile – there was an unspoken depth in it, as though he were assessing her in ways words could not convey. For a brief moment, the air between them seemed thick with expectation, stretching longer than it should have.
Without breaking the silence, the Ferryman spoke, his voice calm, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
"This way."