Approaching the mountain, Melaine moved with slow, deliberate steps, each one taken as if the earth beneath her might give way. The soft dirt path soon gave way to ancient cobblestones, their surfaces worn smooth by time – or by something else entirely, though she could not guess what. Lifting her head, there were no clouds above, only the vast, barren sky – empty but for the eternal eye, suspended high and still, its unblinking gaze piercing straight into her soul.
She quickly averted her gaze.
The cold wind that crept into her bones and whipped up her short hair was the only proof that she was not somewhere beyond all mortal reasoning.
Not that being mortal was something had worried about for a long time.
A couple of souls slowly drifted towards her, only to drift away as she raised a hand. Scowling at the ethereal balls, Melaine took a few hurried steps to reach the Ferryman's side. She hadn't noticed, but at some point, one of the souls had drifted into his skeletal hands – which he cradled like one would a household pet.
"Did it want me to walk up the mountain as some kind of act of intimidation? It is a waste of time, I know where I stand, far beneath it."
The Ferryman did not respond.
Sighing, Melaine crossed her arms.
"You're not a very good guide if you don't make small talk, you know."
His bony hand slowly moved across the soul as if he were stroking a cat. Without turning to Melaine, the Ferryman spoke.
"My lord will ask you questions."
"Questions? What kind of questions?"
"My lord will determine whether you are still worthy of the pact it made with you."
Melaine's brow creased, her eye twitching.
"Whether I am worthy- A lot of good that will do me if it decides I'm not."
The Ferryman did not respond for a few moments, the only noise was the sound of chains rattling as he stroked the soul. The two remained in silence for some time until they reached the end of the cobblestones, Melaine's footing causing her to stumble as her heels dug into the dirt.
Grumbling, she looked to the Ferryman.
"Was it foolish of me to assume this path would stretch all the way up that giant mountain? I'm starting to believe this mountain doesn't have a path."
Without paying Melaine much attention, the Ferryman held out the soul, letting it drift away.
Melaine tilted her head, about to question the robed figure, when the ground beneath them began to shake.
"Is that an earthquake?"
The Ferryman put his hands together.
"You sought an audience with my lord."
The ground began to rise up, dirt falling away as Melaine and the Ferryman were lifted into the air.
"My lord accepts."
Melaine's earlier question – how they were meant to scale the colossal mountain when no path lay before them – was answered not with words, but with a violent shudder beneath her feet.
The ground trembled.
A deep, guttural rumble rolled through the ground. Melaine staggered, instinctively reaching out to steady herself, but the Ferryman remained still – unbothered, unmoving. Then the sound reached its peak, a crack splitting the silence as the very ground beneath them split open.
With a roar of breaking stone and a plume of dust, a massive skeletal hand tore free from the earth – not ahead of them, not beside them, but directly below.
The soil beneath their feet crumbled away, and for a breathless moment, Melaine felt herself falling.
But the fall never came.
Instead, the vast, ivory fingers surged upward, cradling them in an enormous palm. The bones were ancient and worn, etched with runes and the erosion of time, yet they moved with unsettling precision – not jerky, not stiff, but fluid as if guided by will rather than muscle or tendon.
The hand rose, lifting them gently but unrelentingly toward the mountain's heights. The wind howled around them, tearing at Melaine's dress as she tried to steady her balance. The ground shrank rapidly, the land became a blur of dusk-lit fields with wandering pinpricks of light.
Above, the cyan eye awaited, its presence unshaken, eternal – and now, much closer.
She gripped the edge of the giant palm instinctively, though she knew it offered no safety.
What could have taken multiple days to scale the mountain passed by in moments as the palm raised higher and higher toward the mountain's peak. Melaine's attention was brought to the pulsing veins within the mountain, emanating an unpleasant feeling as if her soul was being weighed on a vast, inconceivable scale.
"Ferryman!"
Melaine exclaimed.
"Couldn't you have given me some warning about this!?"
The Ferryman was silent, his figure looking like a statue enveloped by the robe as it billowed in the howling wind that crashed against their bodies. Slowly, the Ferryman turned his head to Melaine. His words came out as simple whispers, yet despite his quiet voice, the Ferryman's words effortlessly carried over the wind.
"The One Who Waits at the End of All will ask you three questions; tell your answers truthfully or do not tell them at all."
Each of his words settled like heavy stones in Melaine's mind, a deep and growing sense of foreboding sinking into her chest. The questions he asked were simple on the surface, yet they clawed at the fragile foundation she had built her life upon. If these were questions she could not answer truthfully, what would that mean for everything she had worked for?
Would the power she had been given – the foundation of her domain, of her kingdom. Would it be stripped from her?
The thought gnawed at her, a creeping dread that perhaps her struggles, her sacrifices, had been for a dream already lost.
After a few moments of idle thought, the hand began to slow as it reached the top of the mountain.
Melaine's mind reeled as the palm came to a stop, her head slowly moved up.
Now so close to the eye, it was all she could feel.
So vast it blotted out the sky, so wide it seemed to stretch across from one horizon to another. The eye emitted a presence that Melaine had only felt once before when she had made a pact with the ineffable entity. A presence that calmed her, soothed her weary soul, that left her feeling at peace – but it also left her feeling as if she was gazing into something mortal eyes weren't meant to see, the feeling that at any point it could will her deathless life to be over.
This eye was the manifestation of a being that bore godly power, a god that held her soul in its palm.
The bone hand finally stopped, with shaky steps Melaine inched towards the edge of the palm. Her foot slowly sliding forward she felt the edge of the palm, and then nothing as there was a small foot gap between the palm and the mountain peak.
Without prompt, the Ferryman silently offered his hand to her, which Melaine accepted with a small smile. Both Melaine and the Ferryman crossed the gap, stepping onto the peak of the mountain. The peak of the mountain was unlike any mountain peak Melaine had ever visited, steps were carved into the black stone of the mountain leading downwards causing the mountain peak to look like a large amphitheatre.
The eye's gaze was suffocating.
Forcing her body to stop shaking, Melaine – with the Ferryman's assistance – descended the steps to the central stage.
Melaine managed a shaky smile as she turned her head to the Ferryman.
"I… I appreciate your help My shadow is acting a little strange."
The Ferryman didn't answer.
Reaching the stage, the Ferryman let go of Melaine's hand, walking to the centre of the stage. He turned, his voice a whisper that carried across the countless steps of the amphitheatre as he raised his hands. A jumble of whispers and chains biting into the silence.
"At the time of your death, you forged a pact, weighing your soul against a promise. A promise that you would not lose yourself, that you would carry out your life in furthering your one goal and that you would not abuse the power granted to you over death. You have been judged, your soul measured, your will subjected. What do you answer?"
Melaine frowned, her hand curling into a fist on her chest.
"I thought…"
She glanced up to the eye.
"I thought it was going to ask me questions."
The gaze of the eye and the Ferryman held causing Melaine's brow to twitch as she felt frustration taking over.
"Fine then. If you don't speak. I will!"
Stamping her foot, Melaine crossed her arms as she held her head high, her gaze clashing against that of the titanic eye, despite her previous misgivings. Her stare was unwavering.
"I am not answering your judgements, so judge me all you want! But I will never bend my knee to you and pretend I am scared of dying again! We made a pact, so you can either hold true to it! Or save us both the trouble and just kill me."
Melaine's voice grew furious, her voice echoing across the amphitheatre.
"Who are you to refuse me!? I need him to save everything, all of Ozaria, all of the realm! He is the only one who can save us all! I promise you, I will never rest peacefully until I get what I want. If you refuse me, I will search this broken realm of yours until I find something that will. I will sell my soul to as many godly beings as I need to to ensure what I want happens!"
Maybe it was due to her bravado, but Melaine expected an immediate reaction. Her shoulders moved as she took deep breathless breaths, yet nothing happened. The Ferryman remained still, the eye continued to gaze deep into her soul, neither answered, neither moved.
Yet as Melaine blinked, she found herself to have moved again.
Within an instance the mountain peak vanished, finding herself back in her throne room. She was returned to her throne room as if she had never left. The cyan flame still burning around her, disappearing into the space above the centre of the pentagram the small cyan eye occupied.
Then the eye spoke, its words forcing their meaning into the minds of all in the vicinity.
THE FIRST PACT
IS ANSWERED
The eye shut. The flames died, and colour returned to the room.
And lying at the centre, where the pentagram had just been before being burnt away by the flames, was a man.
The queen staggered.
She averted her gaze, then flicked her wrist. Shadows swirled around the man's form and then vanished, leaving him clothed. He stirred. Eyes slowly opened –bright cyan, just like hers. His skin was pale. His long white hair fell past his shoulders.
His face was unreadable, though confusion creased his brow.
Melaine raised her hand toward the robed figures.
"Leave us."
They obeyed without a word. Once the door swung shut with a heavy thud, she looked up to the ravens.
"That goes for you as well."
The ravens screeched as one, then took flight, vanishing into the night sky through the hole in the broken ceiling.
She returned her gaze to the man. For a moment, words failed her. Moonlight bathed them in silver stillness. Alone with the figure, Melaine hesitated. Words tangled on her tongue.
'This… Reminds me of a story, of a knight meeting a princess.'
He tilted his head, then rolled his eyes and looked around. Spotting the door, he began to walk toward it at a steady pace, leaving the queen dumbstruck for a moment until she called out to him.
"H–hey, wait! Where are you going?!"
He stopped, glancing over his shoulder and answered flatly.
"You were not saying anything, just staring at me."
Stung by his tone, she frowned. Shaking her head, Melaine gestured to their surroundings.
"Do you know where you are?"
He looked around again.
"Some ruined church? Looks ready to collapse at any second."
She let out a dry, bitter laugh, glancing up at the ceiling's gaping hole.
"Sadly true… This place has seen better days. But that's why I summoned you."
She stepped forward.
"You are Leander. It is during your life… It is said you strove for peace. That you would protect the innocent no matter the cost. That is how you gained the title of Hero, the Hero of Peace. The Demon King and the Goddess. They both strive to destroy all I hold dear. Centuries of war against each other. It just isn't enough for them. I just wish to-"
She broke off, rushing forward and grabbing his arm as he neared the threshold.
"Stop!"
Breathing hard, she pulled him back into the room.
"I am-"
Melaine composed herself, standing tall.
"I am Melaine. Lich Queen of the Undead Kingdom. I brought you back from death… to ask for your help. Will you?"
Without a moment's hesitation, Leander replied.
"No."
Almost flinching from his stern denial, Melaine stammered.
"I… I can offer you anything in my kingdom! Wealth. Power-"
He cut her off with a hard stare.
"You brought me back from the dead just to fight again. There's nothing you could offer me."
Walking away from the Lich Queen, the Hero left the throne room.
The door closed behind him.
Melaine stood there, stunned, rubbing her arm, standing in the silence he left behind. The echoes of the door slamming shut still rang faintly in the massive chamber. For a moment, she didn't move. She simply stared at the space where he had stood – as if, by will alone, she could bring him back.
But the room remained empty.
Moonlight still poured through the ruined ceiling, casting fractured silver patterns across the floor. The ravens had gone. The flames had faded. The ritual was done. And yet she felt no triumph.
Just silence.
With slow, weary steps – she simply returned to her throne, sinking onto its steps. She rested her head in her hands.