Wind howled beneath the glide-raft as it skimmed eastward. Sunset faded into bruised violet, and the Blood-Red Moon still days from its prophesied zenith peeked over low clouds like a watchful eye. Below stretched the Gloaming Marches, a labyrinth of tidal flats, mangrove isles, and phosphorescent bogs that pulsed with faint blue light.
Soren eased the yoke, letting the craft descend toward a finger-shaped sandbar. "We lose lift after dusk," he warned. "Need to ground before the rune-cloth chills and stalls."
Mo Lianyin nodded, though her gaze remained on the dark horizon. Thorne perched along the bow rail, tail flicking. In her palm, the pendant shard felt heavier as if weighed by every soul she'd tangled with since the temple burned.
Kareth, she thought, what creatures haunt these swamps?
A lazy chuckle rippled through her mind. Things wiser sects leave alone. Swamp shades, marsh drakes, wandering merchants who trade secrets for memories. Yet no Dawnlight garrisons; holy qi sputters in these mists. A perfect refuge if you avoid being eaten.
"Comforting," she muttered.
The raft skidded onto damp sand, skimming to a halt beside pale reeds that whispered like rattles. Bioluminescent plankton burst beneath each footstep, painting indigo ripples around their boots.
Soren stretched aching shoulders. "If the map's right, a smugglers' camp lies one league inland. They ferry goods and fugitives through the marches."
"Goods?" Lianyin arched a brow.
"Spirit-herbs. Demon-forged relics. Sometimes people." He shrugged. "We can pay passage with the scrying mirror we lifted."
Thorne hopped down, sniffing glowing puddles, then froze ears flat.
A low hiss drifted from the shadows.
Soren lifted his broken sword; Lianyin readied coils of ink behind her fingertips. Reeds parted to reveal… a hunched, elderly woman clad in patch-work robes. She leaned on a staff made of knotted mangrove root; carved lanterns dangled from it, flickering green.
"Well met, nightwalkers," the crone croaked. Her eyes glimmered silver like moonlit eels. "Share a fire? Bog nights grow hungry."
Soren relaxed fractionally. "We mean no harm. Seeking safe passage east."
"Passage," the woman echoed, as if tasting the word. "Coin won't serve here. Trade must be tangled." She tapped a lantern inside, a tiny wisp flickered like captive star-smoke. "A memory for a map, perhaps?"
Lianyin stiffened. Soul-Shard cultivation devoured memories; she knew how precious they were. "What kind of memory?"
"Just a sip." The crone's grin showed surprisingly sharp teeth. "One first kiss, one bedtime lullaby, one echo of a mother's voice small treasures, safe with me."
Shade-witch, Kareth warned. Harmless if fed politely, lethal if denied.
Lianyin exchanged glances with Soren. His expression said your call.
She exhaled. "You may taste a single moment: the smell of jasmine bread on winter mornings."
A ribbon of shadow extended, swirling with pale light. The crone inhaled; Lianyin felt the faint tug nostalgia sliding from her mind like a gently lifted curtain. It hurt, but only a little, leaving warmth behind.
"Mmm." The witch licked her lips. "Soft and sweet. In trade, a path." She tapped her staff; lanterns drifted outward, settling in mid-air to form a glowing trail through the mangroves. "Follow before moon-blink. The lights fade with the tide."
"Thank you," Soren said. He offered a shallow bow that made the woman cackle.
"Beware drake-water," she called as they headed off. "Glitters lovely, bites ugly."
Thorne hissed agreement.
Through Lantern Swamp
The floating lights bobbed ahead, reflecting off mirror-still pools. Fog thickened, muffling sound until only heartbeats and distant frog croaks remained.
Lianyin kept shadows coiled around her boots, testing each footfall. The soil squelched but held. She caught Soren studying her profile.
"What?"
"You gave up a memory." His voice was gentle. "Did it hurt?"
"A little. But I still remember the warmth just… can't recall whose bakery." She shrugged. "Small price."
Soren's eyes softened. "When you forget too much, tell me. I'll remind you."
The soul-thread pulsed fondly between them; Lianyin's cheeks warmed.
They rounded a cypress stump and halted. Thirty paces ahead, the lantern trail ended at a half-submerged skiff. Beside it stood a young man in scale-leather armor, silver piercings lining one ear, tattooed runes spiraling up his neck. He twirled a bo-staff capped with crystalline hooks.
"You must be Shade-Mother's new patrons," he drawled. "Name's Araquin. Ferryman, guide, occasional thief."
Soren eyed the staff. "Occasional warrior?"
"Only when customers forget to pay." Araquin's gaze flicked to Thorne, then to Lianyin's crimson eyes. Instead of fear, intrigue gleamed. "Demon-kissed, are we? No judgment Marsh doesn't care what blood flavors its mud. Passage costs five lotus petals."
"We don't carry coin," Soren said.
"Not currency." Araquin pointed to the water. Lachrymal lotuses floated like tiny lamps; each petal shimmered gold. "Pluck five intact petals. They glow only for the living; dead hands melt them."
Kareth snickered. An honesty test. Clever.
Lianyin waded knee-deep, shadows firming mud underfoot. With delicate pinches, she plucked five petals, each humming warm. No pain, no trick just luminous tokens. She handed them over.
Araquin pocketed petals into a runed pouch. "Board, then."
They settled on low benches; Thorne curled at the prow. Araquin pushed off with his staff, steering channels of mirror water. Bioluminescence unfurled behind them like comet tails.
"Where exactly are we heading?" Lianyin asked.
"Whisper-Harbor," the ferryman said. "Neutral ground. Smugglers, rogue alchemists, runaway sect brats. Trade hub carved into petrified mangrove roots."
"Safe?" Soren inquired.
"As safe as lawless mud can be." Araquin smirked. "Keep your coin light and your blades lighter."
Drake-Water
Halfway through a narrow cut, ripple lines shimmered across the water iridescent, hypnotic.
Araquin hissed, planting his staff. "Hold."
From the depths rose a serpentine head, scales reflecting lantern light in rainbow flashes. A mirror-drake: thin as a river eel, long as two horses, jaws lined with crystal teeth. It sniffed the air, scenting power.
Soren's breath fogged, frost gathering on his palms. But the manacle's after-effects still dulled his qi; one blast might exhaust him. Lianyin summoned shadows, yet the drake's scales gleamed with holy sigils someone had bound it before.
Sanctified plating, Kareth noted. My darkness will slide unless you strike the eyes or throat.
The drake lunged, ramming the skiff. Wood splintered; Thorne yowled, claws skittering for purchase.
Araquin cursed, flicking his staff. Hooks snagged reeds, anchoring them. "Kill or blind, fast!"
Soren stepped forward, but Lianyin blocked him. "Your qi's weak. Let me."
She breathed once, recalling the First Gate's taste then intentionally didn't open it. Instead, she gathered a slender filament of shadow, compressing it needle-thin until it quivered with tension.
"Feeding time," she whispered and tossed a lotus petal onto the water. Gold shimmer drew the drake's eyes. As it snapped at the bait, Lianyin's needle shot forward, slipping between crystal scales into the creature's exposed lower jaw.
Ink exploded inside its throat, muting holy sigils in seconds. The drake writhed, then went limp, floating belly-up like a capsized jewel.
Araquin whistled. "Elegantly vicious. Shade-Mother undersold you."
Lianyin trembled not from exertion, but from the thrill of using precise control instead of overwhelming darkness. Maybe I can master this, she thought.
Soren squeezed her shoulder, pride clear. "Well struck."
She allowed herself a breath of satisfaction. Thorne leapt onto the drake's corpse, ripping a crystalline tooth free before hopping back trophy claimed.
Whisper-Harbor
An hour later, lanterns speckled the mist ahead, revealing walkways carved along colossal mangrove trunks. Ramshackle stalls perched on roots; rope bridges crisscrossed like spider silk. Polyglot chatter and spice smoke drifted over the water.
Araquin moored beside a platform guarded by two masked sentries. "End of the line."
Lianyin offered him the silver scrying mirror. He inspected the runes, lips pursing. "Good trade. If you need more rides, ask for Araquin of the Gloam." With a bow of his tattooed head, he poled away, disappearing into fog.
Soren exhaled. "First safe haven in days."
"Temporary," Lianyin corrected. "Dawnlight's reach grows."
Thorne padded ahead onto the boardwalk, sniffing barrels of dried eel. Merchants eyed the trio some curious, some wary, none hostile yet.
A crier's bell rang. "Moon-Bazaar opens! Potions for lost memories, charms for broken hearts, blades that sing doom coin or secret accepted!"
Soren laughed under his breath. "Quite the market."
Lianyin scanned stalls until a wooden sign caught her eye: 'Runes, Seals & Shackles Broken Ask for Elder Meihua'. Underneath, a charcoal lotus emblem was scrawled the same inverted blossom etched upon her soul.
Kareth's voice thrummed with old reverence. Meihua lives… I thought her ashes scattered. She was once Court Alchemist of my empire.
Lianyin swallowed. "We seek her first."
As they crossed a swaying bridge toward a lantern-lit workshop, thunder grumbled far west—Sky-Pier's direction. Asha Kellen was still hunting.
But for tonight, among whispers and glowing waters, the ink-lotus had petals enough to breathe.