The Crossing

I wrench Gloomsheer from the earth, its black flames licking the air like a silent storm. The Blade of Mimic no longer rests quietly. It senses my need. In the blink of an eye, it shifts back into its fiery form.

With flame in one hand and shadow in the other, I give chase. But this time, I am not lost in the dark. I have returned. And I will find my Bride Eternal.

The causeway stretches before me, long neglected and crumbling into the green-black mire. The stench of rotting magic rises from the depths, bubbles breaking the surface to release wisps of dark smoke. I cover my mouth; whatever ancient power festers here, I dare not breathe it in.

I press on. The farther I go, the narrower the path becomes, its edges collapsing into the fetid water below. Each crumble releases another breath of corruption, the foul fumes twisting upward like the dying gasps of a cursed world.

Then I see it, the road ahead has sunken into the watery hell below, the gap far too wide to leap. I walk to the edge, hoping another way across might reveal itself, yet there is nothing but foul water and a growing sense of dread to comfort me.

I turn back, hoping for another path, another entrance, another chance. But all I see is an endless ocean beneath a black sky. The causeway stretches on, vanishing into the void beyond the horizon. And then it hits me. I cannot go back. I have chosen this path. And I must see it through.

Kneeling at the water’s edge, I set Gloomsheer beside me, its black flames whispering in the gloom. Leaning closer, the stench intensifies; thick, rancid, and heavy enough to burn the back of my throat. I nearly retch but force myself still.

A wisp of black mist rises from the surface and brushes my cheek. It crackles as it passes, radiating an ancient, malignant energy.

I recoil from the sensation, heart pounding. The crackling fades, but a dull ache spreads across my face, as though struck by a pommel. I steady my breath, staring at the restless water.

Dare I enter it to cross?

Can I even swim?

I lift Gloomsheer and lower its tip into the surface. The bubbling slime parts, and beneath it I see, not water, but a black oily liquid that shimmers faintly in the dull light. I thrust the blade deeper, hoping to feel the bottom. Nothing.

I scan the area one last time, waiting for a spark of providence, a miracle. But the silence offers no answer. Only the stench, the dark, and the waiting void.

There’s no other choice.

It’s time to see if I can swim.

I tighten my cloak and firm my grip on Gloomsheer and the Mimic. I can leap at least half the distance. The rest I’ll have to swim.

Stepping back from the edge, I pace out a running start. A few deep breaths steady my pulse. Then I run.

Both blades hum at my sides, resonating with a strange anticipation, as if they too sense the crossing. The edge rushes toward me. I leap, further than expected, almost to the other side.

Then the world erupts in cold.

The instant my body strikes the surface, a thousand sparks of rotting magic crackle across my skin. I try to keep my head above the sludge, but it’s no use. The muck drags me down, thick yet offering no resistance at all.

I sink like a stone.

The impact when I hit the lakebed is colossal; as though I leapt from a cliff into the heart of decay itself. The collision pulls precious air from my lungs. My heart thumps wildly as panic settles in. I quickly get to my feet, Gloomsheer and the Mimic still firm in my grasp.
 
I open my eyes, but all I see is black. Magic crackles across my vision, a shimmer of decay rippling through the dark, but I don’t care. I’m running out of air. I need to reach the surface.

I step forward, but my feet don’t move. The muck has swallowed them whole. I fall forward, face-first into the filth. I claw at the ground, trying to free myself, but it’s no use.

I gasp for air, and the black sludge rushes into my mouth, flooding my lungs. A sharp pain tears through my body, freezing me in place.

And then — 

I jolt awake, coughing and spluttering black sludge. Pain sears through my chest as the beautiful air fills my lungs once more. I look around for Zephyr, certain she pulled me free.

But then I realise… I’m dry.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Gloomsheer still lying beside the lakebed; silent, but waiting.

I push myself to my knees. As I do, my cheek burns against the foul breeze drifting through the air. I reach up, but the skin stings to the touch.

Then a thought strikes me.

A cold, fearful thought.

Did I only imagine drowning?

I look to the water’s edge. Its surface breaks only with the occasional bubble. I try to stand, but my head throbs like a war drum, and I collapse back to my knees, clutching my skull. The pain stabs behind my eyes, sharp and merciless.

Then, a wave of numbness washes over me.

My cheek begins to burn, slowly at first, then searing; like a brand pressed to my skin. The heat intensifies until I feel the tip of a blade etching across my flesh.

I scream as the invisible weapon carves deep. I fall onto my back, clawing at the air, trying to escape the pain, but it clings to me like a living shadow.

The smell of charred flesh fills my lungs. Smoke curls upward from my face. Panic consumes me as the pain creeps closer to my eye.

And then, the pressure stops.

Only the sting of burned, carved flesh remains.

I gasp, taking deep breaths of relief. Then, at the edge of my vision, I see faint wisps of magic rising from my cheek; threads not unlike those etched into the Seal of Erethon.

I snatch up the Mimic, peering between its flames to see my reflection in the mirrored steel.

And I see — 

A rune scorched into my cheek, glowing faintly violet. The last wisps of foul magic rise from the wound before fading, leaving behind only charred, blackened flesh.

Then it hits me. The mark, this is the Seal of Erethon’s sigil.

Was this Gloomsheer’s doing?

But Seredain bore no such scar. Unless… it was hidden.

No. It can’t be. The only explanation is the rotten magic itself. I was foolish enough to get too close. It touched my skin, and now I carry its corruption.

My heart thunders in my chest as my imagination runs wild. Is this a curse? Am I dangerous to be around? If I find Zephyr, will she be in danger because of me? Has the rot seeped into my blood and poisoned me?

No.

Right now, it doesn’t matter. I just need to last long enough to save her. If I die after, then so be it, it was a life well spent.

With that thought, I grip the Mimic tighter and lift Gloomsheer from the earth. Time to reassess this crossing. I can’t enter that water. There has to be another way across.

I turn slowly, scanning the landscape once more. Then something catches my eye.

Across the far side of the broken causeway, I see it; the endless path stretching out beyond the horizon.

I blink. My pulse quickens. I turn again, searching for the shore I came from.

And there, far behind me, stands the Great Gate.

I…

I’m already across the causeway.

But how?

I turn sharply, heart thundering, half-expecting another surprise to strike. But nothing comes.

Even from this distance, the Great Fortress City towers above me like a sleeping giant, one misstep away from crushing me where I stand.

I don’t move. The aura surrounding this place cuts through me like a blade through flesh. For once, I’m thankful for the broken crossing at my back. It spares me the chance to run.

I grit my teeth and start walking toward the Great Gate. The air grows colder with each step. Its towering form rises into the clouds, vast and unyielding. The closer I get, the darker the world becomes; as if the fortress’s black walls drink in every trace of light that dares approach.

When I reach the gate, I pause.

From within its depths, faint noises echo, the sounds of living things.

The Mimic and Gloomsheer sense it too — danger. A pulse runs through both blades, their flames flaring with sudden intensity, ready for whatever waits beyond the gate.

A strange warmth floods my hands. It’s as though the blades themselves reach out to me, their power threading through my veins. Not commanding… but acknowledging. Standing with me.

I don’t hesitate. I step to the edge of the entrance, riding the wave of that shared strength while it lasts. I peer into the black; no light returns, only a void staring back.

Every step toward the gate feels heavier than the last; but the path ahead is all that remains. Without letting dark thoughts take hold, I raise the burning falchion… and step through.