And I have no idea what I just lost.
“The River feeds on the memories of the lost,” Charon says, turning to Thea. “Now it’s your turn, darling.”
I nearly lose my shit when he touches Thea—and I’m considered the level-headed one. Rafe grips his blade so tightly that his knuckles turn white, and Everett continually growls. Krystian merely narrows his eyes at the spot Charon touches our reaper, as if he’s mentally obliterating the finger in his mind.
Then, one by one, Charon repeats the process for the rest of us.
“Five memories. Five tolls. You may enter the boat.” Charon steps back to allow us to board, which we do so.
The tiny boat rocks and sways at our combined weight but holds.
Thea sits down, and I immediately claim the spot beside her, tingles spreading through me where our bodies meet.
We don’t say a word as Charon aims the lantern straight ahead, the simple movement somehow propelling the boat forward.
At first, it’s quiet. Unnaturally so.
Then ghastly, guttural moans slice through the air.
“What the fuck?” Thea whispers, peering over the edge.
I follow the direction of her gaze and go still.
Within the River’s murky depths, countless souls writhe in agony—half seen, half formed, their translucent faces twisted in eternal torment.
They reach upward with skeletal hands, their voices a chorus of anguish, rising in shrill, wordless screams that echo throughthe cavernous gloom. Their cries for help are lost in the endless churning of the river, swallowed by the current that offers no mercy and no escape. Each soul is a fragment of a life once lived, now condemned to drift in the cold, slow-moving waters of oblivion.
“Is this what happens to a soul once they die?” Thea whispers in horror.
I shake my head wordlessly, struggling to speak. “No,” I say at last. “Only souls too terrified to face Hades and receive judgment. Over time, the souls become…trapped.”
“Some prefer this over being sentenced to Tartarus,” Krystian adds from in front of us, swiveling on his bench.
“Tartarus?” Thea asks.
It’s sometimes easy to forget how little she knows of this world.
“Over there.” I point to the right of us.
From a distant ridge, the pit of Tartarus yawns like a wound in the skin of the world. The edges are black and jagged, seared as though fire has licked them for centuries without rest. Foul vapors drift up in slow, curling tendrils, each one carrying whispers no ear should catch—too soft to understand, yet heavy with malice. A faint red glow pulses deep within, not like firelight but like the heartbeat of something slumbering and hateful.
Even from afar, the air tastes of ash and iron, thick with despair.
And the screams…
God, the screams…
They’ll haunt me, even knowing the majority of the people trapped inside of it deserve their fate.
“It’s an eternity of torture and suffering,” Everett deadpans, his gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Probably where I’m going to go when I die,” Rafe adds casually.
Thea whirls on him. “Don’t fucking say that.”
“But isn’t it the truth, little bird? I did some fucked-up things over the years.” He shrugs one shoulder, exuding nonchalance.
Thea’s fists clench, and her face turns red. “You did those things to people who deserve it—just like the souls in the pit. You deserve nothing but good things, Rafe, and if you ever say shit like that again, I’ll…I’ll…”
