Throughout my life as a harvester, the Stygian Docks and I had become longtime friends. The stone pier had marked the beginning and end of every harvest I’d conducted. Lake Acheron’s waters had never scared me, and the fog rolling over the water didn’t muffle my hellfire. Never once had I thought that I’d one day come here and be expected to fight an enemy.
Skaros crouched near the pier’s edge, his golden mane barely visible through the swirling vapor. Aion stood motionless beside him, death energy swirling under his metallic skin.
Decades of hunts together had taught me every nuance in their posture. Tonight, they were both prepared for a battle unlike any other. And why would they not be? I was their friend, but Charon was the bargeman of Asphodelia.
Worse still, he was also Aion’s father. It was Charon, not the Moirae, who had created my friend, had crafted him with his own two hands, as he did his barges. I didn’t know what had actually given Aion his consciousness, but whatever it had been, I’d always been thankful for it.
That gratitude had died with Callista’s memories, but I knew better than to think the situation was any less complicated. No, indeed, this wouldn’t be easy on anyone.
The moment they saw me approach, my friends rushed to meet me halfway. Neither asked how I’d escaped the Erebus Cells or mentioned the risk they took by meeting me. “Theron, you’re all right,” Skaros rumbled, folding his leathery wings behind his back. “After what we heard… We were so worried.”
“I won’t be all right until we fix this. Where is he?”
Aion gestured toward the circular obsidian altar at the pier’s end. “Father always knows when he’s needed. He already senses our presence.”
The temperature plummeted without warning, the mist parting to reveal a towering, familiar figure. Charon’s ferry pole gleamed with a strength that rivaled the Moirae, and his presence made my fangs vibrate with apprehension. “Hellhound Theron. You come to claim back what was willingly given away.”
Phonos’s words echoed through my mind, harsh, but far too real.Besides, if it had been me, I would’ve protected her from anything. Even Charon.
I bared my fangs at him. “She never agreed to this, and you know it. Return her memories to her.”
“If you’re here just to make demands, you might as well not bother.” Charon didn’t sneer at me, but every word coming from his mouth screamed dismissiveness. “What flows into the Acheron’s depths cannot simply return to the surface, Theron. The lake isn’t so fickle in its demands.”
“You can’t be serious,” Skaros snapped, his scorpion-like tail lashing with barely controlled fury. “You took more than was agreed.”
“I took what was offered.” Charon’s blue eyes never wavered from mine. “One happy memory for bride market access. The exchange proceeded according to rules older than any living creature.”
Hellfire crackled underneath my skin. At this rate, I was going to lose it, and I’d have no chance of reasoning with Charon.
Aion stepped forward, nearly blocking my view of the ferryman. “Father, please. Callista doesn’t remember Theron at all. Surely, that’s an anomaly. One memory shouldn’t erase her entire experience with him.”
Something shifted in Charon’s expression, a flicker of understanding crossing features that rarely revealed anything. “You assume I selected which memory to extract.”
Ice spread through my veins, colder than the waters of the Acheron. “What do you mean?”
“The memory extraction follows the heart’s own currents.” Charon tilted his head at me, and I knew he was only bothering to explain because Aion was there. “I summon happiness, and the strongest paths respond. I cannot choose which joy answers my call.”
Finally, everything made sense. Even after realizing the trade had gone awry, I could never have dreamed of the actual reason. “All her happiest memories connected to me.”
Charon nodded, almost as if unaware of the weight of his own words. “The bride market choice. The claiming ceremony. Your intervention in her dying moments. Every genuine joy in her recent existence bore your presence. They flowed together as one interconnected stream.”
“How is that an honest exchange, then? You destroyed her chance at choice.”
“I did nothing but fulfill a contract and complete a ritual.” Charon huffed under his breath, almost seeming amused. “But perhaps... a new arrangement might be reached.”
Hope surged through me, hot and desperate. It was just as my brother had said then. A new deal, for the ferryman. “What kind of arrangement?”
“It’s quite simple, Theron,” Charon answered. “Your hellhound powers, for her memories.”
It made so much sense that I couldn’t even blame him for the demand. My ability to see into the past would likely serve him well, maybe prevent anomalies like this one from happening.
But even if that hadn’t been the case, I wouldn’t have rejected his offer. All my life, I’d been a hellhound, and my affinity with the past was as strong as my hellfire. It all meant nothing compared to Callista.
I walked up to the altar without hesitation. “Done.”
Skaros and Aion shared an uneasy look, but to their credit, neither protested. They understood, like I did, that there was no other way forward.
“The ritual demands complete submission,” Charon warned me. “Lie down and accept the coins as they are placed. Do not resist the extraction process.”
