She didn’t know why. First time meeting, not even friends, yet relief rose in her chest like a stone sinking into still water. Maybe it was joy at not killing anyone again with her own weakness.

She meant to let herself drift in the dark like a leaf on a night river, when a figure wandered out of the black and came to her side.

“Hey… to die like this—don’t you think it’s a waste?”

Aphelia smiled, a tired crescent in the dark like a moon behind cloud. “And you are?”

“Me? A ferryman, that’s all. I’ve kept watch for a very long time, and this is my first time seeing a soul like yours.”

Aphelia opened her eyes. Sitting beside her was a girl who looked uncannily like Wende, white dress glowing like a lily against endless night.

A ferryman of souls… a Reaper, then?

“An interesting soul? Lady ferryman, tell me what’s interesting. I’d love to hear it.”

She thought, and steadied herself like a blade set back in its sheath. Since the ferryman hadn’t swept her away, but sat to chat about “interesting,” maybe fate wasn’t done with her.

She relaxed, tried to lie more comfortably, like fitting into a nest of shadow.

“Your soul… is ruined and whole,” the girl said after taking Aphelia’s hand, voice cool as dew. “It’s riddled with wounds, yet seamless. It’s a motley mix, yet it knows its center. It’s fragile, yet it breaks nothing and is broken by none.”

“Most of all, it was born from the Primordial Flame. Nothing is tougher or stronger than that.”

“Wait. If that’s true, why would I die?”

“Who said you died?”

The girl let go, frowned, her tone a slap of cold water. “Who told you that?”

“So… I’m not dead? Then what is this place? Don’t tell me I made another world up…”

“This is the seam between the Underworld and the human world,” she cut in, patient as an old bell. “Every soul that’s dying—or might die—comes here. Within my reach, the dead are guided back to the living, into what you call ‘reincarnation.’”

“And… does your work here obey time?” The question rose in Aphelia like a fish breaking the surface.

“Of course not. If time bound this place, the world would be in chaos.”

“Then I want to find someone. Is that allowed?”

Hope trembled through her like a string plucked in winter air. If she was out of time, this was still her world, just past or future. And if the ferryman was beyond time, then…

She thought of that blood-red silhouette on the Abyssal range, the one whose life was taken. The image stung like a cut reopened.

The girl didn’t answer at once. Her eyes, black as polished onyx, met Aphelia’s head-on and held. At last she spoke, voice a soft blade.

“Of course. I didn’t expect you to ask me for help, but go on—who?”

“R-really? Do you need her name, or…”

“Take my hand. Say her name. Hold her in your mind.”

She offered a small, pale hand. Her tone was older than her face, calm as winter stone. In front of her, Aphelia felt like the one who couldn’t hold her own breath.

“Y-yes!”

Aphelia clasped the hand. It was cold as carved jade. She didn’t think about it. She built the face in her mind, stroke by stroke, the one that had haunted her dreams like a lantern on a long road.

The one that had tied her soul in knots.

As Aphelia remembered, the girl’s black eyes flickered with countless pallid shadows, like moths beating at night glass. A terrible pressure leaked from her small frame, like a mountain leaning down.

Power flowed around them, immense and tidal, and the barren dark filled with presences like lights in a storm.

Some tasted of joy, some of grief, some of rage, some of fear. When they noticed Aphelia, they gazed like starving wolves at a rare feast, but before they could draw near, the small girl erased them with a flick.

It didn’t last. The girl frowned, slipped free of Aphelia’s hands, and the feeling vanished like breath on glass.

“The person you’re thinking of—I can’t find her.”

“How… how can you not? Please, I’m begging you, look again!”

Tears burned like salt. How could a ferryman of souls not find Violet’s soul—unless she was a fake?

“I suggest you put away that shallow, foolish thought.”

The girl’s voice went winter-cold. She waved her small hand, and the drifting hosts gathered at her back like a storm front, a crushing aura spreading through the air.

“I’m sorry… I got carried away.”

Her change in tone stung. Aphelia exhaled, bowed her head, apology hollowing her chest like wind in an empty hall. She didn’t fear death, but she wanted to see that person once more—to say sorry with her own mouth.

The girl had seen this a thousand times. She shook her head, dismissed the strange presences, and the pressure thinned like fog in sun.

“If I can’t find a soul, there are two reasons,” she said. “One, she’s still alive. Two, she’s become something stronger than me. Don’t lose heart. If she lives, you’ll have your chance to meet her.”

Aphelia let out a bitter laugh, dry as ash. “I’m about to die. Aren’t you here to ferry me? What ‘meet again’?”

“Who said I’m here to ferry you?”

The girl laughed, put-out and amused, like someone hearing a grand joke. It made Aphelia curious despite herself.

Hope flared like a spark catching tinder. “You’re… not here to ferry me? Then does that mean…”

“Yeah. Stop testing me. You’re not dead. You’re very much alive. How’s that—did I scare you?”

She tilted her head and smiled at Aphelia, mischief glinting like a cat’s eyes.

“Hah… hah… You did scare me. Please don’t make that joke again, Lady Ferryman.”

Relief loosened Aphelia’s ribs like laces undone. Her laugh was awkward and warm.

“No need to worry,” the girl said, brushing gray dust off her white skirt and rising like a feather. “A soul made entirely of the Primordial Flame—no one in this world can shake it but you.”

“Wait—what does that mean? What is the Primordial Flame? And what do you mean no one can shake my soul?”

Aphelia reached out, hungry for answers like a parched field for rain.

The girl didn’t stop. She waved lightly. “Next time, my lady goddess. Someone’s already calling you.”

Someone’s calling me?

The thought had barely formed when an emptiness yanked at her back like a trapdoor giving way. Urgent voices rushed in like wind through a gap.

“Aphelia…”

“Aphelia…”

“Aphelia… wake up!”

Through the blur, someone was gently patting her cheek, calling her name like a bell.

When her vision cleared, she saw who it was.

“Cough…”

“Aphelia, you’re finally awake!”

The one calling her was Wende, the girl Aphelia had brought back with the Crimson Fire. Her joy shone like sunlight after rain.

Wende hurried to prop her up, pressed a flask to her lips. Honey-thick fragrance slid down Aphelia’s throat, and fatigue and thirst receded like tide.

“Cough… cough!”

“Don’t rush. Take it slow. Easy.”

Seeing her wake, Wende finally exhaled, shoulders easing like a bow unstrung. When Aphelia waved her off, Wende set the flask aside and let a thin thread of Aether seep into Aphelia, smoothing her body like a soft hand over ripples.

“I… I’m back? Or did we both die, Wende…”

“We didn’t die. Neither of us.”

Wende wore a blue-green dress like cool river water. Aphelia reached out, felt real warmth in her palm, and breathed out, gaze drifting up to the giant tree above like a canopy of living green. The thing she leaned on was soft as moss.

“I’ve never been this glad to feel warmth.”

Wende chuckled, a bright sound like a chime. “If it’s warmth you want, life’s still long.”

They tasted the afterglow together, and laughter rose, threaded with helplessness and release, like rain after drought.

After a while, tiredness pooled. They leaned into each other, quiet as nesting birds.

“Hey, Wende, can I ask you something?”

“Of course. Ask.”

Wende smiled at her. After walking the edge of life and death, the space between them had thinned like mist.