The horizon was a smudge, a line of black that bled into the mist curling around me.The river, slow and uncaring, slid beneath the boat. I gripped the oar, knuckles white, trying to block out Charys’ voice, but it gnawed at me, relentless.


    You’ve forgotten who you were before.


    I tried to ignore it. The past was a ghost—something to forget. But ghosts don’t vanish. They linger, clawing at your mind, especially when you’ve ferried them for centuries.


    The only way to fix it is for you to remember.


    The words kept circling, catching in the gears of my mind like grit. Remembering wasn’t part of the job, well, at least not my own story. Forgetting was. I was good at it, too. But now… I felt it—a slow breakdown, like rust creeping through old metal.


    The oar sat heavy in my hands, its smooth surface worn from years of use. I stared into the mist, my chest tight. Tonight, the river was different—waiting. Watching.


    I closed my eyes, trying to ground myself. The air was thick, pressing in, but I had to try to remember.


    At first, there was nothing. Just the dark. It stretched out endlessly, swallowing everything. It was familiar—the kind of emptiness I’d gotten used to. But I wasn’t looking for comfort. I was looking for something sharp, something that could cut through the silence.


    Then I felt it—a ripple. Barely there, like the echo of a whisper. It slipped past me, teasing, just out of reach. I clenched my teeth, digging deeper, trying to grab hold of it.


    A voice surfaced, faint but insistent.


    “Kaelith…”


    No. Not Kaelith. That wasn’t the name I used to have. It was…


    The memory was slippery, refusing to come into focus. My breath hitched, and a sharp ache bloomed in my chest. It felt like trying to run after years of standing still, like muscles screaming in protest.


    It was in the marketplace—the kind of place where life moved too fast, where shadows clung to every corner and everyone had something to hide. It smelled of spiced bread and damp stone, the air alive with the murmur of deals made and debts unpaid. And there she was, standing on the edge of it all, watching me.


    Charys.


    She’d been a storm contained in human form—wild hair, sharp amber eyes that always saw too much. Her smile could undo you, tilt of her lips as if she knew all your secrets and liked you better for them. She didn’t wear fine clothes. She made practical look dangerous—leather bracers, a belt of tools for gods-knew-what, and a cloak that fluttered like a second shadow.


    She caught me slipping a coin into my pocket, sharp gaze tracking the movement. Her voice, low and smooth, cut through the noise of the market.


    “Stealing again?”


    There had been no judgment in her tone, just that smile—half dare, half challenge.


    I’d shrugged, the stolen coin cool against my palm. “The world’s got too many pockets.”


    She’d laughed, and it was the kind of laugh that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed, filling you with something dangerously close to hope. A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    She smiled, that dangerous, challenging smile. “You’ll get caught.”


    “Not today,” I said, grinning. But I wanted her to catch me.


    It was always like that between us. Pulling together, like magnets, no matter how illogical.


    She had a way of pulling me out of myself, of making me believe I was worth something, even if I never said it out loud.


    I remember one night, when the market had quieted, shadows deepening. We slipped away from the stalls, her hand brushing mine as she pulled me into the alley. She kissed me—no hesitation, no pretense. Wild. Consuming.


    “You don’t get to disappear on me,” she whispered against my lips, voice raw and vulnerable.


    “Not a chance,” I replied, meaning it.


    But promises mean nothing to the river. It took her from me, like it takes everything. And when it did, I let it.


    The memory clung to me, persistent as the mist. I opened my eyes, the boat rocking, the river’s soft murmur filling the silence.


    Charys hadn’t just been a part of my life. She had been the fire in it.


    "What happened to you?" I muttered, staring into the dark water. But the river didn’t answer. It never did.


    I thought she was gone, taken by the current like everything else. But now, here I was, still sitting on its edge, wondering what game she was playing. Why hadn’t she said anything?


    I didn’t have much time to stew over it. The shoreline loomed closer, all jagged rocks and treacherous angles, like the river itself was spitting me out. A figure waited at the edge, half-lost in the mist, its shape wrong in a way that set my teeth on edge.


    For half a second, I thought it might be her—Charys. The thought alone was enough to make my chest tighten. But no. The way it stood, the smallness of it—it wasn’t her. It was something else. Something I didn’t have the patience for.


    The dead don’t come to the river uninvited. They wait for the current to claim them, for me to guide them across. But this one? This one wandered in on its own, throwing off the balance, making my job harder.


    I gritted my teeth, slowing the boat with a sharp pull on the oar. Another complication. Another mess for me to clean up.


    "...Kaelith?" The voice trembled, barely audible in the mist.


    I didn’t need to ask who it was. The urgency in his voice said enough.


    “Who sent you?” I barked.


    The boy stepped closer, pale under the moonlight. He couldn’t be more than thirteen, eyes wide with something like fear—nothing new, but still enough to catch my attention. His gaze flickered nervously around the shore.


    “They told me to find you,” he stammered. “They said you’re the only one who can help.”


    “Who’s ‘they’?” I pressed, not letting him off the hook.


    The boy hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.


    “The ones in the mist,” he whispered. “The ones who don’t belong here.”


    I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard about the mist or the things that hid within it, but something about the way the boy spoke made my stomach churn.


    I didn’t have the patience to dig deeper.


    “Get in,” I ordered, voice still rough but less harsh now. There was something about the kid—maybe it was the way he looked, or the fact that he was alone in this mess—that made me soften just a touch.


    He didn’t hesitate, scrambling into the boat like the shore might pull him back. I pushed off, the boat creaking as we drifted away from land. The mist rolled in again, thick and suffocating.


    Something felt wrong. The river felt restless, waking, ready to claim something. Maybe I wasn’t ready for it.


    I didn’t look at the boy, but I felt his presence. The silence between us was thick. I didn’t need to ask any more questions. He’d tell me what he needed to, when he was ready.