Chapter 40: The River of Names

The river ran through the temple's deepest veins—

Black as ink.

Its waters whispered.

Each ripple spoke a name. Each current pulled with grief.

The dead.

All lost to Eredan-Mir's void.

Caelen and Elira drifted in silence.

Their boat was narrow, fragile. The Weeping Blade stood upright in the prow, its glow the only defiance against the dark.

The river groaned beneath them. It drank from the dead. And Caelen's curse drank from it in turn.

His hands shook on the oars.

Torm. Lila. The boy from the city. The woman in armor. Every name carved into his heart.

Failures.

Regrets.

Ghosts.

Elira's voice shattered the trance.

"Don't listen to them," she said sharply. "They're trying to drown you."

But the whispers surged.

You were too late.

You weren't enough.

You failed us.

Caelen's lips trembled. "I should have saved them," he said, each word a stone. "I should have been stronger."

Elira grabbed his face. Her hands were firm. Her eyes, fire.

"You did what you could," she said. "You're still doing it. Don't let them win."

The river howled. But Elira's fire blazed.

Caelen gritted his teeth and rowed.

Harder.

Faster.

The boat pushed through grief.

The river narrowed. The whispers faded.

But the pain remained.

A scar.

Unhealed. Unyielding.

They stepped onto the shore.

Before them loomed the final chamber.

The doors sealed in living shadow.

Beyond them—

Eredan-Mir.

And the end of all things.