My hands shake as I measure bone dust into the traveling bowl, trying to remember everything Master Corwin taught me about field work. Three years of training, hundreds of practice rituals, and I still feel like a child playing with forces beyond my understanding. “Steady, Lerna,” I whisper to myself, using the same tone Master […]
The bone dust burns cold against my palm as I measure it into the scrying bowl, each grain carrying the weight of memory and the promise of truth. Dawn light filters through the orchard beyond my window, painting the standing dead in shades of gold and shadow. It should be a peaceful morning. It isn’t. […]
The dead woman in my boat won’t stop talking. “Turn back,” she whispers, her voice like wind through broken reeds. “Turn back before you lose everything that matters.” I keep rowing. The Crossing demands movement, always movement, and the dead don’t get to choose their destination. That’s the first rule of ferryman work, you transport […]