The shore of the Sunless Sea was not made of sand, but of finely ground bone and salt that crunched like glass under Kiron's basalt boots. The air here was heavy, saturated with a moisture that felt like liquid lead in the lungs. Before them, the black water stretched into an infinite horizon, so still it looked like a floor of polished obsidian.
"Don't touch the water," Nel warned, his voice barely a whisper. "The salt-dark isn't just brine. It's a solvent for the spirit. If your skin breaks the surface, the sea will begin to drink your memories until there's nothing left but a hollow shell."
Asha shivered, her violet-veined wings twitching. "I can feel the 'Silent Blight' humming beneath the surface. It's a frequency of absolute zero. Even the Luminous feared this place."
As they scanned the shore for a way across, a low, rhythmic thumping sound began to echo through the mist. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Out of the grey haze, a long, narrow skiff carved from the charcoal-black wood of a Sunless Cedar drifted toward them. Standing at the stern was a figure draped in heavy, salt-crusted rags. He held a long oar made of human vertebrae, and his face was hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat made of woven reeds.
The skiff ground against the bone-sand with a harsh screech. The figure didn't move, but a voice—raspy and dry as a desert wind—emerged from the rags.
"Three hundred years," the figure croaked. "The tides have turned three thousand times, and the lilies have wept a billion tears. Finally, the Origin-Eater stands upon the shore."
Kiron stepped forward, his stone eye glowing with a sharp, violet intensity. "You were waiting for me?"
"I was waiting for the weight you carry," the Ferryman replied, gesturing with a skeletal hand toward the water. "I am Charon-Vane, the last remnant of a guild that served the First Age. I do not take gold, and I do not take prayers. The Sunless Sea demands a Fare of Flesh."
The Ferryman leaned forward, his unseen eyes locking onto Kiron. "To cross the salt-dark, you must leave a piece of your living self behind. A sacrifice of the blood that still flows, to prove you are worthy of the deep."
Asha stepped in front of Kiron, her hand resting on the hilt of her broken scepter. "He is the King of the Spire. He gives nothing to shadows."
"Then he stays on the shore," Charon-Vane said simply. "And the 'Purge-Squad' of the Heavens will find him here, pinned against a sea that will eat him alive. The lilies are waiting, Grave-Son. Will you give a piece of the man to save the King?"
Kiron looked at his right hand—the hand that was still soft, still warm, still capable of feeling the touch of his friends. He thought of the "First Queen" he left behind and the promise he made to Taz. To give up more of his humanity was to move closer to the stone, closer to the emptiness he feared.
He looked at the Ferryman, then at the black, silent water.
"Nel, Asha... stand back," Kiron commanded, his voice vibrating with the Heavy Authority.
He walked to the edge of the boat. He didn't reach for a knife. Instead, he gripped his own right shoulder with his basalt hand. The air around him began to warp, the pressure rising until the salt-sand beneath his feet began to crack.
"I will not give you my blood," Kiron growled, his voice dropping to a terrifying, tectonic rumble. "I am the All-Father. I do not pay tolls to the past."
He slammed his basalt fist into the side of the skiff. The wood didn't break; instead, the violet fire of the Liturgy surged from Kiron's arm and into the boat, branding the black wood with his mark. The Ferryman recoiled, his vertebra-oar rattling.
"I am the Fare," Kiron declared, his stone eye blazing like a dying star. "The sea will carry me because it fears what I will do to it if it doesn't. Now, row. Or I will turn this entire ocean into a desert of dust."
Charon-Vane stared at the glowing brand on his boat, then slowly bowed his head. "The prophecy did not say the Origin-Eater would be merciful. It said he would be inevitable."
The Ferryman pushed off from the shore. As the skiff glided into the black water, the silence of the sea swallowed them whole. In the distance, the Valley of the Despaired Lilies began to glow brighter, the white petals opening like hungry mouths in the dark.