"The world is round," they once said—until the first ship sailed off the edge and proved otherwise. Now the question remains: what lies beneath? According to legend, there exists a realm where the rules of reality unravel—a place where the lost can be found, where up becomes down, and where the dead still walk among the living.

—Excerpt from the introduction to Speculative Horizons: A Treatise on Dimensional Anomalies and Unreal Spaces

The ocean stretched in every direction, its dark surface mirroring the stars that gleamed in the sky below. A cluster of floating islands floated between them, spanned by rope bridges that all led to a waterfall that flowed up from a central island to the sea. At the base of this inverted cascade lay a swirling, bottomless pool—so dark it resembled an unbroken mirror.

Flowers unfurled, clinging to the islands’ undersides to catch the rising sun. Faint tendrils of light seeped through the waters from the west as the dawn ignited a kaleidoscope of orange, pink, and lavender, painting both ocean and inverted sky but for the shadows cast by the islands against the light. Tranquil and haunting, it was a place truly worthy of being called the Edge of the World.

Until it wasn’t.

“HAHAHA!”

A thunderous splash shattered the stillness as a giant manta ray burst from the dark pool. Strapped across its back lay a haphazard trove of treasure—gleaming swords, sealed jars holding captured flames, and intricately carved boxes leaking threads of shimmering light. Its long fins spread like wings as a man clung to its back, gripping tight reins.

The man wore patchwork robes dyed black, red, and gold and his wild hair—braided with pearls and glittering feathers—framed a grin so mischievous it seemed to hover in the air long after he had sped past. A chest, hastily strapped to the manta, popped open when it slammed into the waterfall and began to ride it up. He lashed out a foot to kick it shut.

“Stop running, you thieving rat!”

Behind him, two more manta riders burst from the pool. They were coughing up water as they pressed the chase, the trip clearly much more unexpected for them. Each wore crimson uniforms beneath ceremonial armor, emblazoned with the sigil of a gate across the chest. They lifted flintlock guns, then cursed as waterlogged powder rendered the weapons useless.

“But then you’d catch me!” the thief quipped, sticking out his tongue as he waved behind him.  

“Don’t let him escape! We have no idea where he’ll go next!” one of the pursuers barked. “We can’t let him get away!” As soon as they were caught in the waterfall’s current, the thief’s grin widened and he tugged on the reins so hard that the manta vaulted off the waterfall.

His pursuers recoiled in horror as he plummeted past them.

“Thank you for the grand performance tonight!” he crowed with a mocking bow. “Alas, the show is over, and I must depart. Don’t miss me dear friends, for I shall surely visit again!”

“Get him!” one of the riders roared.

One of the riders lunged, grasping for the thief, but the thief jerked his manta to the side, spinning away from the riders as he aimed directly for the swirling pool beneath them. He waved mockingly, but then his grin faltered. The water was rippling like living flesh and then it surged upwards, the reflective pool turning inky black. The moment it touched the manta’s skin, white sparks danced across its leathery hide—then exploded into searing flames.

The manta let out a piercing shriek, and the thief’s cocky grin twisted into horror. He turned and leapt, leaving charred cartilage to clatter into the pit below—the remnants of the pool that he had come through. The thief tried to grab one of his pursuer’s hands, but the rush of the inverted waterfall suddenly reversed, tugging at him like a living tongue and dragged him toward the abyss.

It was far too late for him to turn back.

After a short, high-pitched scream, his bones clattered down to the island, landing into the pit where the remains of the once-majestic manta lay. Melted swords, shattered containers, and dying glimmers of light spilled around him, now broken and worthless. In the span of a few heartbeats, all had been reduced to ash.

“Back—BACK!” the pursuer who had lunged out shouted. He pulled himself up with his reins and his manta twisted skyward in the hopes of reaching the ocean above, only to brush against the roiling black pool. A shriek filled the air as the water surged forward to devour the mount, but the rider leapt up towards his companion who pulled him up, urging his own mount forward.

The manta flapped upward, struggling without the waterfall’s current. Beneath them, the black pool seethed—a living whirlpool roaring like crashing waves. After a long moment, the manta touched a wave rushing up and immediately, it streaked east as the pool let out a hellish shriek.

The whirlpool pulled itself together, compressing into a bullet of churning force before launching itself forward. It rushed forward, missing the manta by an inch as it crashed into the ocean in an explosion of steam and brine. The manta fled, its riders’ screams echoing across the waves while the hungry vortex chased behind them with a roar.

For a fleeting moment, the scene settled into an uneasy calm. The only sounds were the hiss of steam and the soft crackle of dying embers scattered around the ruined manta carcass. In that breath of eerie quiet, the wind carried distant echoes of the fleeing riders, now nothing more than faint cries against the inverted sky.

The once-raging whirlpool was gone, leaving behind a pit strewn with charred treasure and ash. As the sun sank lower into the sky, it flung elongated shadows across the jagged rocks and shrouded the scorched remains in deepening gloom.

Then came a scuff of footsteps on stone, breaking the moment. A figure stepped into view from behind a tumble of boulders, as if drawn by the aftermath. He wore a worn tunic, sturdy breeches, and a white coat—more an affectation of his profession than any source of real protection. His bronzed skin glinted off of the morning light, as he cautiously approached, scanning the horizon where the deadly whirlpool had vanished.

Finding no immediate threat, he exhaled shakily, pressing one hand to his chest to calm his racing heart. He inched toward the pit, then paused, stepping back. “What… was that?” he whispered, pressing the back of his other hand against his forehead as if checking for illness.

There was an answering cackle.

“That, my friend, is what I’d call a fatal stroke of bad luck.”

The man jumped, eyes darting in every direction. “Who’s there?”

“Oi! Down here!”

The man followed the sound of the voice to the pit, where the thief’s skeleton sprawled atop the manta’s scorched carcass. Impossibly, it waved a bony arm at him, a raspy laugh escaping charred teeth. “Nice to meet you. Name’s Senob—you might’ve heard of me.”

The man nearly toppled backward. “Wh-what?” he gasped, eyes wide.

“Get it out of your system,” the skeleton said, teeth clacking. “It’s me alright, bad to the bone.”

The man scrambled upright, leaning over the pit. “H-how are you—”

“Here?” The skeleton preempted.

“—alive?” The man finished, eyes wide.

“Alive?” The skeleton tilted its skull, hollow sockets now focused on him. “Not quite. I’m certainly what you’d call a dead man. You’ve never run into someone dead before?”

“No, I definitely haven’t,” the man murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. “What… What are you? And where in the world am I?”

For a moment, the skeleton said nothing. Then, “You really haven’t heard of me, have you?”

The man hesitated. “I—no. Should I have?”

The skeleton tiled his skull, before letting out a rattling laugh. “I see, I see. Well then—who the hell are you exactly?”

The man inhaled deeply. “I’m Natan.” Saying his name seemed to steady him. “I’m still not sure if this is real or some fever dream—but good manners never hurt. How are you, Senob? Does… being resurrected like this happen often around here?”

“It’s happened to me more than I’d like,” Senob admitted with a dusty chuckle. “But let me tell you—being stuck as a pile of bones isn’t exactly my idea of a good time. Lucky for me, you showed up. Now, usually I’d make a deal to haul me back to civilization but…”

“I don’t even know where I am.” Natan answered, looking around with a frown. “All I remember is being on a boat to the Edge… next thing I know, a storm breaks out and I’m falling out of a pool, there’s a waterfall flowing upward, and then I see—well, everything that happened to you.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” the skeleton said lightly. “Couldn’t have had a more disastrous day, could you? Imagine planning a daring escape laden with treasure, only for it all—mount included—to burn up in an instant. Oh wait, that did happen and I seem to recall you getting a front-row seat.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Natan winced. “Right,” he muttered, glancing aside. “I’m… sorry.”

“I suppose I bit off more than I could chew—or more accurately, the portal did the chewing,” Senob laughed again, his bones rattling. “And you might be lost, but that has its advantages. At least everything is still attached and you’re still breathing.”

“You said this happened before, then you must have a way of fixing yourself.” Natan pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “While, truthfully, I have no clue how to get back home.”

“Is that so?” The skeleton tilted his skull from side to side, joints creaking. “Say, Natan. You really are lost, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’ve been saying,” Natan said, glancing toward the place where a normal sky should be—and instead finding a vast, glittering ocean. “I have a theory or two, but honestly, I have no clue where I am or how I got here.”

“I think I figured out your problem,” the skeleton nodded decisively, a few charred bones rattling as he shifted. “You’re from the Overworld, aren’t you?”

Natan paused. “The Overworld?” he echoed, glancing around with newfound caution. “As opposed to the Underworld? Senob… be honest. Am I dead? Is this some sort of afterlife?”

The skeleton cackled. “You’re not dead, Natan—at least, no deader than I am!”

“Very reassuring,” Natan said dryly. “You keep saying I’m ‘lost’ like it means something more to you, than it does to me. Care to explain?”

“I don’t know how things work up there,” Senob said carefully. “But down here, the quickest way to travel is to be so lost that someone—or something— finds you.”

Natan’s eyes narrowed. “How does that work?” He patted his coat, searching for paper or quill, then sighed. “If only I could take notes. I’d heard legends, but how would that work? The horizon proves the curvature of space, but could that alone explain—?”

“Natan,” the skeleton interjected, “do I look like a priest to you?”

The man cast a glance at Senob and chuckled. “No—quite the opposite.”

“Then don’t ask me why it works,” Senob said, head tilting up in exasperation. “So, how lost were you up in the Overworld? Is there anyone who’d come looking for you?”

“In short? Very,” Natan said, touching his chin thoughtfully. “I was researching… Well, the Underworld or rather, the edge of the world.” He reached for his coat again, before catching himself “I was very far away from civilization, so I doubt anyone expects me back soon.”

“That’s your real problem,” Senob said with a long, dusty sigh. “If nobody’s searching for you, you slip right through the cracks. And that pool you saw?” He pointed a bony finger toward the distant horizon. “No one knows where it leads. Stepping into it is about as lost as you can get. I planned to slip away with a bit of loot, but…”

Natan examined the pit curiously. “What went wrong?”

“You went wrong,” Senob said, hollow eye sockets locked on Natan. “I don’t think you’re supposed to be here, Natan—and that’s made the pool go haywire. You must’ve popped out of it, so now it’s determined to send you back—no one else can use it until you’re gone.”

Natan arched his brow. “Gone—meaning you think it could actually send me back?”

“Maybe,” Senob said, waving a dismissive hand. “But at the moment, it’s acting weird. If you’re feeling lucky, go ahead—jump right in. Then again…” He tapped a bony finger on the manta’s charred spine. “You saw what happens when it’s not behaving the way it's supposed to.”

Natan shuddered. “I’d rather explore other options first.”

“Smart choice.” Senob tipped his skull in respect. “Now, I imagine you’re thinking about your next move. That’s where I come in.” His teeth clacked loudly. “As you can see, I’m a bit… bare bones at the moment.”

Natan blinked, then let out a faint grin.

“But I know a trick or two about surviving down here,” Senob continued. “I might be able to help you find a safer path home—if you’ll get me where I want to go. Fair deal?”

“I suppose it’s fair.” Natan answered, glancing around. As far as he could tell, they were in the middle of nowhere. “But I have no idea where we’ll go from here.”

“That’s what I’m here for, pal,” Senob replied cheerily. He leaned forward, lifting up his chin towards Natan. “First, grab my skull.”

Natan blinked. “What?”

“I can’t exactly move much,” the skeleton said. “So come on—grab my skull and pull it free. I won’t bite.” He paused, jaw clicking. “Not right now, anyway.”

Natan raised his eyebrow, but nodded.  Keeping his face carefully neutral, he slid down the pit to where Senob was. Carefully stepping around the treasures, he reached out towards the skeleton and slid his fingers around the base of Senob’s skull. Then he tugged, the skull popping free with a soft crack and the skeleton collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

Senob’s jaw against Natan’s hand, causing him to grimace. “Excellent. Now, close your eyes.”

“Why should I close my eyes?” Natan asked, holding the skull up to his face.

“You’ll see.” The skull said, empty sockets staring into eyes. “Just do as I tell you.”

Taking a breath, Natan let his hands fall and complied. As soon as his lids shut, he felt Senob shift against his palm—an eerie vibration, as if the bone itself were humming. 

“Think of home,” Senob’s voice echoed in the darkness behind Natan’s closed eyes. “Think of how you got here. Think of how badly you messed up to wind up in this big, scary Underworld.”

Natan nodded, listening to the sound of the ocean above and the distant creaking of wooden bridges. He was suddenly aboard a ship travelling to the edge of the world, chartered to gather measurements for a scholarly treatise. It was to be his life’s work. Then the storm had blown the boat astray, causing him to fall off the ship and into this strange land. He’d felt a sense of excitement at discovering this place, but also a fear at how real it all seemed.

As his mind focused on these things, on the feeling of falling out of the ship, he felt a sense of weightlessness overtake him like he was once more falling into the ocean. For a split second, he could hear the rush of water overhead and feel the rocky ground beneath him. Then he was gripping Senob tightly, taking a stumbling step straight into a stone wall. His eyes snapped open, and he turned in shock. Gone was the charred pit and the ocean above.

Instead, lamplight flickered against damp gray stones.

“Where on earth are we now?” he asked, holding up Senod. “What just happened?”

Senob cackled. “Welcome to the Cult of the World Above,” he announced. “Didn’t I tell you the fastest way to get somewhere here is to be so lost that someone—or something—finds you?”

Natan frowned, scanning his surroundings. Thick pillars rose along a narrow hallway, and above closed fire-jars affixed to the walls were the gate sigils he’d seen on the manta riders. From far above he could still hear the faint rush of waves, but the sound of muffled voices were closer.

“I—” Natan glanced around, baffled. “I don’t understand,” he managed, whispering softly. “How are we here? A moment ago I was… on that island, and now—”

“Ah, you were pretty lost,” Senob interrupted, “which is exactly what we needed. And these fellows?” He let out another soft laugh. “Well, they’re the people who wanted to find me. They’re also quite interested in your Overworld too, so I figured we’d end up here.”

“Wait,” Natan murmured, looking around warily as he hugged the skull closer. “Weren’t these people trying to catch you?”

“Kill, catch, question—minor details.” Senob’s tone was maddeningly casual. “But they’re fanatics for all things Overworld. So maybe we can figure out a neat little route back up for you… and, you know, let me get a second look at their shiny treasure hoard.”

“This…” Natan took a breath, considering things. “If the pool was chasing the people chasing you, then wouldn’t it be coming here?”

“Another option.” Senob answered. “We can confirm if the cult knows it's safe.” He paused for a second. “If you’re thinking of tossing me aside and joining them, though”—the light played along his face to form a faint grin—“just remember, the worst I’d do is lie or trick you. They, on the other hand, might just take you apart.”

Natan pressed his free hand to his forehead. “What… What is happening to me?”

“Relax,” Senob said with a dry chuckle. “I’ve done this before.”

Footsteps echoed, causing both of them to freeze.

“I think I heard someone down here.” A distant voice said.

“That’ll be the ones looking for us.” Senob whispered. “Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

“What do we do?” Natan asked.

“Hold me up,” Senob instructed. “I’ll need to figure out where we are.”

Natan exhaled and held up his hand, allowing him to survey the hall. “Which way should I go?” He asked, his voice quiet.

“No idea,” He replied with eerie good humor. “My suggestion is: away from the voices.”

Natan let out a sigh, letting his hand drop. Glancing warily behind him, he began to cautiously make his way down the corridor while Senob made himself comfortable in his hand.