The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and deep violet. The once-roaring waterfall now shimmered under the faint glow of the moon, a curtain of liquid silver cascading endlessly into the abyss below. Atlas sat near the edge of their small clearing, his back resting against a jagged stone. Ivan, as always, remained kneeled in prayer, though his earlier frantic crafting session still lingered in Atlas's mind.

The faint scent of charred wood still clung to the air despite Ivan's attempts to erase the evidence. Atlas couldn't shake the image of the golden blade slicing through the tree with effortless precision, nor could he ignore the gnawing suspicion growing in his chest.

Earlier, as Ivan worked with the golden blade, he hadn't just crafted the canoe. With swift and deliberate movements, he had also fashioned two sturdy paddles from the same tree. Their surfaces were smooth, etched faintly with runes that pulsed with Aetheric energy. Ivan had tucked them neatly beside the canoe before hiding it beneath the roots.

“Traverse at night,” Atlas muttered to himself, his gaze fixed on the waterfall. “When luck is with us... or when we’re least likely to be seen?”

Ivan suddenly spoke, his voice breaking the fragile silence. “You doubt me, don’t you, Atlas?”

Atlas turned his head slightly but said nothing.

Ivan rose from his position, his silhouette stark against the faint moonlight. His white eyes glimmered with faint traces of Aether, and for a brief moment, he looked almost ethereal—a figure sculpted from the divine energy he so often spoke of.

“You saw me, didn’t you?” Ivan continued, stepping closer. “I felt your eyes on me when I was preparing the vessel. But tell me, does it matter? Whether through divine providence or mortal craft, the result remains the same.”

Atlas clenched his jaw. Ivan had a point, but it didn’t sit well with him.

“Does it ever stop?” Atlas asked, his voice low. “The lies, the half-truths, the showmanship? Does it ever stop with you?”

Ivan paused, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps not. But tell me, Atlas, does it matter when the result saves your life?”

Atlas had no response to that.

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The night deepened, and Ivan eventually gestured for Atlas to follow. Together, they approached the edge of the water where the makeshift canoe was now sitting, partially hidden under an overhang of roots and shadows. The paddles lay neatly inside.

Ivan placed a hand on the vessel. “This will carry us far enough up the waterfall—far enough to find the next path. But we must be cautious. The gods may favor us, but the creatures that dwell in the mist do not.”

Atlas took a deep breath and climbed into the canoe first. Ivan followed shortly after, pushing them off from the rocky shore with a controlled burst of Aether. The canoe glided onto the water with eerie smoothness, carried forward by the unnatural current pulling them towards the base of the waterfall.

As they drifted closer, the roar of the water became deafening. The mist thickened, clinging to their skin like a cold second layer, obscuring their vision beyond a few feet.

Atlas tightened his grip on the edge of the canoe, his eyes scanning the churning water for any sign of movement.

“Stay sharp,” Ivan whispered. “This is the veil—the boundary between mortal footing and divine ascent. If anything stirs beneath the water, do not hesitate.”

The canoe jolted slightly, and Atlas immediately reached for the summoned hilt of Night Spire’s Fang. His heart hammered in his chest as shadows beneath the water shifted, deep forms swimming parallel to their vessel.

“Ivan,” Atlas hissed, his voice barely audible over the cascade.

Ivan raised a hand, signaling for silence.

The seconds stretched into eternity as the creatures swam alongside them. Their outlines—serpentine and impossibly large—moved with purpose, as if watching, waiting.

Then, without warning, one of them broke the surface.

A massive, glistening head with pale, sightless eyes breached the water. Its maw, lined with rows of needle-like teeth, opened just enough to let out a guttural, otherworldly sound.

Atlas’s muscles tensed, his mind racing.

Ivan acted first. With a surge of purple Aether, he slammed his palm onto the surface of the water. A radiant shockwave pulsed outward, forcing the creature to recoil and disappear back into the depths.

The canoe rocked violently from the force, and Atlas barely managed to hold on.

“Row!” Ivan barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Atlas grabbed the paddles and began to row with everything he had, each stroke sending them further into the mist.

The sounds of churning water and distant growls echoed around them, but no further attacks came. Slowly, the water calmed, and the mist began to thin.

As they emerged into a wider section of the waterfall basin, Ivan let out a relieved sigh.

Atlas looked back, his breathing ragged. The monstrous shapes had disappeared, swallowed by the endless mist.

Above them, the waterfall stretched into infinity, and somewhere high above, a faint golden light shimmered through the cascading water.

“That,” Ivan said, pointing upward, “is our path.

Atlas looked deep into the waterfall and something caught his eye.

Far above, deep within the churning cascade, something moved.

A colossal tentacle, familiar and grotesque, thrashed violently within the roaring water. Its dark silhouette twisted and coiled against the current, blocking the path ahead.

Ice filled Atlas’s Veins.