----------------------------------------
The mist parted like something alive, curling away to reveal the ferry cutting through the water with eerie precision. It moved without a sound, no splash, no creak, as though the Styx itself wanted no record of its passage. The boat was small, almost frail-looking, its planks dark and warped, like they’d been dredged up from some long-forgotten shipwreck. Yet it moved with an inevitability that made Jace’s skin crawl.
Jace’s shoes crunched against the rocky shore as he stepped closer, watching the ferry glide to a stop, before stepping in.
The figure at the helm was little more than a shadow—a hooded outline against the fog. Its skeletal hands gripped the oar with practiced ease, each movement precise, deliberate, and indifferent. The hood turned ever so slightly in Jace’s direction, clearly waiting for payment.
Pulling up his sleeve, Jace showed the Mark of Hades inked into his skin. The tattoo shimmered to life, glowing silver in the gloom, casting pale streaks of light that danced across the Ferryman’s unmoving frame. It wasn’t just a mark—it was his coin, his ticket, his frequent-flyer pass to the underworld’s exclusive club of the damned.
The shadow moved his hood ever so slightly. Not a nod, barely even an acknowledgment, and started rowing into the darkness.
"Bob," Jace said, "My guy. My dude. How’s the eternal grind treating you these days?"
The Ferryman didn’t answer. He never did. Just rowed.
The ferry cut through the Styx with the silence of a predator in dark waters. Its gliding was almost hypnotic. Jace sprawled on his favorite spot—a part of the bench that was marginally less likely to give him tetanus.
"Always the strong, silent type," Jace continued, leaning forward, elbows on knees like they were old pals at a dive bar. "I respect that about you. And you know what? I’ve been thinking. You’re a workhorse, Bob. The backbone of the underworld. No breaks, no sick days."
The silence stretched. Bob’s hood didn’t even twitch.
"I mean, look at you," Jace said, his smile widening. "Centuries—no, millennia—of ferrying poor bastards across a literal death river, and what do you get? Spooky vibes and maybe a dental plan if you’re lucky. Not even a gold watch at the end of it. You ever think about unionizing? Getting some time off? A little vacation in the Elysian Fields, maybe? Picture it: you, a hammock, and a mai tai with one of those little umbrellas. That’s the dream, Bob."
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
The boat dipped as it hit a ripple, the movement barely noticeable, but Jace was certain it was Bob’s version of rolling his eyes.
"See? Even the river agrees with me," Jace teased, tapping his temple. "I’ve got ideas, Bob. Big ideas."
A long pause stretched between them, heavy as the mist curling around the ferry. This was the part Jace hated—the silence. No matter how many times he made the trip, the Styx still got under his skin. The water wasn’t just black; it was a black that felt alive, like it was watching, waiting.
He leaned back on the bench, trying to shake off the unease. Silence might have been Bob’s thing, but Jace wasn’t built for it. He’d rather face a hydra than let the quiet creep in.
“Alright, Bob,” he said.
Bob’s hood didn’t move. The oar dipped into the water, smooth and steady, the sound slicing through the stillness like a clock ticking down.
“Why don’t skeletons fight each other?”
Nothing.
“They don’t have the guts." He punctuated it with finger guns, his grin widening.
The water lapped at the edges of the ferry in what Jace could’ve sworn was an audible groan.
“Tough room,” Jace muttered, leaning back again. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a million of ‘em.”
He could almost sense the relief radiating from Bob as the shore came into view, the dark outline of jagged rocks breaking through the mist. The ferry eased to a stop with the grace of a creature settling into its lair. Jace stood, stretching lazily.
“Well, Bob, as always, it’s been an absolute delight,” he said, stepping onto the creaking planks of the dock. He shot the Ferryman a two-fingered salute. “Five stars. Would recommend. You’re a treasure, buddy.”
He turned, ready to stride off into the gloom, when a voice stopped him cold. Low and gravelly, it scraped the air like nails dragged across coffin wood.
“You get two. Talk too much.”
Jace froze mid-step, his head whipping around so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. Bob sat unmoving, the hood concealing whatever passed for a face, the oar steady in his skeletal grip.
“You—” Jace pointed an incredulous finger, his voice caught somewhere between shock and laughter. “Did you just—? Bob! You son of a—”
But the mist was already swallowing the ferry, taking Bob and his impossible sass with it. Jace stood there for a moment, stunned, before a laugh burst out of him, wild and unrestrained.
“Two stars,” he muttered, shaking his head as he started walking. “Unbelievable.”