Page 111 of The Ascended
His eyes met mine, a weariness flickering in their depths. “Good. Because neither will anyone else.”
As we approached the private dock reserved for Xül’s vessel, I noticed the attention we were already drawing—Shadowkin paused in their duties, other lesser divine beings gathering at the harbor’s edge, all watching our arrival with undisguised interest.
“Ready yourself,” he murmured as the ship glided toward itsberth. “The Eternal City remembers everything—and forgives nothing.”
With those comforting words, he stepped away, leaving me alone at the helm as we drifted into the shadow of death’s domain.
The Harbor Tier was chaos—asymphony of sounds, scents, and sensations that made the Bone Spire seem peaceful by comparison. Shadowkin dockworkers moved quickly, securing vessels and unloading cargo.
But it was the gaps that caught my attention. The strange pauses in movement, the way Shadowkin would occasionally stop to interact with... nothing. Empty air.
“Souls,” Xül explained, following my gaze. “They exist in a different state—perceivable by those that walk the thin line between life and death, but invisible to the living.”
A chill ran through me despite the warmth of the day. “They’re here? Right now?”
“Everywhere. All souls who have departed life.” His voice softened. “Draknavor exists as a threshold between states. What you see is merely one layer of reality.”
I stared at the spaces between people. How many souls passed by us even now, caught in that liminal space between life and whatever came after?
The question rose unbidden to my lips. “Could I—if someone I knew had died?—”
“No.” His rejection was gentle but absolute. “Even here, some separations cannot be bridged. The living cannot reach the transitioning, no matter how desperately they might wish to.”
The unexpected kindness in his tone made it worse somehow. I swallowed hard, forcing back the image of Sulien that threatened to overwhelm me. “Right. Of course.”
Xül’s expression suggested he understood more than I wantedhim to. Without further comment, he turned and began walking, expecting me to follow.
We’d barely begun our ascent from the Harbor when Xül abruptly changed direction, veering away from the main thoroughfare toward a narrow side street.
“Where are we going?” I asked, lengthening my stride to keep pace with him.
“A necessary detour,” was all he offered, his eyes scanning the storefronts lining the cramped alley.
The street was a stark contrast to the grand avenues we’d just left behind—buildings leaned into one another as if sharing secrets, their foundations so ancient they seemed to have grown from the bedrock rather than being built upon it. Cramped shops with faded signs lined both sides, most appearing to have stood unchanged for centuries.
Without warning, Xül stopped before a small, unassuming establishment wedged between a bookbinder and what appeared to be an apothecary. The shop’s facade was worn smooth by time, its single window revealing a dim interior where glass jars lined the shelves. No sign announced its purpose, just a simple etching in the stone above the door: a spiral.
“A moment,” Xül said.
He pushed open the door, releasing a cloud of sweet-spiced air that wrapped around us like a warm embrace. Inside, the shop was even smaller than it appeared from the street—barely large enough for a counter, a few shelves lined with jars, and a modest workbench where something bubbled in a copper pot.
“Well, well.” A booming voice shattered the shop’s tranquil atmosphere. “The prodigal prince returns! Still looking too serious for your own good, I see.”
The speaker emerged from a back room, and I found myself facing the strangest being I’d yet encountered in this realm. She appeared almost like a Shadowkin but far more substantial; her formsettled into that of an elderly woman with deep silver skin. Her eyes were completely black, and her hair moved independently of air currents, weaving itself into patterns above her head.
“Nyxis,” Xül replied, and I nearly stumbled at the sound of his voice—all the cold authority, all the arrogant distance, had vanished, replaced by something that sounded suspiciously like warmth. “You’re still inflicting your concoctions on unsuspecting customers, I see.”
“Inflicting?” She laughed. “The day you refuse one of my ‘concoctions’ is the day the Black Sea runs clear.” She bustled around the counter with surprising agility, reaching up to pat his cheek as if he were a child. “How many years must pass before you visit your old Nyxis without being forced to by some crisis or another, hmm?”
To my absolute astonishment, Xül submitted to this treatment without protest. The corner of his mouth tugged upward in what might have actually been a smile.
“I’ve been occupied.”
“Occupied! Listen to him!” She turned to me conspiratorially. “As if ascending to godhood and becoming Warden of the Damned were reasonable excuses for neglecting the old woman who used to wipe tears from his cheeks.”
Xül’s almost-smile faltered. “Nyxis?—”
“And who is this?” She cut him off, peering at me with those strange eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve finally found someone willing to tolerate that prickly personality of yours?”
