Their path turned toward the waterfall leading east, guided by Melin. After an hour, they reached it. The landscape before them shifted like a dreamscape: in the farthest distance, the blurred silhouette of the damned appeared, endlessly falling beside a cliff into a bottomless void beyond their final judgment.
"Do you see down there the rare remains of war-torn structures? The bleeding trees bearing rotten fruit… the burning, eye-stinging vapor rising from the dark sea? That's the way you must go. Look for a boatman on the shore."
"Now, take that blue-flowered herb from beside the bushes. All of you. Come on!" Melin pointed with her finger.
"And don't be afraid, no matter how many horrors your eyes might dare to recount… I wish you luck, all of you! The closer you get to your goals, the more the evil will sense your presence—and it will strike. Never forget that!"
They said their farewells, and Melin turned her back and walked away on the same path they came.
There was only one road to follow: toward the boatman, using the burning grip of worn, crumbling stones leading away from the waterfall—at least until they could safely leap down to the ground. A barrier rose before them: the need to conquer their own fear. Kodella wrapped her arms around Louis's neck for support. Meanwhile, Willy and Tony moved with careful coordination, watching each other's steps. The searing grip of stone offered little comfort. By the midpoint, they nearly all stumbled at once, meeting the scalding earth of the slope.
Their journey began anew, walking from the fields of a thousand colors into a fiery wasteland. They moved eastward, but the closer they got to the sea, the harder it became to navigate the spreading mist.
The voice of the pit of death followed them, stirred by the eternal wheel of time. And as they reached the edge of the cliff, the sound ceased again. The falling bodies of men dissolved into blood, flowing into the world's deepest abyss. From there, the voice they once heard now returned—spoken, clear:
"Unfold the truth of sightless spirits—see, and never follow the maze of blind ideals. My true heart bears the shackles of timeless captivity."
Louis pondered the meaning of the resounding voice when they suddenly noticed something strange: a black-cloaked figure, dragging a boat behind him. A blinding green light radiated from his waist.
"Get away from there, fools!" the figure shouted from afar.
They stepped away from the cliff's edge. Then Tony spoke:
"The ferryman! So we've finally found him!"
"Took him long enough! I thought we were completely lost…"
The ferryman waited for their approach, and half an hour later they reached the shore.
"Get in," he said.
But before they could step into the boat, he raised his arm.
"Payment."
"With what, exactly?"
They hesitated… until Kodella reached into her pocket and pulled out the mint Melin had told them to pick. She offered it to him. The ferryman accepted.
"We paid with a plant? What's he going to do with it?" asked Louis.
"Maybe he needs a spice for his dinner!" Tony laughed.
"Or to stuff into his pipe for a little high," Louis added with a grin.
"Hope he shares some with us, then," Willy joined in, lightening the mood.
"Well, no one gets sick until they've met the herb that can cure them," Tony added with a sigh.
The ferryman narrowed his eyes at Tony and Louis and let out a grumble.
The others quickly fell silent…
Kodella observed everyone's reactions, trying to figure out what they might be speaking about. Then she spotted a piece of paper in the boat and picked it up. Using black sludge scraped from the boat's floor, she began to scribble something.
Louis looked over:
"Hmm… so he can write?"
She handed the paper to him.
Louis examined it. There was no text—only a diagram. A 4×4 grid of numbers.
"A magic square?" Louis wondered aloud. "I've seen one before… I might even know the solution…"
46, 49, 52, 39
46, 51, 41, 48...
Louis added the numbers horizontally, vertically, and diagonally. Every row equaled 186.
"186… Gematria, maybe? It could be a Hebrew word hidden in there… Willy! Do you know Hebrew?"
"Somewhat… Why?"
"I'm trying to uncover the meaning behind the number—186."
"Let's see… 186… That could stand for several words… but in our case, the most likely is 'trial'."
"Trial?"
"Yes, the word 'trial'… if you sum the letters, it equals 186. And it fits our situation perfectly."
"So he knows we're about to face a trial?"
Kodella clenched her fists and raised them beside her head, nodding and smiling.
"So you were playing a riddle with us, huh? Well, I'll give you that—you're something else…"
Amid their banter, the boat creaked and drifted onward across the water, deeper into the heart of the sea. The world became a wild and bizarre voyage. They had found the beginning of a path.
In the fleeting calm, their hope flickered to life again, under the shadow of truth's grave marker.
Hours passed. The burning sky dimmed, casting fainter light on their journey. A full day went by, heads resting in palms. As they neared the darkest depths, their eyes longed to fall shut.
And so the lost ones drifted into sleep…