Henry stands tall, bravely facing Morpheus despite the weight of the decision he carries. Neila's face turns a ghostly shade of white.
"Henry, we didn't agree to this," she says. Henry turns to look at her, and a world of emotions passes behind his eyelids.
"I know. But I also know you and your incurable need to save everyone, even at the cost of your own life. But that is not happening on my watch."
"That is not your call to make and there is no way I am letting you go through with this!" Neila insists, stepping closer to him.
"I say if Henry wishes to sacrifice his life to save the kingdom, let him," Elizabeth says with pure indifference. "He serves as a solution to our predicament, so what else do we need?" Neila wheels around, fire him her eyes as she casts a venomous look at Elizabeth.
"How about I skin you from ear to ear right now?" She threatens. "Solve our predicament a lot faster."
"You are all insufferable savages," Elizabeth shoots back.
"Stop," I say firmly, stepping between them. "We need to work together on this. This constant disrespect and verbal combat isn't going to help us find a solution any faster. It is only driving a wedge between us."
"Agreed," Henry nods and turns back to Morpheus. "I have made my choice. Now all you need to do is accept it."
"Accept that the man I love wants to be a sacrificial lamb without even consulting me?" Neila demands, grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at her.
"If I hadn't stepped up, you would have done the same, and you know it," he insists.
"Still..." her voice catches as she looks up at him. "I just found you and now you want to leave me?" Henry takes the few remaining steps between them in a heartbeat, taking her hands in his and looking her fiercely in the eye.
"Leaving you is the last thing I want, but if someone has to die, I am glad I get to do this for you. For the king. For us all."
"Perhaps we should allow them some time to say their farewells," Morpheus says with a clearing of his throat.
"There is no time," Neila cuts in. "Besides, we have said all we need to."
"All right," Morpheus nods. "Let us begin with the spell. Henry, if you will, lie down on the bed next to the king." Henry shuffles over to the bed, but before he can recline, Veron snaps out of it and pulls his best friend into a tight hug, slapping him on the back.
"Oh, Veron," Henry sighs. "You have been a true brother to me."
"As have you," Veron nods. "So all I ask... is that you take good care of her."
"What?" All of our voices say at once. Henry pulls away from Veron just in time for a heavy, blunt metal candlestick to catch him in the side of the head. He collapses, dazily holding a hand to the side of his head.
"Veron..." Henry says groggily. "Why?" The room bursts into a cacophony of raised voices and sharp accusations, but Veron smiles sadly as Henry slips out of consciousness.
"Because this is the best thing for everyone," Veron says firmly. Neila drops to her knees next to Henry, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Veron, what are you doing?" She demands.
"I am taking Henry's place," he says bravely. "I am sorry for knocking him out, but he would have tried to stop me. This is the way it is supposed to be."
"Why would you say that?" Neila demands, jumping to feet, panic in her voice.
"Because Henry is your future," Veron explains. "I am like a bad penny you cannot seem to be able to shake, and I refuse to be the one to hold you back any longer."
"This again?" Neila exclaims. "Veron. Please. It has always been me and you. I don't want to do all this without you!"
"Do not force me to fight you on this, sister," Veron pleads. "I have made my decision and you will not change my mind." And with that, Veron lies down on the bed and nods at Morpheus. "I am ready."
"No, wait!" Neila yells furiously. "I am not okay with this!"
"Sister, please!" Veron yells back. "You have a full life ahead of you with Henry. Let me do this for you! I know it is not what you expected, but you can survive this. We both know you have been through worse."
"Worse?" She scoffs. "You seriously want to dredge up our sob story right now?"
"Alright people," Elizabeth says, holding up a hand. "Whatever has to happen, it has to happen now. Jayce's breathing has turned too shallow." Gripped by a jolt of panic so painful that my legs almost give out, I dash over to Jayce's side and prop myself next ot him, pressing two fingers to his pulse point. Alarm invades my senses as I feel his pulse flatter scarce and frail against my fingers, like the ghost of a life, a fading reminder of a caress on numb skin.
"He's fading," I gasp. My eyes land on his would, and with a start, I realize that the pulsating black veins, reaching out like bony fingers to infect his bloodstream, brim with oozing dark matter. The dark substance within them rolls up across his midsection and chest, stopping just inches from his heart. I feel my blood drain and everything else is forgotten. The only thing that matters is Jayce and I am listing him; everything he is slipping away into the dark confines of nothingness. I barely feel Morpheus slide up next to me, his hand resting on my shoulder.
"He is not gone yet, but I must begin the transfer. It is a matter of minutes now."
Everyone turns to look at Neila, who looks so hollowed out that I think if a wind swept in, it would snatch her away. When she speaks, her voice comes out rasp and broken, her dismay and torment laid clearly out on her face.
"Do it," she says quietly. Nodding, Morpheus positions himself at the head of the bed, laying a hand on both Jayce and Veron's foreheads. He closes his eyes and begins chanting.
The words are in a foreign language, but with a start, I realize I can understand exactly what hs is saying.
"Legions of death, Ferryman of the Dead, remove the pennies from oblivious eyes. Lay them on the living, so as death becomes life, life becomes death. Hear me, Charon, perched atop your skiff. Once above, ten times below, make one soul impervious to your wayward some so that he may come home. Let one be found, the other lost, wandering endlessly but never reaching the port." As Morpheus finishes chanting, I grasp Jayce's hand, trying to ignore how devastating cold it feels in mine, holding on for dear life. I softly kiss both his cheeks, tasting the saltiness of my own silent tears streaking down my cheeks, willing him to come back to me. Return to me, my love. Please. Please, come home. Morpheus removes his hands from atop Jayce and Veron and for a few seconds all is quiet. Too quiet. And as soon as I realize why, invasive tendrils of cold dread grip my heart in an iron fist.
"He's not breathing!" I exclaim, looking up at Morpheus in pure panic.
"It is up to Death to accept the sacrifice," Morpheus says. "Perhaps he does not wish to let the king go."
"Do something!" I scream at him.
"I am afraid it is out of my hands now," Morpheus says solemnly.
"No," I shake my head, hands trembling around Jayce's. "There must be something. Anything." The blackness of the wound has finally reached Jayce's heart, the dark matter clinging to it like a taut tourniquet, but it doesn't look so alive anymore, and it is no longer moving. It looks as if it is frozen, its purpose of draining all life in its path finally complete. It is nothing more than a dry, nuanced black stain on porcelain skin. No... This can't be happening. Neila flings herself at Veron, holding her brother close.
"Was it me?" Veron asks, sitting up. "Did I do something wrong?"
"It had nothing to do with you," Morpheus replies. "For whatever reason, Death was not interested in making the trade."
"What if you repeat the spell?" I ask quickly. "Maybe the second time will catch."
"There was nothing wrong with the spell," Morpheus reassures me. "And besides, it cannot be repeated."
"Look," I say firmly, moving close as I glare up at him in pure fury. "You promised me. So I do not care what has to be done, only that you keep your word. Bring. Him. Back."
"He is already gone, Cyrilla," Neila says quietly behind me. "It is too late."
"No!" I yell, whirling around on her. "It may be easy for you to give up on him, but not for me. I didn't take you for a quitter, but I guess I was wrong."
"I understand you are upset, but lashing out is not going to bring him back, Cyrilla," Neila says gently. "It is time we accept it. He is gone." A fresh wave of hot tears fall down my face, running down my cheeks like lines in the sand.
"There is one last thing to be done," Morpheus says slowly. "Although, I do not recommend it as it is extremely perilous." There is a fluttering in my chest that dangerously resembles hope.
"What is it?" I demand. "I will do anything."
"I can still feel some remnants of his life signature– his essence, if you will– sticking to the plane of the living. I could use them to send you where he is. But you must find him before he boards the ferry, for if he does, your mortal bodies will not be able to follow him."
"So you are saying that you can transport us... to the Underworld?" Neila gasps.
"Yes," Morpheus nods. "This is a limited time offer, though, I am afraid, as the remnants of his essence are fading. Soon I will not be able to locate him." Morpheus opens his palm and out of thin air, a thick, tangled ball of gold thread materializes. "This is so that you do not lose your way. You will hold onto one end and I on the other. All you will have to do to return is follow the thread." The ball untangles and stretches and Morpheus uses telekinesis to make one end of it float toward me.
"It should be you, Cyrilla," Morpheus says, "and Veron that goes after the king. Given that Veron still agrees to be the sacrifice."
"I do," Veron nods firmly. He turns to look at Neila– probably expecting a rebuttal, but none comes– who was wearing a stoic expression on her face.
"Just know that I love you, despite your stubbornness," she says. "And don't you dare forget it."
"I won't," Veron insists. "And I love you too."
Veron and I grip the thread tightly as Morpheus chants the words that would presumably send us spirling through fire and brimstone.
"As above, so below. The far and wide, the crimson snow where tendrils of light never reach the shore. Reign high, or reign now. Down strikes the wayward cane. Up, blistering flames infuse the world. As the bell tolls, let the gates be open. Come on, come all." My surroundings don't disappear, nor do they collapse in on themselves, but the floor actually caves in and sucks me through like a vacuum or black hole.
"AHH!" I scream, arms and legs flailing wildly. Veron screams, if not louder, above me as he falls. The last thing I hear before the vortex swallows us up completely is Morpheus' insistent voice.
"No matter what, do not let go of the thread!" Then, there is nothing but a darkness so thick I do not know whether my eyes are open or closed. All I can feel is the endless darkness falling right alongside me, all-consuming and all-pervading. I clench my teeth and grip the thread, dreading the imminent collision that awaits me at the end of my crippling fall, but it never comes. In fact, as the darkness subsides, I am enveloped in a thick mist and my feet touch solid ground. As the mist clears, I am finally able to make out my surroundings. I look down and am instantly spooked by a thick bunch of vines spreading out toward every direction, leading up to reach out of the massive hole we are in. But most of all, what startles me is the black hole on the ground that is rapidly shrinking.
"Veron, I think we came from down here," I say, peering down into the hole.
"That shouldn't be possible, right?" Veron asks, leaning over the hole as well. "We fell all the way down here, but if we came through the ground, gravity dictates that we should have floated here."
"As above, so below," I recite. "That is what Morpheus said. Besides, we have crossed into uncharted territory. What is considered possible and sane has no bearing here."
"Wait... you understood what Morpheus said?" Veron asks, staring at me strangely. "It sounded like gibberish to me." I scan our surroundings and absentmindedly give him a reply.
"I don't know how, but I can understand him perfectly. I think I knew the language which he spoke."
"How?" Veron asks. "It sounded like a pretty ancient dialect."
"I have no idea," I reply. "Just add it to the list of mysteries surrounding me, I guess."
"Speaking of mysteries..." Veron says slowly, looking around. "Where is the king? Didn't Morpheus say he would lead us straight to him?"
"Perhaps he is in the vicinity. Come on, we need to climb out of here." I securely tie the thread around my wrist and insist that Veron do the same as not to drop it during our search. Using the vines which resemble monstrous tentacles of some heinous sea monster, like a Kraken, we pull ourselves out of the cavity, inch by inch, getting closer to the moon-bathed terrain above. A moon? This place is nothing like what I thought. Sweating and panting, I reach the top and climb out, extending a hand to help Veron over the lip of the hole.
A calm, crystal lake slumbers peacefully before us, its oily surface reflecting the cascading light of the moon and its languid ripples.
"This place is..."
"...Beautiful," I say for Veron.
"I was going to go with bizarre," Veron shrugs. "But that works too." A faint scuffling of feet alerts me to look behind me. What I see allure me and terrifies me in equal measure. A large white wolf with red, glowing eyes, stares down Veron and I. But before my body can kick into overdrive and go right for the fight-freeze-fight response, I witness the impossible. The wolf's eyes glow bright red and an unearthly cry escapes its jaws, which snap menacingly toward Veron and I. Before the wolf can pounce and rip me to shreds, I hear more footsteps behind me. Gingerly turning around, I come face to face with yet another wolf; his beady eyes calculating and inquisitive, but it is what I see next that truly makes my heart race. HIM.
"Jayce!" I gasp, heart leaping at the sight of him.
"Cyrilla?" Jayce's eyes go wide. "What the... Veron? What are you doing here?"
"We came to take you home, my lord," Veron replies, dipping his head in reverence.
"Oh..." Jayce says slowly. "I see."
"You see?" I repeat, staring at him in confusion. "I thought you would be happier?"
"Well..." Jayce shrugs. "Things just got a hundred times more complicated than before."
"How so?" I ask. Jayce points to the black wolf standing next to him– his stance rigid and his muscles stiff and ready to strike– still staring down the white wolf from before. A low growl emits from the black wolf's throat, sending the other one scampering off. The white wolf scurries off and the black one turns toward me. Before my eyes, it starts transforming; its form leaning back on its hind legs and stretching skyward until– No. It can't be.
"Well, he is–"
"Lucas," the man, identical to Jayce, says, offering me and Veron a small smile. "I'm Jayce's brother."
Thomas POV
I sit with my back against a tree bank, sword clenched tightly in my hands, watching Trisha peacefully sleep. How can I trust her? How can I trust anyone? They all covet to usurp my power and take my sword. Trisha could kill me in my sleep for all I know, and the sword would be hers. I can't allow that to happen.
"I can literally feel you staring daggers at my back," Trisha says, rolling onto her side to face me. "Not that I care, obviously, but what's up?" No, I can't trust her. Not her and not anyone. Even Cyrilla has made the choice to turn on me. If it wasn't for the sword's power healing me, she would have killed me.
"Is it that hard to guess?" I ask. "I only trust you as far as I can throw you."
"You are paranoid," Trisha shrugs.
"Am I?" I ask. "So is the alternative blindly trusting you? Because I have about zero trust left in me and I just don't think you are useful for me to keep around anymore."
"You know what I think? For all of your power you are still afraid," Trisha says, rolling onto her back and looking up at the night sky. "You are just a scared little boy trying to prove yourself."
"Afraid?" I repeat, raising a brow. "What could I possibly be afraid of, you?"
"Afraid of losing this power, because you know that if you do, you will go back to being pathetic and helpless. Weak." Trisha states.
"Well," I chuckle. "If you know that, then you must know I will stop at nothing to protect what is mine. There is no line I would not cross." Trisha scoffs and at the sound, a searing rage starts to build up inside me.
"You have always been full of big words and heroic statements, but you have always lacked the backbone and conviction necessary to see it through to the end," Trisha continues. I jump to my feet and point the sword dangerously at Trisha.
"Short fuse huh?" She asks, eyeing the sword. "That's alright. No one enjoys hearing the truth, especially when you have been staring at it in the face all along." Trisha languidly gets to her feet, staring me down. "So are you going to follow through this time, or should I start boasting?" I grip the sword in my hand, drawing from it the strength to make my decision. I feel blood boiling in my veins, the tension buzzing in my ears. But what I don't feel is mercy, empathy, guilt... just prolific, churning wrath and stormy hatred that clouds everything else but one overwhelming need. To eliminate. To destroy. To consume. And that's what I do.
Cyrilla POV
"Uhm... what?" I blink, staring at the two Jayce's. In the wake of that statement, my mind struggles to put the pieces together of how what I see is even possible.
"We cannot linger here," Lucas says, looking around. A large scar trails down from the tip of his eyebrow to his lip, and his clothing is made up of strange leather hunting gear. "And I would not venture too close to the lake if I were you."
"Why?" Veron asks quickly, following Lucas's eyes. "What's in the lake?" Lucas fixes the still lake with a haunted look. The sky is reflected on the waters, painting them with a galactic hue; it is like there are two skies: one above, and one below.
"Something I hope you never encounter." He sets off and the rest of us scramble to keep up with his long strides. He looks on edge and his head snaps toward every inconspicuous sound, like he is expecting some monster to crawl out of the woodwork at any second. He doesn't look any more at ease when we reach a grove of tall trees. While walking, I cast uneasy glances at Jayce, but his eyes are glued to his brother's back. He looks both mesmerized– his elation at seeing his brother again plain on his face– but also dismayed, like he is terrified that at any second he would be taken away from him again. As if sensing my eyes on him, he hangs back, matching my pace. The blue in his eyes is so intense that it matches the stellar night sky.
"You came all the way to the Underworld for me," Jayce says quietly. "Why?" There is a nuanced incredulity in his voice, and he shakes his head, as if marveling at why anyone would be willing to risk their life to save his.
"I thought it was rather obvious by now," I reply, fixing him with a gaze, trying to communicate everything I feel and yet can't say with a single look. His searching eyes meet mine, and a silent understanding passes between us. He holds my gaze, a tornado of fiery embers dancing in his eyes that build a steady fire that makes it impossible to avert my gaze. Lost in his enchanting eyes, it takes Lucas's sharp voice to snap me back to reality. Jayce tears his eyes from mine, and just like that, the moment is gone.
"We're here," Lucas says as we approach a large, dilapidated, wooden house.
"That's great," Veron states, looking around. "But, uh... where is here?"
"A place to lay low," Lucas replies, heading for the front door. "Let's get inside." Immediately upon setting foot inside the old house, dust fills my nose and I cough. The interior is even worse than the outside of the house, with everything completely caked in dust and cobwebs; the scarce furniture covered with dead insects. Lucas keeps his eyes trained outside from a window, scanning for any movement while the rest of us fan out in the large room, looking around.
"So there are wolves in the Underworld?" Veron asks.
"They are not wolves," Lucas says sharply. "They are restless spirits. Spirits of the Woods, they are called. And that river was the river Styx. On the other side, where the ferryman takes you, is the river Acheron."
"You are one of those restless spirits, then?" Veron asks, eyeing Lucas suspiciously.
"In theory, yes," He nods.
"Okay," Veron says slowly, blinking. "Um... why?"
"Veron..." Jayce says quietly, his tone warning, but Lucas waves him off.
"I would have questions too. Let them ask."
"How are you even here?" I blurt out. "Jayce told me about what happened to you. You were a kid when you..." I trail off, unable to meet his eyes.
"Died?" Lucas says for me. "You can say it. No one here is particularly sensitive to that word, hence the whole dying business in order to get here."
"Right," I nod, slightly embarrassed. "Well, shouldn't you look much younger? You died when you were still a child."
"That's because I didn't die," Lucas replies with a shrug. "At least, not really."
"He was taken by the people who came after our family," Jayce explains, moving to stand beside his brother. "They thought he might have the curse, so they tortured him. He lived... he survived that night and I didn't even know."
"You couldn't have known," Lucas says, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder. "You were a child too, Jayce. A child who just had lost his entire family." The two of them share a look full of pain and solidarity. I can tell they are reliving that dreadful night through each other's eyes.
"So how did you get here if you didn't die?" I ask. A pained expression casts over Lucas's face.
"The things they did to me... the torture... the experiments... It went on for years. They pumped me full of black magic again and again. They drained me of blood, only to revive me. All the while they were studying the curse. They wanted to find a way to weaponize it, control it. They were looking for a way to disseminate it at will."
"They were trying to find a way to pass the curse onto you using black magic," I realize.
"That is despicable!" Veron gasps.
"They pretended like they were interested in abolishing the curse," Lucas continues, visibly angered. "Ridding the world from it, but that was not the case at all. They wanted to be the only ones to have access to it. They didn't want to find a way to save the world from the curse, they just wanted full dominion over it. To be apex predators." Jayce balls his hands into fists, a subtle sign of his rage over what his brother had endured, but it doesn't slip past me.
"When I showed no signs of being infected by the curse, they realized all their efforts to control the curse had been fruitless. They punished me, lashings, beatings, burnings, the like. They used magic to heal me afterward. They couldn't risk ruining the merchandise. It wasn't even just me. They did the same experiments to multiple other people, but no one lasted as long as I did." Lucas's face falls. "I guess in some sick, sadistic way, that made me their prodigy."
"Who were they?" Veron asks.
"Perverse pricks," Jayce says furiously before Lucas can reply.
"I didn't manage to learn much about them during my time in captivity," Lucas says. "Just their name. They were an ancient order of wizards called The Order."
"That sounds... ominous," Veron states, wiggling his eyebrows as he casts me a look.
"The only thing that kept me going through their torture was the way that I retracted into myself," Lucas continues. "I imagined I was this ruthless, undaunted warrior and that nothing could break me. I don't know if it was the pain or the black magic they infused me with, but each day I could feel a right take root in my mind. It was like I created the warrior I pretended to be. It was like... I somehow gave him life and allowed him to exist parallel to me, if that makes sense. We were one and the same, but also entirely different. I learned the hard way that I had created a monster." Lucas takes a deep breath before continuing. "I took the worst parts of me, the rage, the hatred, the malice, and I incorporated them into this whole new being inside me, thinking it could protect me from all the pain. I created a part of me I considered strong enough to save me, to carry my suffering for me... but I had it wrong all along. I never needed a scary warrior to protect me. I just needed something to hope for."
"No," Jayce says sharply. "What you needed was your family, but I was too busy playing at being king and plundering."
"Jayce..." Lucas sighs as, with an anguished cry, Jayce lashes out, punching a hole straight through the wooden wall. I swear the dilapidated cabin shakes a bit on its foundation. On instinct, I head toward him, needing to console him, to be there for him.
"I was your older brother," Jayce says, whirling on his brother. "You were supposed to be able to count on me and I wasn't there. Not when they took you and definitely not when they experimented on you." I slowly move close to him, take his hand in mine, and lace my fingers through his and squeeze. He gratefully returns my touch, a spark of warmth dancing in his eyes. It is in that moment I truly realize how much I have missed being this close to him; how much his absence hurt me. But the moment is over too fast, and Jayce untangles his fingers from mine. Lucas glances between Jayce and I with an eyebrow quizzically raised at our overt display of affection, but doesn't comment on it.
"I want to say I never blamed you," He says instead. "But I would be lying. You see, this other part of me that I created... he truly reviled you. He craved to extract revenge for the life that was stolen from him. And he was partly me. Every dark thought and instinct I had ever compressed into one being. So I guess to a certain extent, I did blame you, if not for leaving me then, for not trying to find me." Jayce hangs his head almost in shame.
"I'm sorry," Lucas says quickly. "I never meant to blame you. I was hurt and ailing and I just needed a scapegoat. You were the one who made it out when I couldn't even imagine past tomorrow."
"It should have been me," Jayce says firmly, shaking his head. "I was always the one they wanted, not you. You just paid the price for being related to me."
"You didn't have a choice either," Lucas counters. "You didn't choose the way you were born."
"Oh, my..." Veron gasps, his face paling. "You mean to say..." I can see the pieces of the puzzle click together behind Veron's eyes.
"Yes, Veron," Jayce nods grimly. "I am Nidhogg."
Veron goes utterly still for a few moments, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You... what... how?" He demands. "We never knew."
"I went to extreme lengths to keep it hidden, but I have reached the point where I am no longer able to hide it," Jayce explains. "And to be frank, I don't want to."
"My lord," Veron says slowly, "I understand why you feel like you had to conceal that part of yourself, but at some point you could have told us. We wouldn't have turned against you. Even if I had known you were Nidhogg before coming here, I would have still made the trip. I would still have willingly sacrificed myself to save you."
"No one is sacrificing themselves to save me," Jayce says, almost with a laugh. "I am not coming back with you." This time it is my turn to be shocked.
"What do you mean you're not coming back?" I demand, grabbing his arm and forcing him to look down at me. Jayce points at my wrist, where the rope is still attached securely.
"I am guessing that is your ticket out of here, so use it. I can't leave my brother... not again. I am staying." And just like that, he retracts back into himself, his controlled, stoic mask falling into place. I feel a wave of anger rise up inside me, as high as the walls he keeps lifting up around his heart.
"The hell I will," I retort. "And the hell you will."
"Cyrilla..." Jayce says warningly, but I ignore it and press on, spurred by the anger bubbling inside my chest.
"No," I say firmly, meeting his eyes. "You have said your piece, now let me say mine. There is no way you are not coming back with me, even if I have to drag your ass all the way out of the Underworld and into the land of the living." Jayce shoots me a look of pure venom, but before he can reply, Lucas cuts in.
"Her phrasing leaves something to be desired, but she is right. You cannot stay here."
"Lucas," Jayce says firmly, turning to his brother, "there is no way I am leaving you again."
"And I appreciate that, but I need you to do something for me once you reach the world of the living."
"What is it?" Jayce asks. Lucas takes a deep breath, looking around at all three of us grimly.
"That dark half of me I told you about... the side of me I created to keep me sane and safe during my tribulations... it is still alive."
"It took form?" I gasp.
"Not exactly," Lucas says slowly, struggling to find the words. "It... he... is the reason why I am here now."
"You said you created him to protect you... but you turned out being wrong," Jayce says slowly, eyes widening in realization. "He... he killed you, didn't he?"
"...Yes," Lucas nods, face falling. "He took over my body and used the black magic they infused me with to send me here. It is why I can't leave. I can't move on. I can't cross the lake. The ferryman won't take me."
"Because technically you are still alive," I say. "Or... part of you is."
"That's right," Lucas nods. "When I created him, I split myself in two halves. The me you see now before you and him... the half that incorporated all of my darkness and worst traits."
"So unless two haves are made whole... you cannot move on," Jayce says.
"Exactly," Lucas nods. "As long as he is alive, I cannot find rest. I need him to die so that when he is transferred here, we can merge again. Become one."
"So you need me to kill him," Jayce says slowly, face hardening.
"I know it is a lot, but I need to move on from this place," Lucas explains. "I have been stuck here ever since he banished me from my own body. I grew up here. I need to see what is waiting for me out there." He vaguely points in the direction of the lake.
"But, your other half– faulty as it may be– is still you," Jayce continues. "It would be like killing my own brother."
"He... he is a bad man, Jayce," Lucas says, almost pleadingly. "He's callous and vengeful and despicable. I know his thoughts because I shared a mind with him. He craves bloodshed and violence, and above all else, he covets to hurt you. Perhaps he has already and you just didn't know it. I imagine he wouldn't show his face for fear that you might recognize him. And I shudder to think that he is out there, spreading chaos and suffering to innocent people." Suddenly, Jayce reels back, his face a mask of aggrieved shock.
"Jayce, what is it?" I ask quickly.
"I think I have met him," he says, face falling in pure, utter grief. "I believe... he is the one that killed Anne."