The Sanctum of Stillness - Part 1
Albert hissed, dropping the oar as he felt his bones ache in pain. He had lost track of how long he had been in the River Phlegethon for – days, weeks, months? – time seemed to blend together under the blood red skies of the Everafter. A hand, flesh burned red, lunged at him from the river, blindly flailing about in an attempt to grab him. Albert quickly grabbed his oar and swatted the hand, wincing at the sickening crunch sound the bones made as the hand retreated. His muscles ached and his eyelids felt like steel, but he couldn’t rest – even a small lapse in focus would mean being dragged into the boiling blood below, never to resurface. He couldn’t afford to waver now, not when he was so close to his destination. Legend has it that the gate to the Tomb of Sloth would open only to travelers who towed the border of life and dream – and he was nearly there. ...