The Ferryman’s Hand

The thing in the shadows screamed.

It wasn’t a sound meant for ears—it was bone grinding on stone, glass breaking inside Avery’s skull. They clutched their head, staggering back as the Veil itself shivered.

A claw pushed through the cracked air, long and jagged, dripping black smoke. Then another. The beast’s head followed, stretching from nothing, stitched from shadow and teeth.

Avery froze. “What—what is that?”

“A Wraith,” the reaper said, voice like iron. They spun their scythe into both hands. “Predators. Feed on the ones you let slip.”

The Wraith lunged. The reaper moved faster than Avery could follow—steel flashing, scythe cutting through shadow with a hiss. The beast shrieked, recoiling, but its eyes—two pits of white flame—locked on Avery.

And Avery knew, with a sick twist in their gut, that it could smell them.

“Run.”

The reaper’s command barely reached before the Wraith surged forward. Avery bolted, shoes slapping against ground that wasn’t really ground. The world warped—hospital walls collapsing into mist, hallways folding into endless gray corridors. They ran anyway, breathless though they didn’t need breath.

The reaper’s scythe slashed again, carving through smoke and bone. The Wraith howled, splitting apart, dragged back into the cracks it had torn in the Veil. The air sealed shut with a thunderclap.

Silence fell.

Avery pressed against the nearest wall, gasping. Their hands shook violently. “What the hell was that—what the hell was that?”

The reaper planted their scythe into the ground and leaned on it, eyes burning with cold fury. “That was the mess you made.”

Avery swallowed hard. “I didn’t—I couldn’t—he was begging me. I couldn’t just rip him out like—like he was nothing.”

“You’re not human anymore,” the reaper snapped. Their voice was sharp enough to cut. “You don’t get the luxury of mercy. You hesitated. You lost him. And now that soul is gone, devoured, because you couldn’t do your damn job.”

The words hit harder than the truck ever had. Avery flinched. Their stomach churned. “So what, this is my life now? Stealing people out of their bodies before they’re ready?”

The reaper stepped closer, eyes narrowing. “You think any of us were ready? Death doesn’t wait for your permission. It comes. It takes. It ends. That’s the rule. Break it, and the whole cycle fractures.”

Avery looked away, throat tight. They wanted to argue, but the echo of the old man’s voice still clung to their ears: Not yet. Please, not yet.

The reaper let out a long, exhausted breath. “Come on. The Council will want to see you. And Death help you if they decide you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

They lifted the scythe, slashing open another tear in the Veil. Beyond it lay a dark horizon, lined with jagged spires and a sky the color of bruises.

The reaper glanced back once, pale eyes gleaming. “Welcome to your new reality, rookie.”

And Avery stepped through into the world of the dead.

The city of the dead was not silent.

It roared.

Avery stepped through the tear and staggered, nearly buckling under the sheer noise of it. The sky overhead was swollen purple, pulsing like a storm cloud. Below it stretched a city built from shadow and stone: towers carved from bone, bridges of glass that spanned bottomless pits, streets alive with endless whispers. The air was thick with them—thousands of voices, too faint to make out, weaving into a constant hiss.

“Souls,” the reaper said, walking ahead without pause. “What’s left of them, anyway. Don’t listen too hard. They’ll drive you insane.”

Avery pressed their arms tight around themselves and followed. Everywhere they looked, figures in long dark coats and spectral armor walked the streets. Reapers. Some carried blades. Others bore chains that rattled with unseen weight. All of them moved with cold purpose, and none so much as glanced at Avery.

It felt like being the only human in a city of predators.

The reaper led them into a vast hall at the city’s center, its doors twice as tall as any cathedral’s. Inside, shadows bent into pillars, rising to a ceiling lost in darkness. At the far end, five thrones loomed, each occupied by a figure cloaked in smoke and flame.

Avery stopped cold. “What is this?”

“The Council,” the reaper muttered. Their tone carried no reverence, only exhaustion. “Don’t speak unless they ask you to. And pray they don’t.”

The central figure leaned forward, face obscured beneath a hood of endless night. When they spoke, their voice was a chorus—male and female, old and young, every note at once.

“New blood.”

The word slithered over Avery’s skin. They forced themselves not to step back.

The reaper at their side inclined their head, just barely. “They botched their first claim. Lost the soul.”

Murmurs rippled across the hall—shadows whispering, echoing like knives drawn from sheaths.

The Council’s central voice cut through. “Do you deny it, fledgling?”

Avery’s throat was dry. Every instinct screamed to lie, to say anything to keep those burning eyes off them. But the memory of the old man’s plea was too heavy.

“I couldn’t do it,” Avery admitted, voice rough. “He begged me for more time. I thought—if I waited—”

“You thought,” one of the side figures hissed. Their form wavered, eyes burning red through smoke. “You hesitated. And now the soul is lost to the Wraiths.”

The voices rose again, overlapping in fury.

Avery clenched their fists. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask to die, or to be—whatever the hell I am now. If you want soldiers, maybe don’t drag people off the street and expect them to kill on command.”

The hall went dead silent.

The reaper beside them swore softly under their breath.

Then the central figure laughed. Not kindly. Not cruelly. Just amused.

“Defiant,” the chorus murmured. “Unbroken. Interesting.”

Another voice—smooth, feminine, sharp as silk—leaned from a shadowed throne. “Shall we destroy them? A fledgling that cannot reap is worse than none at all.”

“No,” the central figure said. The hood tilted, as if studying Avery from every angle at once. “There are rules to breaking rules. This one will serve—under watch.”

They lifted a hand. A mark of black fire seared itself into Avery’s palm. Avery gasped, falling to their knees, the burn sinking into their bones like branding iron. When they looked down, the sigil pulsed faintly—twisting lines that seemed alive, curling into a shape they couldn’t comprehend.

The central figure’s many-toned voice echoed.

“Welcome, fledgling. You are soulbound now. Fail again, and we will feed your remains to the Wraiths.”

The hall dissolved in laughter and whispers.

And Avery realized they had just been chained into a war they didn’t understand.