“I can’t believe it’s real,” Ryder whispers, caught in the breeze, a smile upturning the edges of his lips.
“What is it?” I ask, and blink hard at the phantom image appearing in front of us.
“The Nightboat… It’s in all the legends about the Hollow. It’s enchanted. It only appears for people who want to find it.” Ryder takes my hand, giving it a small squeeze, as the dull lights of the boat reflect in his eyes.
“The Nightboat?! Am I the only one not too psyched about getting on a boat that looks like it came straight from a Moon nightmare?” River says, glaring at me with an unsettled look from the corner of his eye.
“No, you’re right, just stay here and wait for the sludge man to get you,” Ryder responds sarcastically, which only agitatesRiver more. He opens his mouth to retaliate, but I interrupt before he gets the chance.
“Can you two give it a rest!”
“You,” I look at River, “This is the only way we can get across, unless you have any better ideas?” I ask, and he scratches at the back of his neck and sighs.
“And you,” I turn to face Ryder, “Do you have to criticise everything he says?”
“He knows what he signed up for; he wanted to come,” Ryder shrugs his shoulders.
“He didn’t really have much of a choice,” I say, “None of us did.” My eyes catch Nala, who flashes me a small smile. “So, can you both justtryto get along? If only so Nala and I don’t have to listen to you bickering the whole time.”
I position myself so I am facing them both, arms crossed tightly. Ryder raises an eyebrow, eyes locked onto mine. I guess we’re going to have a staring match. My eyes don’t break from his, and eventually, he drops his gaze and turns to River.
“Fine.” He mutters, and River nods in subtle acknowledgement. It’s like being with children.
A man stands at the helm, cloaked in layers of moon-dark fabric. His eyes gleam like polished onyx as the vessel nears and lowers a drawbridge at our feet. The boat is as black as night, a dark smudge on the orange and yellow horizon.
“The Nightboat answers only to the call of those who are meant to cross,” the man says, his voice echoing oddly—as if the Hollow itself repeats him, warped and delayed. “Step aboard, if you believe your fate lies on the other side.”
My stomach twists.Of course,the Hollow would decide our fate—lately, everything else has. The thought of it holding our future like a clenched fist makes a shudder crawl up my spine.
River leans toward me, whispering out the side of his mouth. “Ever notice how people who say things like that never mean it as encouragement?”
“Do you ever shut up?!” Ryder snaps, though I can hear the tension under his irritation. River just rolls his eyes.
Typical. My lecture goes unnoticed.
But I’m already stepping forward. My body moves before my mind can catch up, pulled toward the drawbridge like something is dragging me by the ribcage. Halfway up, I realise the others haven’t moved yet, their eyes are fixed on something in the forest behind.
Ryder’s fingers hover about the hilt of his sword, and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.
“Uh, guys… You coming?” I ask, but stillness follows. Their eyes stay fixed on the tree line unblinking.
A slow darkness is rolling in between the trees—thick, heavy and wrong—infecting the woods like a disease. Even from here, the air shifts; something is terribly, unmistakably off.
“Was the forest always that dark?” River whispers, a slight tremor overtaking his lips.
“No,” Nala breathes, shaking her head. “Something’s wrong.” Her hands fumble at her bag, eyebrows pinching together.
Ryder takes a few cautious steps towards the treeline, and Nala follows his gaze, then slowly pulls the mason jar, which she and River emptied the slug into, from her bag.
“Guys…” She says, voice tight.
Inside the jar, the black slime convulses violently, hurling itself against the glass, as if desperate to claw out and flee into the trees.
Ryder’s expression hardens; his eyes narrow to slits as he unsheathes his sword in one swift motion.
“Everyone on the boat!” He orders, as if he were the commander and we his army.
My eyes dart between Nala’s trembling hand, the jar vibrating in her grip, Ryder’s white-knuckled hold on his sword, and the treeline where the darkness grows thicker, denser, hungrier. There is an electric hum in the air—not from the sea or the eels—but an almost tangible warning that something is coming.
