thecrossinglogs | THE CROSSING #1

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THE CROSSING #1

It's time.

For more detail on the particulars of the event, be sure to refer to our info and planning post!

time to choose

— CALM BEFORE THE STORM

It likely isn’t a surprise, when The Ferryman speaks into your mind again. You’ve known The Crossing was coming, and for the past hours, days, or weeks (however you prefer to section your time in this place), you’ve been feeling it drawing closer.

You’ve felt the pull on your soul, guiding you to follow The River; you’ve felt the changes in the Cavern, and in yourself, a shift in atmosphere that seems to start in the humidity of the air and sinks deep down into your bones. You feel solid. More importantly, you feel vulnerable.

Those who want to pay the toll are invited to gather at The Ferryman’s point of vigil; those who don’t will at least have the draw of The Crossing to guide them.

If you have anything to say before the split, now is the time to do it.

— LIGHTS OUT

Because when the moment comes, it waits for no one.

The Lantern doesn't extinguish immediately. Those gathered with The Ferryman (and, perhaps, those gathered near The Ferryman) will see it: a precarious flickering of flame behind glass. The light shrinks, and with it comes a feeling of something else retreating, too — something that you may have understood was there without realizing it, or that you may have assumed was simply another aspect of the light itself.

The bubble of safety, you realize, is receding. And when The Lantern's Light finally goes out, so too does the shield keeping you separated from the wraiths prowling the tunnels.

The darkness closes in. The Cavern's glowing plants are now the only steady source of light in the entire chamber, which allows your eyes to adjust, but only so much; it becomes difficult to make out the faces of even those standing right beside you.

It's time, so says The Ferryman. Make your decision.

follow the leader

— PAYMENT COMES DUE

There is no pomp or ceremony associated with The Ferryman's toll collection. You need only to be willing, and ready.

The darkness seems to shroud The Ferryman more than it does the rest of you, somehow. You can't make out the features of their face, only hear their voice bidding you to step forward when you're ready. For any of you who might need a moment, The Ferryman will wait.

A mote of light appears in The Ferryman's palms as the toll is paid, growing in proportion to the number of memories it receives. It's small, but you can feel the influence of it: that protective bubble you felt recede when The Lantern extinguished grows again around the light, just enough to envelop the group gathered here.

Time to go, says The Ferryman. And even though you can't track their movements in the darkness, the light tracks it for you: over the lip of the land bridge, and down to the black River below.

Nowhere to go but forward. When you step off yourself (even if it takes a bit of psyching up to get there), you'll find that the drop is gentle, and that your steps suspend safely over the water.

Just don't get left behind.

— HEAR A VOICE THAT CAUSES YOU PAIN

And so, you journey.

You walk on the surface of The River as if it were a wide, black road. Ahead of you, that same mote of light follows in the steps of The Ferryman, illuminating the ripples they leave in the water as breadcrumbs for you to follow. The air above The River is cold, certainly, and sometimes the icy water might splash up onto your shoes or ankles — but The River is wide, and there's room enough to walk together, even if you can't see each other well. It's as comfortable as a journey like this might ever be.

But The Crossing is a trial. You didn't forget, did you?

It starts slow: sounds from the darkness that could be voices, unless it's been dark for so long that your ears are playing tricks on you? Shouts of anger, high-pitched laughter, cries of fury and despair.

Then there are words. They beckon to you from the darkness: some plaintive, some punitive. They want you to stop. They want you to stay. They want you gone. Most of the voices are unfamiliar to you, but at least one, you know very well.

You need to keep moving. If you lose sight of The Ferryman's steps, you run the risk of being lost in the Cavern forever. Or perhaps it's someone beside you who's on the edge of losing their focus, someone who needs you to help keep them on the path?

trust your gut

— FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE

The rest of you, left behind on the banks of The River, have only your wits, the contents of your pockets, and the pull of something beyond the darkness to help you on the journey. The darkness is smothering, but not completely impenetrable: you have the glow of the Cavern plants, the faint gleam of the toll group’s steps on the surface of The River, and anything you may have picked up before you got here.

You can travel together or alone, but you must move. The metaphysical pull on you is growing stronger and more insistent the longer you stay in one place, and the Cavern, before preternaturally silent and still, is beginning to stir.

The wraiths, once silent, shapeless, harmless shadows following you about the Cavern, have changed. Where before they were merely unsettling to look at, now they have become larger and more monstrous: sharp eyes and claws, wide eyes and mouths. Where before they were silent, seemingly both unable and unwilling to make any sound, now they wail: wordless cries of pain and anger giving away their positions in the darkness.

Some of them may even be familiar to you, once they get close enough; the wraiths that before had seemingly taken a liking to you, seeking you out and following you wherever you went, now seem dedicated to hunting you specifically.

What the wraiths want from you, it's hard to say. If they catch you, they will tear at you without strategy or direction, like a ravenous animal — or perhaps a terrified one.

Any injuries you sustain during this time, whether from the wraiths or otherwise, are just as real to you as they would have been when you were alive: you bleed, you break, and you feel every inch of the pain inflicted on you.

Nowhere to go but forward. If you follow the pull in your gut, you'll get to where you're going. One way or another.

on the other side

— A MOMENT OF RESPITE

Whichever trial you've chosen, there is, eventually, the end.

You feel it first in the atmosphere: a resettling of the off-kilterness that's been surrounding you. The air slowly becomes drier, and the darkness less punishing. The plants that line the walls of the Cavern become more and more rare, their light replaced by ambient light leaking in from somewhere above you.

For the group traveling with The Ferryman, the wide expanse of The River gradually becomes shallower and narrower, until it's hardly a trickle beneath your feet, winding through the cave system. For the group traveling on their own, there comes a point where the wraiths seem unwilling or unable to follow, their shrieks in the darkness growing further and further away.

You feel it next in yourself: a smoothing of your rough edges, aches and muscle pain and physical exhaustion melting away. For any injured on the journey, your wounds resolve themselves as if natural healing on fast-forward. Natural healing is not always the cleanest or the most comfortable, though; you might be left with scars, crooked fingers or noses, or some other lasting memory of what you risked to be here.

Lastly, once The River has narrowed enough and two groups have reunited again: The Lantern relights. The Ferryman, for all that they were nearly invisible to you in the darkness, seems just the same as they were before. You made it through, they tell you, with no small amount of warmth and pride. Let's take a load off.

You should rest. If you took anything from the Cavern to help you on your journey, you'll find that it's gone from your pockets — when did that happen? Did you set it down? It's been such a long journey, it could have been a lapse of memory.

A memory? Ah, there's something else gone too, isn't there? Willingly or otherwise. If you try to reach for it now, it's like dust in the breeze, or a dream upon waking. You know it was there once, but the harder you try to recall it back, the thinner the details get. Eventually, you might not remember even that there was something to forget.

Congratulations. The Crossing is complete.

Image credits: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 + stock imagery unless otherwise noted

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[Of all the questions to be asked, this one seems to startle him the most. His expression goes through a whole complicated series of transmutations, disbelieving and aching and seen in turns. Eventually he lowers it, struggling to get his expression under control again, and his voice. One hand drops away from her shoulder, but the other is relying on her for support, as another person in the depths of this darkness.]

Yes.

[Does that make it better?

In the end... he doesn't know.]

Do you - think we will? Hear them again.

[He wasn't the one who listened to the pools, after all. The thought... he finds it disquieting. Will they even remember those voices? No wonder those shades malingered so.]

[In the moment, with Celehar still aware of all that transpired, one could argue that his love having been returned only worsened his betrayal. But it's Frieda's hope that once he won't be able to recall this memory anymore, he'll at least maintain that of his and Evru's reciprocated feelings, which ought to hearten him and give him strength.

At his question, she uncertainly shrugs her shoulders.]

I don't know. When I put my head underwater, the voices were too indistinct to differentiate. But maybe, the wraiths could hear them clearly.

[Pure speculation, nothing they should risk their continued existence for - all the less since it'd only cause them pain. If they push on ahead, at least they have a chance of an eventual oblivion.]

If we follow the light, then... I don't know.

[Said light is more of a suggestion that a distinct landmark now, a faint shine like the glow left behind on one part of the horizon after the sun has set.]

[Celehar takes a breath. The strength of the emotions won't fade so easily, but looking to see the light, it solidifies something in the core of his heart, a little knot of emotion. Determination, maybe. Resignation, to a difficult path.]

Uncertainty, in death as in life.

[What a grim irony it is, isn't it? That the end is not the end. That this same pain plagues them here, together. That the question of continuing on in the face of pain still occupies them so.

He looks to her, remembers the pained determination in her voice as she called out into the dark. It seems strange, to use the formal inflections with someone who has heard - and known - so much. He doesn't consciously register the shift in his words now, won't until later, when the switch has become habit.]

... I wouldst not ask thee to remain, alone, in the dark.

[It's pure chance, perhaps, that Frieda, who still retains many of the historical memories she so unnaturally inherited, can tell the difference in meaning - social rather than linguistic - better than most might be able to. How all their languages are made to be understandable to each other here is something she may not be able to figure out, but in this moment, after all they've just learned about each other, she deeply appreciates him speaking to her in a more familiar way.

In turn, she extends a hand to him.]

Let's walk together, then.

[Even now, she still needs the support. Following a light so faint and fleeting on her own, she might just give up and fall to her knees on the water to be swallowed up or found by the wraiths.]

[Celehar nods, and reaches out to take the hand, clasping it in his own in a gesture of support. Metaphorical, if not physical - he is by no means the strongest man, certainly couldn't single-handedly lift anyone here, unlike some. But the reminder that someone else is there together with him in the dark makes walking easier, and when the voices still milling around them continue to echo, the presence of another to physically lean against is welcome - as is the light, bobbing in the distance, for them to follow.

The shivers still haven't quite left him, and he walks with his head turned towards the dark water below them, ears low - but he does walk. And in carrying on, it's some fragment of his calling, that surfaces to him - the need to listen to others.

It starts with a single low, cautious question.]

Thou'rt nobility?

[They cut a miserable picture, hands clasped but heads lowered, long hair draping like veils - but they keep moving, however unsteadily.]

Royalty.

[It's not a correction so much as a confession, delivered with a faint mirthless smile.]

But we lived as nobles, to hide from the people. Our duty was not to rule, but to keep those terrible powers from being used to oppress others ever again. We Eldians are a cursed race. We brought great suffering over our world.

[He might have meant the question as a distraction, but perhaps he should have anticipated that one birthed of the current circumstances would be an uncomfortable result -

but Royalty has him stumbling, nearly pulling his hand back.]

That -

[Before he catches himself. He is not in the Court, where improper behavior towards the Emperor would see him killed by the man's nohecharei, and even if this were, he's already dead. There's nothing more that can be done to him, on that measure. So he clears his throat, ducking his head and murmuring an apology, to listen to the rest, strange as it sounds to him.]

Sounds like a heavy burden.

[Her smile turns apologetic at his startlement, and she gives his hand a friendly squeeze - he shouldn't feel like he ought to treat her any differently than he has thus far.]

...

It was. I was unable to speak of it to anyone, not even my own family. Can you believe that I volunteered for it - to be the one to inherit the lost history of the world, and the power to control the titans? I was an ignorant little girl to think that I could succeed where my uncle had failed, but... I wanted to free our people so badly. It was only after the succession ceremony that I understood why we have to live behind our Walls, that it's the only way to protect the outside world from our monstrousness and cruelty.

Full well I can.

[The enthusiasm of the young, the determination to do right... yes. It takes a particular kind of strength, to face that and not be worn down by it. He thinks, briefly, of Edrahazivar VII - the young half-goblin Emperor. Assailed on all sides by his court, but determined to be kind despite it.

This, however, sounds different. He watches her, as well as he might in the dark.]

Behind the walls?

[The man calling to her... is that not something he spoke of? It has the weight of ritual and tradition behind the words, to his ear, more than simply the walls of a city.]

[In this case, it's both.]

The Walls are my people's sanctuary and cage. Three circular concentric walls, taller than any building, the outermost marking the border of our inhabitable land, all erected by the king who led our people into exile a century ago so the rest of the world could heal from our oppressive rule. They're made of titan armour - harder than anything, indestructible and impregnable. Or so we thought.

[Given what Celehar overheard of the confrontation that played out, evidently the Walls were breached.]

Outside, the mindless titans - our foul legacy to the world - besiege us. Anyone who leaves the Walls will be devoured by them. The powers I inherited should have allowed me to control them, even unmake them... but my ancestor's vow to protect the outside world at our expense was unbreakable.

Edited 2025-02-10 01:10 (UTC)

[Celehar listens quietly, absorbing it all without comment or judgement to his face. It's a strange inverse of the counseling he's often called upon to give the living - not to exonerate the dead but to counsel the living to continue... Or perhaps not. The ghosts of their own dead haunt them still, and yet here they are, almost whole.]

Dost thou regret it?

[Her voice turns quiet as she once more lowers her head.]

I do. How could I not? I left my people in the belief that they were the only ones left alive, that we were all alone. They had no idea that there was a world out there that hated them. Even now that our judgement day has come, they may not realise it, seeing how the other nations are weaponising the titans to eliminate us.

[She's sure that the breach of Wall Maria was brought about by the intelligent titans - the direct descendants of her Founder - that were left in the care of the freed lands outside. As such, her people may not see any other humans, only the well-known monsters that have always besieged them.]

But had I not acted the way I did, it would have brought about more bloodshed. Had my people learned of the truth, they'd have prepared for conquest once again - or, if not that, they'd still have wanted to go out into the world, and the other nations would have retaliated against their return, knowing full well what horrors they could bring about. If we Eldians accept our end, nobody else will have to suffer.

...

I know that in withholding it all from them, I stole their chance of doing so, but who could possibly accept such a fate? My ancestor knew that the people would refuse the sacrifice.

A heavy matter to thrust blindly upon a child.

[There are grim tales in the Ethuveraz of the fate of child emperors. Even Edrahasivar VII, full if barely adult on his coronation, had struggled mightily simply from having lived a life away from the intricacies of the court, had furthermore suffered multiple assassination attempts in the process. Placed in such a grim position, he could hardly assume less pressure had been placed on Frieda - and as such, he steadied himself, steadying her in turn]

... Did you know, that the world beyond would hate you so sorely? Even after so long removed?

[She shakes her head.]

When I volunteered to succeed my uncle, I was every bit as ignorant as my people. I had no idea about the world outside the Walls. I thought that if only I could withstand the ghosts of our ancestors that possessed him - that's how I explained his inaction to myself, at the time -, I could unmake the titans and free our people from their cage. A child's dream. Needless to say, I failed. I failed all my people and, in losing the Founding Titan, I also failed the outside world. I was weak. I was...

[She trails off, shaking her head once more. She wasn't ready to kill, perhaps too ready to accept death... but even if that had been otherwise, her opponent was so much larger, he had the physical advantage.]

Please don't blame my family. They, too, were ignorant. My uncle didn't tell them, and neither did I. Our ancestor's vow stilled our tongue.

It seems that thou found thyself caught under the wheels of a cart set careening long before thy birth, Min... Frieda.

[His tongue feels awkward on the first name, more so than the switch to more informal language, but there's a more important note to make here, so Celehar forges ahead.]

Power can change many things, but to divert a course already set... even great will can only redirect things gently, lest the one doing so be destroyed by it. So it was in the Ethuveraz - and so it must, I believe, be true everywhere.

It is not my place to judge you here. Silence became thy burden - let it now be settled.

[His words give her some comfort, if only in terms of assuring her that the fault didn't lie so much with her as with the hopeless situation, and hearing him call her by her given name makes her respond with another hand squeeze, grateful for the increased closeness between them. Her voice is still thick with grief, but not as raw anymore.]

Had it only cost my life, I'd gladly have paid the price. I already knew that taking on my ancestors' powers would only leave me a short time to live. But...

[She shakes her head once more, already having told him everything. There was no way to do right by everyone.

His company does give her solace as they slowly but surely catch up with the Ferryman's light.]

But it was the cost of lives untold, balanced either way.

[For a time Celehar is silent, his expression wistfully thoughtful.]

Wouldst that it had not happened in these circumstances, but if it were in my power I might have introduced thee to Edrahasivar. Thy concerns must mirror his - I think thy worries might have found an echo in him.

I cannot say what thy choice ought have been, if there was even a right choice to be made, but if thee wouldst find the burden again too heavy, I wouldst listen.

[Edrahasivar... another foreign name like Celehars. The prelate's offer to lend her his ear even going forward touches her - it can't be pleasant to hear of such heavy matters, and he has no obligation to continue adhering to his duties even in death, but even their first meeting already showed her his lasting dedication.]

I can't thank you enough for being there for me. Please, consider the offer reciprocated.

[If what the Ferryman said is true, neither of them should retain these memories once the Crossing is completed, but they're bound to remember other times of grief and hardship, and having a supporter will be of great comfort.]

There's someone in your world with similar troubles, though? I'm sorry to hear that.

[The idea of having someone in a comparable position to commiserate with is comforting, but saddening all the same.]

[Being listened to... it's such a simple gift, and yet one that feels unfailingly generous. He doesn't know how to reconcile it against his own troubles, but he can at least accept it, even not knowing where or what he could begin to say.

Perhaps it's easier, here in the dark, with the voices around them of the vulnerable, reminding him that having help should not be so taken for granted.]

I imagine... it is not uncommon among rulers, thrust into power without foreknowledge of the burden.

It appears so.

...

Were you your ruler's confidant, then?

[At least, her unknown counterpart in his world had Celehar by their side - the thought heartens her.]

Oh, no.

[He says it immediately and with surprising vehemence, as he shakes his head.]

No, I... he requested I Witness for a matter of state. It is thanks to him that I was able to find my Calling, once more - but I would not dare imply that we are so close. [There's strength to those words, a conviction - whatever good will he feels towards the Emperor, he seems equally horrified by the thought of drawing heavily on that connection.]

I left his service to rejoin the Prelacy as a Witness.... Ah. Perhaps another time, we might speak of it.

[She's mildly surprised by how strongly he rejects the suggestion - surely, if he'd have wished to introduce her to Edrahasivar, he can't think ill of him? But the explanation that follows makes her suspect that it's a matter of standing and respect that has him flustered at the idea, and she smiles faintly. He is such a proper person.

Looking ahead at the light that slowly comes closer, she nods and responds in a gentle voice.]

Another time, then.

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THE CROSSING #1

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