The river widened. The currents regained their energy, and the boat moved forward. David thought about many things, continuing across the depths of his mind.

He thought about the sea. The depths, containing the horrible snake. With jaws snatching him into the depths of its stomach, those cold eyes. Empty, beady, cold with ice, devoid of feeling, devoid of life, filled with nothing.

But both good and bad on the mountain. At the mountain, his dreams came to life and danced in front of his eyes. Arriving in colors, glimpsing with his eyes. All coming into being. On Pnoaphales, David was safe from everything. They were all safe, Osmond, Bernard, Rickman, even Darrell. All of them were safe. No harm, no terror, no worry. Onto the mountain, onto the pinnacle of the world. Onto the peak of beauty. They'd all see great things together; they'd see sights never witnessed by the human eye.

He thought about the Nalrath. Red and with ears, chomping its way.... Not the Nalrath, he'd seen the Nalrath, he'd seen the serpent, he'd seen the captain, he'd seen the Abyss, he'd seen it. He'd seen it on the tablet, he'd seen the Abyss! He'd seen the red, and the chaos inside, all smashed now though, all smashed... But now they neared the Abyss, neared the chaos, neared the writhing, neared the masses of flesh, neared Galtrand and Gotund, neared death, neared the.... The .... Place.... Neared it now...

He looked around. No people. Not a soul. Nobody searched for the Prophet, just him and the others, just him and the world. On Pnoaphales, they stood, and none else.

He looked up at the mountain. Humanity wanted development and life and thought of ways through technology, yet they could never conquer Pnoaphales. They could never conquer its slopes, bluffs, cliffs, pits, and nothing, not even magic. For magic, it was created from.

The wind hummed as they continued. He looked around, the trees had squatted down. The tips of the fir trees had disappeared, replaced by bushes of leaves. The clouds glowed a light orange. The sky turned a dark blue. The sun blazed with orange, red, and light blue. David squinted at the sun. He watched as tentacles of light reached out from the sides.

He thought of the end. When he'd set out from the men of deer and Laphanists. With his family, he'd gone. Away from the Callous War and the great days of fun. But away from the grassy fields and grazing animals. All lost in his memory, and prevalent in dreams.

He had gone to the city and witnessed the Plague and the people. The smell of wine and mud. Smoke rose in the air, furnaced coughed, and filled his lungs with smog. People sold things and shouted things. Grime covered their faces, and mud stuck to their knees.

He looked at the boat. Darrell focused into the water, same as before, slouching, head bent in thought, murmuring to himself, whispering. Focusing on the captain, contenting himself, regretting himself.

"Darrell?", David asked, "Darrell?"

Darrell didn't answer. His words echoed through Darrell.

"Darrell?", David moved closer. He stared into his eyes. Deep eyes, full of blue, surrounded with shards of black, inside a ring of white, "Darrell?"

"What?", Darrell turned to look at him. Staring at him with the same eyes, "What? What is it?"

"It's... It's...", David struggled for the word, almost nodding, to say the word, to agree, "It's...It's.... It.... ", David tried again, to say the word, the specific word, "...No, no, it's nothing. Nothing."

"Alright then", Darrell turned his head back down, bent it, and continued to stare at the river, neither a frown nor a smile on his face. Just a stare. A stare into the water. A stare that continued past the water. A stare into the core of the world. David looked down and took off his sandals, patting the sand off them.

The rain stopped, changing into sunny again. He felt it bathe his skin and looked up into a blue sky filled with clouds.

He thought about his youth. A useless thing, he'd thought of it before, and now gone. A burden had fallen free from his back. He'd reminisced and felt the shivers of nostalgia, but useless, a shackle, now unbound. He'd wished for it, wanting to go back to the monks, but all gone, and he'd wanted it still, he'd wanted to explore the crumbling cathedral, he'd wanted to see himself young, he'd wanted to see himself flying with grace and ignorance, he'd wanted to experience it again.

Gone, thankfully, gone forever. He'd wanted to fish, he'd wanted to touch the water, but useless. A useless little dream used to keep him alive. Useless... He felt the word echo through his mind, again.... And again...A useless dream.... A useless dream...

Bernard talked to Osmond. David listened. Osmond told a story. A long, rambling tale about his journeys and travels around the world. He listened and heard Osmond pause before continuing with his words.

"Built an interesting paddyboat, they had. Covered in a light layer of magic, although not dangerous. It wouldn't destroy the boat if it touched water because of a sphere of glass, surrounding the magic and the boat. This magic wasn't dangerous. Not as dangerous as the sort one sees today. But not as safe as the magic the Magi practice. Nonetheless, it could go underwater. With air and all of the necessities. They offered me a try and I went down into the reefs. I drew the sights while I sank with the ship."

Osmond pulled a notebook out of his bag. He flipped a few pages and showed drawings of oceans. Fauna and flora decorated the detailed sketches. The pictures showed long scuffed cliffs covered in moss. Fish swam about, and strange wriggling things swam with them. Osmond's drawing grew on single subjects.

One showed a creature hunting. Slick scales covered the body, long claws extended past its head, and fins waved in the water. Osmond continued to flip the pages. The deeper the paddyboat had gone, the stranger the creatures turned.

Osmonds drawings held wide-jawed creatures with white eyes and spiky fins. Things that resembled crabs, and more. Oddities on every page. Multitudes of curiosities. Eventually, the drawings stopped. Intricate writing replaced them.

"We went up, and I managed to capture these drawings."

"Odd things. Very odd", Bernard said.

"Quite, I couldn't capture the last one. Darkness had enveloped the ship. But, I remember the size. Larger than any of the sunfish. This one was larger than the paddyboat. Blue and a row of sharp bones that stuck out along its ribs. A hooked nose that seemed bigger than me. But, I don't remember much else."

"A wailon then?", Bernard asked.

"Yes, yes"

"That's nice, I've never seen a wailon."

"I never sketched it though. It'd look strange if I tried-", Osmond looked around, "Have you noticed that the grounds have turned into sand, while trees still grow?"

"Your right", Bernard looked around, "Trees and sand. How?"

"Right", Osmond said, " It almost turned into night and I've seen a bridge up ahead. When we pass it, we'll rest."

They walked further up the trail and onto the bridge. The fog dissipated and they were on a stone bridge. It looked old but seemed sturdy. Osmond walked up to it.

"Right."

They strolled onto the bridge. It was weaker than it looked. Each step made the bridge rumble. A lake rolled past underneath the bridge. He continued. The bridge began to rumble and he ran. Darrell fell, then Bernard, and Osmond too. It was only him now. He could make it. The coast was there. Go faster, and one jump. He sprinted faster, but the bridge fell below his feet. The wind whipped his heads and limbs. Cliffs of rock sped past him. He screamed as icy water hit his body, but he was alive.