The boat continued on its path, moving straight downstream. The oars proved useless to the pair, so Ceremus sat back and took in the sights before them.
The river lived up to its name; it was tranquil and still, with waters as black as ink, yet clear enough to see one's reflection. Atilla kept a watchful eye on the river as they went along, carefully observing their surroundings.
It was clear the boy was still on edge, so Ceremus let him be, finding it a waste of breath to tell him to calm down. Everything had been quiet thus far, until the young knight caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye.
A flicker of gold.
Atilla's breath hitched.
It was only for a moment, but he saw it. A shimmer, small and distant, like a reflection just beyond reach. The color of his sister's hair in the summer sun. A rare and distinct hue, different from the one's the people in the region he grew up had.
He remembered how his sister had always been teased for her hair color when she was younger, but Atilla had always found it mesmerizing. Over the years, it had only grown lighter and brighter, suiting her warmer features perfectly as she matured.
He couldn't help shaking his head, wondering if what he had just seen was real. Was the river merely toying with him after all? Conjuring his grief from its depths?
He didn't know. But he couldn't look away.
His nails dug into the wooden edge of the boat as he peered into the water, searching.
As the boat continued to drift forward, an eerie silence fell over the river. The air already had an unnatural stillness to it, but Ceremus began to notice something was amiss. It was as if something was watching them, but he couldn't pinpoint what, nor where the feeling was coming from.
His gaze unconsciously moved to the river when he saw a ripple. Then nothing. The king furrowed his brow, wondering if he had imagined it, when suddenly the water shifted again, forming shapes just beneath the surface.
Atilla's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes turned to look at Ceremus, who was also staring at the water.
"Did you just see that?!" Atilla exclaimed.
Ceremus pursed his lips and slowly nodded. "I don't know if it's because the current is picking up, but stay vigilant," he ordered.
The young knight's eyes grew wide, but he nodded.
The dark waters shimmered, and suddenly, small hands erupted from the river, as if clawing their way out.
Atilla jumped back, unknowingly bumping into Ceremus' chest. But the young man cared little for who he had bumped into, his eyes fixed on the water, not daring to move a muscle.
"...T-The hands…did you see them?" Atilla asked, his voice wavering.
Ceremus looked in front of him, but saw nothing. "What hands are you talking about?"
Atilla's blood ran cold when he heard those words. "Y-Your Majesty didn't just see…those hands earlier?"
Ceremus narrowed his eyes, now studying the river more carefully. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't see a single thing. This didn't sit well with him.
"I think the water is playing tricks with your mind. Don't let it overtake you," he warned the boy.
Right. None of this is real. This is all merely an illusion.
Atilla knew the waters were trying to lure him in; it was called the Water of Death for a reason. Hundreds of poor souls had fallen into its traps, vanishing into its depths, never to be seen again.
He wouldn't let it win.
That's what he believed, until he saw something that nearly shocked him to his core.
The waters shimmered once more before a girl stood before him—not in the boat, not on the riverbank, but within the water itself.
"H-Haruna?" he called, not believing his eyes.
She was just as he remembered her—her stubborn chin tilted upward, her bright hair warmer than the sun, framing a face too young to have known true fear—except she had known fear. She had known it in her last moments when the water had swallowed her whole, and he had failed to reach her in time.
Atilla's breath turned ragged.
She wasn't real. He knew that. And yet, when her grey eyes lifted to meet his, shimmering with something unreadable, the pain that struck him was all too real.
"Brother."
Atilla jolted. The sound of her voice nearly sent him to his knees. He hadn't heard it in years, hadn't allowed himself to hear it in his memories, lest the grief consume him whole.
"Haruna," he whispered, but the moment he reached out, her figure flickered like mist over the water.
Atilla blinked, unsure of what had just happened. Ceremus, who had been right behind him, was finally able to see what the young boy had seen, once her name had been called from his lips.
He finally understood why so many had fallen victim. The water was an insatiable siren, luring unsuspecting fools in.
He made sure to keep his mind free of any thoughts, emptying himself of any emotions and past grievances lest he fall victim too. But the river was clever, too strong for even the most powerful king.
Ceremus stood eerily still at the front of the boat, his posture stiff, his gaze locked onto the water. Atilla, who had momentarily escaped the spell, turned to look at him and saw Ceremus' gaze frozen on the spot.
All the color had drained from his face, looking as if he had seen an evil spirit. Atilla followed his line of sight, his eyes widening with shock.
A tall, broad-shouldered man stood in the water, dressed in ceremonial robes lined with gold. His expression was warm and kind, yet his face reminded Atilla of Ceremus himself. But what struck him most was the way the man's pale eyes bore into Ceremus—not with the cold judgment of a king, but with something far heavier.
Pure, unadulterated, untainted, and untouched love.
It was an expression Atilla had never felt in his life, not even from his mother, who he knew loved him with all her heart.
Ceremus' hands twitched at his sides. His mouth opened, but no words came out. The man he had longed to see, even for a split second, was standing before him.
His father.
Atilla tore his gaze away, swallowing hard.
Now the king had fallen as well. How will we escape this trap? he wondered.