Chapter 124 Please Remain Seated
Bella
Getting everyone onto the boat takes longer than I expected. Not because anyone hesitates, but more because the majority of us have never stepped foot on a body of water without it freezing over. So yeah, it takes us a few minutes. Every time I think we’re about to run out of space, the boat quietly decides we’re not and adds more seats. At first, it looks fine. It's tight, but manageable. Long benches line either side of the deck, smooth dark wood polished to a faint sheen, railings etched with thin runes that glow low and steady like they’re breathing. The hull curves inward, narrow enough that I’m already mentally preparing to spend the ride pressed shoulder to shoulder with strangers and regretting my life choices. Then, another family steps aboard, and the deck shifts underfoot. The planks slide apart with a soft, almost organic sound, wood flexing and reforming as if it were never fixed in the first place. A new section unfolds between two benches, widening the aisle. The railings extend outward, stretching the perimeter without changing the boat’s balance. No one stumbles. No one panics. I definitely get a queasy feeling in my gut and a woman gasps, but for the most part, we're fine. More people board, and the same thing happens again. And again. Every time the numbers don’t quite add up, the boat corrects the math. By the time the last group steps on, the vessel is easily three times the size it was when we first saw it. It's wide, seemingly stable and deep enough that I can’t see the water unless I lean over the rail.
“Well,” Ashlyn says, staring down the length of it. “That’s deeply unsettling.”
Paul’s dragon rumbles in agreement from the shoreline. There's no way in hell the boat can manage fitting him on board. People shuffle around, finding comfortable spots. As soon as a sleeping child is set down near the centre of the boat, the floor there rises, reshaping itself into a shallow cot that fits their bodies exactly. Soft padding emerges beneath them, layered and warm. Thick blankets follow, folding themselves over small shoulders and feet without waking anyone. Others notice and step forward with more children. The cots arrange themselves in clusters, leaving clear walkways between them, like the boat has opinions about fire safety and sweet dreams. An elderly man watches the transformation in silence, then slowly sits down on the nearest bench.
“I hate this,” he says quietly.
His wife pats his arm. “You hate everything.”
“That’s not true,” he mutters. “I like soup.”
Gilfred hops off my shoulder and scuttles along the rail, inspecting everything with the air of someone conducting an audit. He pauses, clicks approvingly at one of the glowing runes, then settles himself near a stack of blankets like he owns the place. Once everyone is aboard, no one says anything for a moment. We’re all waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop or for the non-existent lightning to strike us down. It never comes. Instead, long oars extend smoothly from the sides of the boat, sliding out of hidden seams in perfect symmetry. They lower into the water without splashing, dipping just deep enough to catch the current. The glow along the hull brightens slightly, and the boat moves. It's slow at first. Nice and gentle. The shoreline begins to drift past, trees slipping by in quiet procession. The oddly illuminated water glides softly beneath the boat, and I exhale hard and sit. Damien drops down beside me, his weight solid and reassuring. He pats my thigh once, casually.
“First time on the water, Snowflake?”
I huff out a laugh before I can stop myself.
“First time on the water in a magic boat, enchanted by an evil Frostborn queen that I just froze and left in her mountain prison after stealing all her people and leading them to freedom,” I say. “Yeah.”
He grins. “Thought so.”
The boat picks up speed. It settles into motion, oars moving faster, the hum beneath the deck deepening into something I can feel through my bones. The water responds, light rippling outward from the hull in long, wavering lines that fade slowly instead of vanishing. People start noticing things. Reflections in the water that don’t match the sky above us. Shapes passing beneath the surface that aren’t fish or shadow or current. A coastline appears for a few seconds before dissolving. A stretch of green fields under sunlight that definitely doesn’t exist here. No one screams, but a few people start to whisper. The whispering spreads fast. The water beneath us brightens further, the blue deepening until it looks less like reflection and more like depth without bottom. The shapes beneath the surface stretch, fold and slip past each other. Ashlyn leans closer to the railing, squinting.
“Nope,” she says immediately. “Don’t love that.”
Red stiffens near the front of the boat, and I follow her gaze. The world ahead of us begins to thin. The riverbanks lose detail first, trees smearing into colour, then into suggestion, then into nothing at all. The sky follows, stars stretching into long streaks before snapping out of existence. The only thing that remains solid is the water directly beneath us, glowing brighter now, pulling us forward faster and faster. Red exhales sharply.
“Ah, shit,” she says. “You all might want to hold onto your dinner... And anything else you’re emotionally attached to.”
The current grabs us, and ahead, the river narrows into a massive, circular opening suspended in empty space. Its edges are lined with jagged stone and glowing runes that pulse erratically, like a heartbeat that forgot its rhythm. The water pours straight into it, spiralling downward into a tunnel that twists too tightly to be natural. Someone screams as the oars retract. That’s when I realise the boat is no longer rowing. It’s falling... fast. The hull tilts forward just enough to make my stomach try to escape my body as the glowing water pulls us into the tunnel. Light fractures around us, reflecting off the runes and the water and the hull in sharp, broken flashes. The tunnel walls slide past in a blur of stone and symbols as we speed past them now. People grab railings, seats, and literally anything they can get their hands on. Someone laughs hysterically, and I grip the bench and lean closer to Damien, heart hammering hard enough to rattle my ribs.
“Well,” I shout over the rising rush of water and magic, “at least it’s not boring.”
He laughs, wild and exhilarated, heat flaring around us instinctively as the tunnel tightens and the light collapses inward. Above us, far behind now, Paul’s dragon roars a sound of fire and fury that echoes once, twice, then cuts off abruptly as the world snaps closed. The last thing I see is glowing water rushing toward us. Then the light disappears... And the boat surges forward into pure black.