Headed by a Snake

According to rumors made popular in the adventuring community, House Moonwell's 'Water Temple' was a Dungeon... a reasonably logical structure filled with deadly traps and unspeakable horrors.

If Ophelia's ritual worked properly-- and Tycondrius had no reason to doubt his work, the story of the Water Temple was no more than a fanciful myth. It was a tale conjured to frighten children and dissuade gods-fearing adventurers seeking easy glory and riches.

...Tycon was fooled, as well.

He'd expected the worst, but was pleasantly surprised to find that he was over-prepared rather than not.

He silently thanked his traveling companion, Coraline Heartsong, for suggesting as such, some weeks prior.

The young Arcanist had researched a number of topics in Whitehearth, one of them being House Moonwell's worst kept secret.

Princess Ophelia and her ancestors had been tasked to protect the place or... otherworldly Realm where the Lake Goddess was bound for eternity.

That information, though... came from yet another legend-- an Elven one. Whether it was true or... was interpreted from the Ancient language correctly, or... if the knowledge was even useful, Tycon was doubtful.

Not an illusion. Not a Reality Marble. Not a Dungeon.

The Hidden Lake sect's designation of this Realm as a Hidden Domain seemed most accurate... though still gave no clue to his *actual* whereabouts.

Tycon stood upon black soil and rolling hills with a few lazy trees growing under the dispassionate gaze of a cool, orange sun.

Even in the small area around him, he identified no less than three different 'Spirit Herbs' hidden in the grass.

They were items highly prized by Martialists and Alchemists. Unfortunately, he did not have the skill to identify, retrieve, or store any quality herbs-- nor the patience.

Tycon took off his Officer's cap to feel the light, dry breeze billowing his long hair... neither oppressive or uncomfortable.

Scanning the horizon, he identified no sentient-made landmarks... no well-traveled paths to follow... and no creatures of earth or sky he could make reasonable inquiries to.

The hills were solemn and somber... like a grave site... or a forgotten battlefield.

There was but a single anomaly he focused on, a river cutting through the landscape.

"How peculiar..."

...It glowed an eerie blue color.

Replacing his cap, Tycon leisurely made his way over... but as he grew closer, he was assailed with a severe urge to drink.

...To counter that, he summoned a filled waterskin from his spatial ring.

Tycon was in a foreign land. The locals might have grown accustomed to the impurities in the water, but as a Gold-Rank adventurer, he was not immune to afflictions of the stomach.

Besides that, the river water did not look particularly inviting, with its unnatural glow and... by the somewhat sinister movements he spied within.

There were translucent faces in the water, momentarily haunting his reflection before drifting along with the current.

Tycon sat at the riverbank, patiently watching for several minutes. He felt the flow of the river's mana... and sensed the wisps of spirits traveling or trapped underneath the clear surface.

"Seven hells," He smirked.

That was where he was-- a conclusion he made adding his observations to his unnatural compulsion to drink from the haunted waters.

According to his bloodline memories, the river was called Letherna.

It was one of the many bodies of water that spanned the hells-- with this one, in particular, also traveling through certain heavens.

From that, he conceived a simple plan.

He would summon his friend, Hades, God of Death and the Dead, for guidance.

Considering his location and the thick miasma of death energies in the atmosphere, he could do so at a severely reduced material cost.

Failing that, Tycon reasoned he could... walk alongside the river, searching for a landmark or a settlement.

He sighed loudly to himself, his voice traveling farther than it should, considering the long grass surrounding him.

His travels would much easier if he had a boat of some kind... or a--

...raft?

Tycon rubbed at his eyes, blinking several times.

Floating at the river's center was an old, gnarled wood raft, tied together by reeds.

It was attached to a rope, likely ending in an anchor of some sort.

And atop it was... a large, slightly tremulous basket.

It was a fortuitous encounter. The raft's owner would certainly be able to provide Tycon more insight on his location, proper.

A splash of water, sudden and loud, bid him to reach for the sword at his waist.

A translucent spirit emerged from River Letherna. It was a young, human gentleman... tall and in the prime of his youth.

His form was surprisingly solid, hinting that he'd expired only recently.

Tycon relaxed his posture as he shook his head.

The dead would come to this land... dazed, confused-- and wanting.

They would drink from the waters... and they would forget themselves.

It was... cleansing.

Purifying.

The dead no longer had need for their memories... years of pain and struggle, offset by moments of joy and satisfaction. No matter their status in life... they all traveled the same river in death.

Fully submerged in the river, the young man risked being pulled in by the other spirits.

The souls in the river were no better than mundane beasts, their only desires: thirst... and an end to their suffering.

Tycon shut his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer in the old Tyrion language... "Requiescat in pace..."

The boy would be torn apart. His form would dissolve until he became nigh unrecognizable-- a vague face of anguish, robbed of the ability to act independently.

He would become yet another drifting spirit... his fate decided by whatever awaited them at Letherna's end.

"Tss," Tycon scoffed to himself.

He wondered... if he might have known that young man... an enemy he'd killed... or an ally he'd--

"Young Master Tycon!" A jovial voice called out, "Haven't seen you in what-- MOONS? Ah reckon it's been YEEEARS! Yer lookin' rEeeEaL *spiffy!* You get that coat from uh... bein' in the mili-tary?"

Tycon clenched his eyes shut.

He was hearing voices from his past.