"The Weight of Passing"

As the ferryman’s skeletal fingers tightened around his lantern, its flickering flame cast eerie shadows across the obsidian waters, he turned to you with hollow eyes that shimmered with ancient sorrow. “Few souls ask,” he rasped, his voice like wind through dry reeds, “but the underworld is divided, not just by rivers, but by purpose. To the left lies Thantos’ Hollow, where restless shades replay their final regrets in endless loops, never learning, always yearning. But to the right—” he gestured with a bony hand, “—is Eirene’s Veil, where the quiet dead linger in peace, their memories intact, their pain dulled like forgotten dreams.” He paused, leaning closer, his breath the scent of river mist and grave moss. “Where you go depends not on how you died, but on what clings to your soul. So, tell me, traveler… what burdens do you carry?”