Anjou blinked her eyes open and found herself seated before an obsidian dais. Behind it stood a tall figure dressed in a brown robe. He was bald and wore thin spectacles that hung off his ears.
The space around them was pure white and stretched endlessly. There were no walls and no ceiling.
Anjou sat upright. She was about to say something when the man looked up at her and smiled.
“Ah, you’re awake. That’s good. Now we can begin.” His voice carried strangely, as if the air itself whispered it forward. “Let’s get the obvious out of the way. You’re dead.”
Anjou blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Hard to believe, I know. But it’s true. You are dead.”
Even though she heard it again, the words didn't seem to reach her mind. “What do you mean I’m dead?” She reached back through her though. Back to the boxing match. To the noise and the impact, but everything felt distant, blurred. “I think I blacked out, but that doesn’t mean I died.”
The man shook his head slowly. “No. You died. The fact that you sit here now proves that.”
“And who are you?”
“My name is Caron.” He gestured to the glowing slab before him. The shifting symbols settled briefly into legible script: Caron, Ferryman of Passing Souls, Keeper of Assignments.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Caron waved a hand, and the symbols dissolved again into flowing light. “We’ll get to that. But first, I have to say, I witnessed the final hours of your life.” His smile widened. “That was one hell of an exit. That championship match? Remarkable.”
“Uh… thank you?” Anjou said awkwardly.
“You had that rabbit girl on the ropes most of the fight. Would’ve been a clean victory if we hadn’t been sent to collect you.”
“Rabbit girl?”
He waved his hand again. “You know, what was her name? Anjou. The red rabbit girl.”
“You mean the Crimson Hare,” Anjou said flatly.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Anjou crossed her arms. “You mean me?”
“Hm?”
“You’re talking about me. I’m Anjou.”
Caron let out a laugh that echoed too loudly in the vast emptiness. “Oh, that’s a good one. I get it, you’re upset about being dead, so you’re trying to joke.” He removed his glasses, wiping at his eyes. “I needed that. This place gets quiet.”
When he looked back up, Anjou’s fists were clenched.
“What?”
“I’m Anjou,” she said through her teeth.
“Alright, joking aside we need to…”
They stared at each other.
Anjou poured everything she had into that glare. It was the same one she used before fights, the one that made opponents falter.
After a long moment, Caron’s expression faltered.
“Give me a moment.”
He turned back to the hovering slab, his fingers tracing through the glowing symbols. The surface rippled rapidly.
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“Uh oh,” he muttered.
He looked at her. Then back at the slab.
“So… you’re not Trixie Starr.”
Not a question. A realization.
“Do I look like that wannabe princess?”
“No?”
Anjou stood abruptly, slamming her hands against the dais.
“Is this some kind of sick joke? Who put you up to this? Was it Trixie? Was it David? Did someone poison me before the match? Answer me!”
She struck the surface again, harder.
Despite his earlier panic, Caron didn’t flinch. “Listen, anger is a natural—”
Anjou threw a punch aimed straight at Caron's jaw. Her fist passed through him like mist and she fell forward across the dais.
Before Anjou could recover, something seized her. She was yanked backward and forced down into her seat.
Standing behind her now was a towering figure. His skin glowed faintly red, his eyes hidden behind dark lenses, and small curving horns.
“You're not the only one to try that,” Caron said. “Too many times I've been hit, so now I only appear as an apparition. The one behind you, however? Very real.”
The horned figure’s grip tightened just enough to make the point.
“I’ve no idea how this mix-up happened,” Caron continued, “so I’ll need to consult the higher records. Gelor here will make sure you stay put.”
And then he vanished.
—
By the time Caron returned, the storm inside Anjou had mostly burned itself out.
Mostly.
She tilted her head slightly. “So… am I really dead?”
The figure behind her gave a low grunt.
She took that as a yes.
“Is this… hell?”
“Hardly,” Caron said, reappearing in a shimmer of light. He rested his chin against steepled fingers. “Gelor, you can ease up. I don’t think there’ll be another incident. Right?”
Anjou crossed her arms. “No.”
Gelor's grip loosened.
“Now,” Caron said, “the bad news. You were taken prematurely. And there’s nothing we can do to reverse that. A misreading of fate’s thread.”
“How premature?” Anjou asked.
Caron glanced at the shifting slab. “Approximately seventy-two years.”
Her fist tightened again, but a low growl from Gelor stopped her.
“The good news,” Caron continued, “is that you can take the place originally meant for Trixie. More or less.”
“Meaning?”
“You stand now at a crossing point between worlds. Some souls are not sent onward to rest, they are reassigned. Given purpose elsewhere. Another realm. Another life.
Trixie was meant to answer a plea—to guard a prince in the midst of war. That thread is… severed now.”
“Am I taking that role?”
“No.” Caron shook his head. “That prayer will go unanswered. The prince will face his fate alone.”
Anjou frowned.
“Your path is different,” he continued. “You will be sent to another realm entirely. There, you are to become the protector of a young princess.”
Anjou exhaled slowly. “Of course I am.”
“There are conditions,” Caron added. “But we’ll get to those. First, have you ever played a video game?”
Anjou blinked. “What?”
“Just answer.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Good. That will make this easier. In this realm, certain individuals are granted structured power. Abilities that grow, evolve, and can be measured. Like a system layered over reality itself. I’m not explaining it well, but you’ll understand once you’re there.”
He turned back to the glowing slab.
“As for your arrival…” His fingers traced through the light again. “Trixie would have been placed directly near her assigned charge. You, however, given the error, will not.”
Anjou sighed. “So what happens?”
“You’ll be sent nearby. The rest is up to you to make it in time.”
“And if I don’t make it?”
Caron’s voice lowered. “Nothing good.”
Behind her, Gelor let out a rumbling sound that might have been laughter.
Anjou shuddered.
“But I have faith,” Caron added lightly. “You’re resourceful.”
He straightened, his form beginning to glow faintly.
“And with that, you’re ready.”
“That’s it?” Anjou asked.
“That’s it.”
Before she could say anything else, a heavy wave of exhaustion crashed over her. Her vision blurred, and everything dimmed.
“Oh, and one last thing,” Caron’s voice echoed faintly as everything faded “You won’t remember this meeting. But you will remember your purpose. And you won’t be returning in the same form. That’s simply how crossing works.”
Darkness closed in.
“Good luck, Anjou.”