Chapter 10: Crossing to East Haven

Strangely, when he learned our destination was East Haven, Peter Caldwell’s fear vanished and he grew excited:

"Sam, are you saying you’re taking me to the land of immortals?"

His eyes gleamed with a wild hope, and for a moment, he was like a child offered the keys to a candy store.

Sam Mason nodded.

"Excellent! Sam, you understand me! Those fools in the council say only immortals can enter the land of immortals, but I’m the governor, destiny is mine—how could I not qualify?"

All this struck me as odd. Livingston had warned that East Haven was perilous—how could it be a paradise?

Peter Caldwell was practically bouncing in his seat, talking about legacy, fate, and how history would remember his name. Tanya shot me a look that said she didn’t trust a word of it.

When we reached the borders of East Haven, my doubts only deepened. Before us lay a spring landscape: birds singing, rabbits darting, fish leaping in clear rivers—a true paradise.

Sunlight sparkled on the water, and the scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze. It was so peaceful it made my teeth ache.

How could such a place be perilous?

As we searched for a way to cross the river, a thick fog rose, then cleared as a boatman poled his craft toward us. The boat was large enough for our group, several gourds hanging from its sides, making pleasant sounds in the wind.

The water lapped at the hull, and the air was strangely cold. The boatman wore all white, plain yet elegant.

"Please board."

A white-clad ferryman crossing the river—this had to be Lou Monroe of East Haven.

His voice was gentle but distant, the kind you’d hear in a dream. The scenery on shore quickly receded. In a blink, we were in the middle of the river. Suddenly, I felt dizzy, and when I came to, everything had changed.

The clear river was now a foul stream of blood, filled with animal and human remains. The gourds on the boat were now eyeless heads, wailing in agony.

The stench hit me like a punch to the gut. Tanya gasped, covering her mouth, and I clung to the railing, fighting nausea.

I looked up—Lou Monroe stared at me, no longer elegant but withered, his white clothes tattered and yellowed. Suddenly, he opened his mouth, black smoke pouring out:

"You... can see me?" in a voice that sounded like it came from an old radio, all static and warning.

At that critical moment, a hand landed on my shoulder.

"Ignore him. Pretend you saw and heard nothing."

I turned—it was Sam Mason.

His grip was firm, his eyes cold. He nodded once, a silent warning.

When I stopped reacting, Lou Monroe said nothing more.

I kept up the act until we disembarked. Then I asked Sam Mason, "What is going on?"

"Upon entering East Haven, your senses are stripped away, leaving only illusions," Sam Mason explained. "Otherwise, do you really think this is paradise?"

His voice was hushed, words tumbling out like he was afraid the place itself might be listening.

I looked around—apart from Sam Mason and me, everyone else seemed blissfully unaware, still trapped in illusion.

They laughed and joked, eyes glazed, as if nothing was amiss. The sky above us was a sickly shade, the ground squelched under our boots.

"Why do we see through it?" I asked.

Sam Mason held up three fingers. "Only three of us can pierce the illusion. One is me, through blood magic. One is Peter Caldwell, by destiny. The last is you."

He spoke the last sentence slowly, clearly fishing for my answer.

But I had no idea why I could see through the illusion—and even if I did, I wouldn’t tell him.

So I pointed at Peter Caldwell. "He doesn’t look like he can see through anything."

"That’s normal. I’ve locked his destiny inside him. Peter Caldwell isn’t his father—he’s soft, too easy to give himself away."

"What happens if he does?"

Sam Mason smiled:

"Naturally, his eyes are gouged out, his head cut off—and hung on the boat."

His words hung in the air like a warning, and I shuddered, thinking of the eyeless heads on the boat’s sides.

Sam Mason was even more familiar with the dangers of East Haven than I’d imagined. He resolved every threat we met along the way.

It became clear he wasn’t here for glory or out of loyalty—he was searching, always searching, watching me with a calculated patience.

Which made me suspect: he knew that bringing Peter Caldwell to East Haven was the key to breaking the impasse. But East Haven had started with six counties, then gained new territories—he didn’t know the final breaking point.

So he risked himself, entering East Haven again and again, searching for clues. His rescue of me, and the goodwill he showed now, clearly had a purpose. He was betting that I knew where to go next.

But what he didn’t know was that I was betting too. Professor Livingston never told me the exact breaking point. But he once said, "The Battle of Red River was a scam."

So I was betting that the truth—was buried in the fire at Red River.

Somewhere, far behind us, a bell began to toll. I counted, every beat a countdown to something I couldn’t outrun. Seven... eight—