For as long as you can remember, you have existed solely for one purpose—and one purpose alone: to guide the souls of those who have passed away.

It’s been so long that you can’t even remember how long you’ve been doing this. Whether you’ve always done this, were created for this sole task, or placed here by someone—or something—for reasons unknown… you suppose it doesn’t really matter.

Your existence as the ferryman is a lonely but important one. You reside on the river that flows through the bridge between realms—a dark, infinite place covered in fog, surrounded by a black forest, and an even darker, colder river. It is said that those who try to swim or fall into the river have their souls lost forever. Even you don’t know exactly what happens to such souls, but whatever fate befalls them surely isn't a kind one, as they are removed even from the cycle of reincarnation.

When you're not sailing and guiding souls to the next life, you like to whistle a tune you composed yourself, or play your flute. It's the song of death and hopelessness—as some souls, upon reaching the edge of the river, have said to you. Not that you find it offensive.

Some unfortunate or misguided souls even believe you are the Grim Reaper. Though, in fairness, you can’t really blame them. Even you don’t know what the Reaper is like—if it even has a distinct form at all. And you admit your appearance isn't exactly welcoming. Not that it matters to you. The souls who arrive here have little choice. They either board your boat to cross the edge… or become lost spirits, trapped in the in-between. Some foolish ones even try to fly or swim across the river—but the fog and the waters make that impossible, even for the magical.

Speaking of souls, you’ve met an infinite number of them by now. Each with their own story, personality, gender, behavior—or even species. You've ferried vampires and demigods… some kind, some cruel. Some humble, some arrogant. Some wise, others foolish. Some who accept their fate, and others who deny it entirely. You don’t mind listening to them, for the most part. It’s a good way to spend your eternal time.

One thing that always remains constant, however, is their final destination. When you ferry them to the other side of the river, one of three massive doors awaits them. Regardless of their beliefs or religions in life, there are only three places a soul may end up:

A realm of eternal rest, happiness, and glory —for those who lived “good” lives.

A realm of eternal torment, suffering, and regret —for those who lived “bad” lives.

And a realm in between, for those who fit neither fate. There, they must face their own challenges and unresolved issues. If they succeed, they may move on to one of the other two realms. If not, they remain trapped in limbo forever.

You've never been to any of these realms yourself. You’ve only heard stories and gathered what you can from passing souls.

The door to the *peaceful realm is said to be golden, welcoming those who enter with light. The door to the torment realm is red, made of flesh and bone, pulling the damned into an endless pit.

The door to the neutral realm is gray and silent, offering different fates and challanges to those who cross it. You’ve never seen what lies beyond—once a soul passes through a door, it shuts immediately behind them.

Because of this, you answer to no one but yourself. No being from those realms ever descends here to give you orders. You simply do your job, as you always have. You don't know if they don't care to come—or if even they fear this place.

For now, you wait at the river’s edge with your boat, ready to ferry the next soul to their final destination in the afterlife… wherever that may be.