"By the River Styx" by Loke Mei Yin

The wise woman who had gifted him with it, had called his venture a hopeless cause and tried to deter him. But she was bounded by the oath of her sisterhood to aid the followers of the War God and as a warrior he was counted among them. Thus she presented him with the tiny mirror that would be his passage between the lands of living and dead. He had only a day to find his beloved among the endless throngs of the deceased. A year and a day, that was how long they will wait by the banks. A year too little it almost was; for almost a year it took for them to locate the witch in the first place and even then she was reluctant to aid them.

The remainder of the second last day, the wise woman had argued, relented and finally set about creating the mirror that he would need for the journey. A living soul walking the banks of the river of death was rare but not unheard of; for the dead are many but the ferryman was only one.

It was said to have been almost a common occurrence during the war, when dying soldiers had caught a glimpse of these banks only to be snatched back by the healers in the nick of time. However, bringing back a soul who had wandered these shores for so long was something else altogether. Who knows if the death god will release the soul at all to begin with.

A sudden wind blew up from the river and he gathered his clock tighter around him to strive off the unnatural chill.

Then he saw it, waves of long ebony locks fluttered like a banner in the wind among the countless heads. His heart gave a leap of joy and his voice echoed the cry as he espied the sorely missed sight of his beloved.

Suddenly, the crowd of the dead spirits pushed forward eagerly towards the shore of the river. Among them was his love. Horror gripped the warrior's stout heart to be replaced by relief when she stopped her descend shy of the poisonous waters which lapped inches from her feet.

However, the respite was brief.

Without warning, the mists of the river parted to reveal a black gondola approaching the shore, a hunched figure in a grey cloak holding an oar- Charon has come.