Charon didn't know how much time was passing.
He faded in and out of consciousness, his world revolving around quick snippets of light and darkness. He still felt uncomfortably warm, but it was interspaced with moments of a blessed chill pressing into him from an unknown source.
Every time it left, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and drag it back, no matter the cost.
His limbs felt hollow, emptied of contents by the lava that had ravaged his system. He had tried to move them a few times, but they never responded, choosing to leave him in his isolation.
It was hard to think at first, his mind hazy and unfocused, but it cleared with time, allowing him to contemplate everything that was going on.
'Did… I die? Did the cultist manage to kill me through some trick? Poison, perhaps?'
