Darkness.
Not the kind that closes in, but the kind that was already there, endless and patient, and had simply noticed me again.
I tried to move.
Nothing responded.
I couldn't feel my body. I couldn't feel the ground. I couldn't even tell which direction I was facing. It was like being pinned in place by the absence of everything.
Then something shifted in front of me.
A presence stepped closer, small enough that it didn't disturb the dark much at all.
Tap.
Something cold prodded me.
Tap again.
I focused, and the darkness gave way just enough to let me see it.
Death was… small.
Tiny, even.
A little thing wrapped in an oversized black robe that pooled around its feet. Its sleeves hung too long, empty fabric swaying slightly when it moved. A bone-white mask covered its face, smooth and round, eye sockets cut wide and hollow. From beneath the robe peeked thin limbs that looked fragile, almost delicate.
The scythe, however, was enormous.
The handle towered over Death's head. The blade was massive, curved and sharp, far too large for something so small to wield comfortably. It rested against the void at an awkward angle, like it had been given to the wrong person and never taken back.
Death poked me again with the tip.
Tap.
It tilted its head.
"…That's odd."
The voice was quiet, soft, edged with mild confusion rather than menace.
Death leaned closer, peering at me as though I were a smudge on glass.
"I'm fairly certain I finished you," it muttered. "Very thoroughly."
Another poke.
Tap.
"And yet..."
It straightened with effort, adjusting its grip on the scythe, then crouched again, robe bunching around its feet.
"You're still here."
I tried to speak.
Nothing happened.
Death noticed anyway.
"Oh," it said. "You're not stuck because you're broken. That's on me."
It hummed, a low, distracted sound, then flicked one bony finger.
A faint glow appeared between us.
Numbers.
They hovered in the dark, steady and undeniable.
Death squinted at them, leaning forward until its mask nearly touched the glow.
"…One hundred."
It went still. Not shocked.
Just quiet.
"One hundred," it repeated, slower. "That's… not very large."
The glow pulsed.
Death tapped the number with the scythe's blade.
Tap.
"But it's also not normal," it added.
It sat back on its heels, robe folding awkwardly beneath its small frame.
"I don't usually keep track," Death said. "Things end. That's the point. Counting isn't necessary when conclusions behave."
It glanced at me again.
"But you don't."
There was no accusation in its voice.
Just mild irritation, like noticing a door that refused to stay closed.
"I assumed it was noise," Death continued. "Background error. Systems are messy."
It paused.
"Then you ran into a Gravewarden."
The word carried a faint edge of distaste.
Death adjusted its grip on the scythe, the blade dragging lightly against nothing.
"Those aren't meant for repeats," it said. "They're meant for removal."
It leaned closer again, mask angled, studying me.
"You came back anyway."
The darkness felt heavier, not oppressive, just attentive.
Death sighed. A small, tired sound.
"This is inconvenient," it muttered. "I dislike inconvenient patterns."
It stood, lifting the massive scythe with effort and resting it against its shoulder. The weapon wobbled slightly before settling.
Death didn't threaten me.
Didn't warn me.
It just lingered there, looking at me longer than before.
As if making a note. As if something that usually passed without thought had finally refused to do so.
Then the darkness shifted.
And for the first time, I felt uncertain whether returning would be immediate.
Or guaranteed at all.
~~~
Death was still staring at the numbers when the darkness shifted.
At first, it was subtle. Not movement, not sound. More like pressure changing, the way air feels before something tears through it.
I couldn't see anything, but I felt it.
The void around us rippled.
Death straightened, robe fluttering slightly as it looked around. "That's new," it muttered, annoyance creeping into its voice. The scythe tilted as it adjusted its grip.
The darkness moved again. This time, there was no mistaking it.
Something was intruding.
Death turned sharply, mask angling upward. "Wai-t—"
Light tore through the dark.
Not a gentle glow. Not a transition. It was violent, white and overwhelming, ripping the darkness apart in long, burning seams. The void collapsed inward, folding, breaking, unable to hold its shape.
Death's voice was cut off.
And then I was falling.
Pain slammed back into me before sight did.
I was on the ground.
No, half in it.
My body was broken, crushed into the churned earth of the ravine. Blood pooled beneath me, warm and slick, soaking into soil that had already drunk too much of it. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe properly. Every inhale rattled, shallow and wet.
Yet I could see.
Bodies lay everywhere.
Rowan. Still, eyes open.
Iris, twisted at an angle that made my stomach lurch.
Felix, weapon snapped in two beside him.
Jax, unmoving, face slack.
Owen's shield lay a short distance away, split down the center.
Mireya and Nadia were crumpled near each other, hands almost touching.
The surviving joiner lay farther back, torn apart so completely I couldn't tell where he ended.
Everyone was dead.
Except… Madison.
She was crouched in front of me, close enough that her shadow fell over my face. Her expression was calm, eyes clear, posture relaxed, as though she had simply knelt to examine something mildly interesting.
"He takes his time, huh?" she murmured.
I tried to speak.
Blood spilled from my mouth instead, thick and dark, bubbling uselessly down my chin.
Behind her, the air warped.
The Gravewarden moved.
It didn't charge. It didn't roar.
It simply appeared, folding space the way a thought cuts through silence, its bladed arm already raised.
I tried to scream but only blood came out.
Time stretched.
Madison turned.
She didn't hurry.
She didn't brace.
She looked at it the way someone looks at an insect that has landed where it shouldn't.
"What," she said softly, "does a trivial existence plan to do before me?"
The Gravewarden froze. Its body shrank. Not physically at first. Conceptually. Its presence collapsed inward, edges blurring, form unraveling as if the idea holding it together had been pulled away.
It tried to move.
Nothing happened.
Then it vanished. No sound, light nor resistance.
Gone. As though it had never been.
Madison turned back to me.
Her gaze met mine, steady and untroubled.
"Go back," she said. "And reset everything."
My vision dimmed. The pain dulled into something distant, like it belonged to someone else.
My mind screamed questions I couldn't form.
This wasn't possible.
None of this was possible.
As the last of my strength slipped away, as darkness crept back in, I heard her voice one last time, close and certain.
"And you won't remember a thing about this death this time..."
Then everything broke and fell away.
~~~
I came back into darkness.
Not the battlefield. Not the expanse.
The other place.
I still couldn't move. Still couldn't feel where my body should have been. It was like existing as a thought someone hadn't decided to finish.
Death hovered nearby.
It noticed me immediately.
"…You again," it muttered.
The tiny figure adjusted its oversized robe, scythe scraping lightly through nothing as it drifted closer. It circled me once, slow and suspicious, then poked me with the blade's tip.
Tap.
Then again.
Tap.
"This is getting irritating," Death said. "You vanished. That's not how this works."
It leaned in, mask tilting until one hollow socket lined up with where my eyes should have been.
"I was in the middle of processing you," it continued. "Do you know how disruptive that is?"
The scythe lifted slightly.
"I should penalize you for that."
The blade hovered.
Then———
Something echoed.
Not sound. Not vibration.
Recognition.
Death froze.
The scythe dropped a fraction, clattering softly against the void. Its mask tilted sharply, as if listening to something far away and far too close at the same time.
The darkness tightened.
Death shivered.
Its eye sockets trembled, faint cracks spidering through the bone mask before sealing again. It drew the scythe in close, shoulders hunching, posture shrinking even further.
"…Oh," it whispered.
A pause.
Then, quieter, almost sulky, "Okay."
The pressure eased.
Death straightened slowly and turned back toward me, irritation replacing the fear with forced casualness.
"You're making me do extra work," it said, poking me again, harder this time. "That's not fair. I already have enough of that."
I wanted to ask what it had heard.
I wanted to ask who it had listened to.
Nothing came out.
Death sighed.
"Go," it said. "Before this gets more complicated."
The darkness tore open again, this time gently.
White flooded everything.
—~—
I woke up walking.
Mid-step.
Mid-thought.
"…So you don't owe her anything?" I heard myself asking.
The world snapped into place around me. Trees. Stone. The expanse. The group moving at a careful, steady pace. Owen ahead of me. Jax to the side. Madison farther forward, posture relaxed.
My heart hammered.
I blinked hard.
Something was missing.
I knew I had died.
I didn't remember how.
I didn't remember when.
The conversation continued like nothing had happened. As it always has been whenever I rebirthed.
No blood. No bodies. No monsters.
Just the question hanging in the air and Owen's puzzled look as he answered.
"No," he said. "Why would we?"
I swallowed.
My head throbbed, a dull pressure behind my eyes, like a book slammed shut before I could finish reading.
I didn't know what I had lost.
I didn't know what had been erased.
What I didn't know was that something had been added instead.
Far beyond my sight, beyond systems and records and human access, a number had already updated.
[Number of Deaths: 100]
And this time, for the first time, I had no memory of earning it.