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Footsteps dragged across the moonlit ground, slow and patient, unrelenting. A long black cloak trailed behind them, luxurious velvet remaining soft and spotless even as it dragged through puddles of muddy water.
It had just rained here, it seemed, the rich scent of soil and sprouting flowers thick and cloying to the senses.
Too much life here; it’s hard to think clearly.
The tip of a silver sword hug suspended from a hip, luminescent metal catching the moonlight and leaving a trail of minuscule stars in its wake, visible only to those who dared stare long enough to notice.
The footsteps slowed to a stop before a dark-haired young man slumped against a tree trunk, his breath labored and the jagged neck of a shattered wine bottle in his hand.
Oh, it’s him again. What happened this time?
The boy’s head tilted back as his eyelashes fluttered open, a blue eye sharp and bright as a breathless smile graced his trembling lips.
“I see I have company. And who might you be?”
“Are you really going to waste your precious breath with obvious questions?”
The cloaked figure gestured to the dark bloodstains on the young-man’s blue and white clothes, the edges of the largest splotch already rusty and dry.
“No, no, I know who you are,” he said smoothly, hiccuping slightly as a drop of sweat ran down the dark, clamy skin of his forehead. “I was just curious as to how you would introduce yourself.”
“Curious, about me?” they said, pointing a long, pale finger back towards their own chest. “Well, I suppose most humans are. Most aren’t so…garish about it, though.”
“I’ve been awaiting this encounter for quite some time,” the young man’s smile widened even as he fought for breath, something like excitement sparking in his eye. “Let’s call it my last grand battle—a fight to the death, if you will.”
“So you’ve been anticipating me,” Death mused, pressing a curious finger to their chin. “Or no, you wish to challenge me?”
“Challenge you? Oh goodness no, I’m no fool. I was merely hoping to make your acquaintance, perhaps get an autograph? You’re quite famous, you know.”
“Are you mocking me?” Death asked, balking slightly as indignity sharpened the smooth edges of their voice.
“Of course not, why would I ever mock someone as magnanimous as you?”
Death sucked in a sharp breath, taken aback by their own petulance. It had been a long time since they had allowed themselves to become so easily irritated by a victim. To their credit, though, this was a rather unusual occurrence.
Death was used to being mocked, of course, but almost none dared do it to their face.
What an odd soul.
The dying boy just looked up at them, unflinching, a trembling hand resting on a bent knee as that cursed, bemused smile still bit at the edges of his lips.
“So tell me, Death, do you have a name? Besides the obvious of course.”
“Hm, well I suppose I have been called Dainsleif, in the past,” they said, blinking slowly. “Although that was something more of a pet name.”
“A pet name? Now, that’s something I would never expect to hear from Death’s lips.”
Death narrowed their eyes, contemplating the situation carefully. It was obvious what the young man was trying to do; a thinly-veiled attempt to delay what was only inevitable. Others had tried similar tactics with them before, although almost no one had ever thought to ask for their name before.
No one, except one.
Dainsleif.
Death had to admit, the lingering taste of that old nickname on their tongue invoked a sense of melancholic nostalgia they hadn’t stopped to indulge in for quite some time.
“I must say, Dainsleif, I didn’t picture Death to be quite so pretty. You look like a handsome knight from a fairytale, a far cry from the heartless, grim reaper of souls I’ve seen portrayed in popular novels.”
Death sighed, shoulder-length blonde hair stirring as they shook their head.
“I’m afraid I cannot accept compliments on my appearance in good confidence. I did choose to adopt this form, but it’s not exactly my own.”
“Not your own, hm? I’m assuming someone gave it to you, then?”
“Would you like to hear the story?” Death asked, carefully, still unsure why they were offering.
“Sure, Dainsleif, make yourself at home,” the young man acquiesced easily, patting the ground beside him with a weak hand. “I presume you’ll permit me to stay alive for the duration of the story? I would hate to miss a good ending.”
They watched him closely. Although far removed from humanity, Death certainly wasn’t above indulging in arrogance and vanity. They prided themselves greatly on being straightforward, and there was nothing they despised more than the feeling of being deluded or tricked.
But then again, a rare chance to reminisce on a quiet evening did sound rather nice. With such an unforgiving job, Death deserved a few moments to rest and reflect, didn’t they?
She would have told me the same.
“I’d like to hear about that curious mask on your face too, if you don’t mind.”
Unknowingly, the young man had touched upon their one and only weakness.
Death sat down beside him on the damp, bloodstained grass, sighing wearily as their head tipped back against the rough trunk of the tree.
“So, you wish to hear about how I got this form?”
“I would love nothing more. After all, a conversation with Death is quite the rare and precious commodity.”
Death knew they were being far too indulgent, and that the rather impudent moral beside them was clever enough to recognize that, but it was too late to go back now.
“It was many, many years ago, so long ago that I’ve lost count. Before then, I used to allow my appearance to mirror what lay in my victim’s soul—however their failing heart preferred to picture me. I’ve been a moving shadow, a gust of wind, a monstrous creature with glowing eyes. A skeleton, too, although I’ve always found that one rather tasteless.”
The man beside them chuckled, the sound barely more than a gasp of air as more blood seeped into his tunic.
“I’ve taken all sorts of forms, far too many to remember each one. There was one, however, that managed to seared itself particularly effectively into my memory for more than a few reasons, least of all being how ridiculous it was.”
“This form, I’m assuming.”
Death nodded.
“Who gave it to you?”
“She was a young girl, strange and beautiful, who shone with the radiance of the sun even though I only ever saw her by moonlight.”
✧:･ﾟ✧: ･ﾟ✧
“Hello,” she said cheerily, waving, her knees tucked up to her chest beneath fluffy white bedsheets.
“Hi,” they returned, somewhat awkwardly, bending their long limbs in a rather clumsy attempt to fit through the narrow frame of her window.
She laughed softly at them as they hopped on one leg, struggling to pull the other one up and through the narrow opening.
“Here, you need some help?”
“I’ve got it, thanks,” they muttered gruffly as they dusted off their pants, finally able to re-arrange themselves on the other side of the opening. They sighed, already slightly perturbed. This visit was quickly going wrong and it had barely even begun.
Of course uncomfortably was inevitable, given the nature of their job. That didn’t necessarily mean that it got easier with time, though. Although they knew none of their victims would remember their encounters with them after they passed on, Death still found that to be of little solace as they slogged through the viscous awkwardness of each uncomfortable moment.
They shook their head, chastising themselves for being so clumsy. It was probably because, for some unknown reason, she had given him a human form. They still found the human body to be a rather awkward vessel, its lanky limbs and heavy head difficult to get used to. They much preferred the mobility of shadows, or the brute force afforded to mythological beings. It also didn’t help that this was an extremely rare occurrence; unlike other forms, Death could easily count the few number of times they had taken on the form of human.
The young woman laughed again, although the sound was far from unkind. “So you’ve come to visit me at last, huh? I was starting to wonder when you would show up.”
Death blinked, looking up. “You already know who I am?”
“Of course,” she smiled. “Doctors have been telling me it’s inevitable ever since I can remember. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“It’s nice to meet you too, Ying.”
“You know my name!” she said, golden eyes glowing with warmth. “You’re even more gentlemanly than I imagined you.”
Death’s eyebrows furrowed, unsure how to respond to such an odd statement.
She just smiled back at them, nose scrunching up almost playfully.
Death had no idea what to make of her.
In line with their area of expertise, the first things they noticed about her were her unnaturally pale skin and the way the delicate bones of her chest protruded sharply from beneath the flowing white lace of her nightgown. They took in the pale blue lines of her protruding veins, the slight windy rasp in her unusually soft voice.
She didn’t have much longer to live, it was clear to see, and had likely been suffering for quite some time.
That didn’t explain her peculiar demeanor, though, and so Death allowed themselves to look further, beyond what was immediately obvious to them. Despite her sickly complexion she had soft, rosy cheeks, molten hazel eyes that shone bright despite the encroaching shadows around her bed. Her golden hair was thick, fluffy, cut close to her head except for two long strands that hung by her ears. Despite the eccentricity of it, they thought it framed her face rather nicely.
“Before you take me with you, can you answer one question for me?” she asked, folding her hands on the small mountain made by her knees.
“Depends on what it is.”
“Do you take this form for everyone you meet? Or is it particular to me?”
“It’s particular to you,” Death answered easily, suddenly surprised at the smooth, almost melodic cadence of their own voice. The other human forms they had taken had all been rough, villainous types, figures so disturbed and cartoonish that they weren’t far removed from monsters.
“Oh, that makes sense,” she nodded, as if she understood the situation perfectly. “I would have had many more questions, otherwise.”
Suddenly, uncharacteristically, Death was acutely interested in the nature of their appearance.
They strode over to the large mirror that hung suspended over her dresser, almost tripping over a small basket that lay on the floor as they still struggled to get used to their lanky legs.
They brought a hand to their face, elegant, long fingers tracing over the soft, supple skin of their pale cheek. They had soft-looking rose-colored lips and a delicate nose, high cheekbones and a slender neck. Their thick, blonde hair fell to their shoulders in choppy waves, the cut hasty and rugged but not in an unpleasant way. Beneath a thick velvet cloak lay broad shoulders and a slender waist, their figure graceful and tall with legs almost long enough to cut off their reflection in the high-set mirror.
Death pinched their own cheek, thick eyebrows furrowing as they took in their own reflection. They weren’t sure they liked this form, it was so…unbecoming of the grim nature of their being.
“You’re handsome, right?” Ying laughed, meeting their eyes through the glass of the mirror.
Death shook their head, frowning. Most striking—unsettling—of all were their eyes, large and framed by eyelashes so long they were almost cumbersome, with star-shaped pupils and azure irises that easily held the glow of the moonlight.
Death sighed, turning away from the mirror. They looked ridiculous.
“Aw, you don’t like it?” Ying asked, her bottom lip protruding slightly as she puffed out her cheeks. “I think you look perfect.”
“How did you come up with something so preposterous?” they asked, crossing their arms over their chest. It probably wasn’t wise of them to be asking questions but well…Ying had started first.
“Oh, well, it’s a bit embarrassing,” she said, finally breaking eye contact. “Promise you won’t laugh at me?”
“Promise.”
Death didn’t think they were capable of laughing, especially not in this situation.
“Well, I’ve always been rather sickly, you see, ill ever since I could remember. I was constantly in and out of the hospital, especially when I was younger, and even inbetween those visits I was very weak and unable to play with children my age.”
Death nodded. Unfortunately it was a rather typical story, something they had seen unfold far too many times to count.
“To keep me company my father read to me, fairytales and mysteries and all sorts of other stories. My favorite, though, were always the fairytales. I mean, it should be pretty obvious why—don’t you just love a happy ending?”
“No,” Death deadpanned, certain she had forgotten who she was talking to.
She ignored him. “My favorite fairytale was called The Light Princess, and the main heroine was a beautiful girl named Lumine. She was the heir to Light Kingdom and as happy as can be, until she was engaged to be married to the wicked prince of the Dark Kingdom. Lumine tried to escape the arranged marriage many times but her father wouldn’t let her, demanding that she must persevere for the good of both Kingdoms. She tried and tried to make her family happy, but every time she was with the Dark Prince she would just get this awful, clawing feeling in her chest. She felt as if to marry him would be eternal suffering.”
Ying paused, gazing out the window, cheeks flushed and hands clasped together as if she were watching the story play out in her mind’s eye.
“Go on,” Death prompted, unwillingly invested in the plot now that she had spent so much time talking about it.
“In a moment of absolute despair, she turns to her loyal bodyguard who has been by her side the whole time. They take a walk in a garden of white flowers where they suddenly realize their feelings and confess their undying love to each other. Swearing to protect her with his life, he becomes both her knight and her prince, and after that they run away together to live happily ever after.”
“Well, that’s a rather anticlimactic ending.”
“No it’s not,” Ying retaliated easily.
“What about the wicked Dark Prince? Shouldn’t they have taken care of him first? I thought fairytales were supposed to be about the battle between good and evil.”
Death almost balked at themselves—they didn’t know why they were getting so wrapped up in a children’s story.
“That’s not the point, silly,” Ying sighed dramatically, her golden eyes sparkling playfully. “The point is that Lumine gets her happy ending with the person who has loved and protected her all along.”
“So you fancy me your handsome knight,” Death hummed, nodding slowly. “And you are the beautiful princess, Lumine.”
“It’s a bit childish, isn’t it,” Ying replied, looking down as her radiant excitement from before dimmed, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell of a half-dead mortal body.
Death shook their head. “Don’t be ashamed, most people tend to revert to a childish state in the face of death, so it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
Ying nodded slowly, eyelashes fanning over her pale cheeks.
“How old are you, Ying?” they asked, once again surprised by the softness in their own voice.
“I’m twenty,” she said, looking up at him again.
Still young for a human, but very old for one who’s been dealing with sickness since birth.
“This fairytale brought you comfort for all these years?”
She nodded.
“Enough so that you’re no longer afraid of me?”
She nodded again.
“This form of mine comforts you, too?”
She nodded for a third time, the slightest whisper of a smile returning to her lips.
“I suppose I don’t hate it then,” Death mumbled,
“I’m glad,” she said, her smile nearly blinding as it reached its full brightness again.
“You’re satisfied?”
“Absolutely.”
“Well then, Ying, I believe it’s time for you to come with me.”
“Wait,” she said calmly, holding out a pale hand in the moonlight. “May I please have one more day? I would like to say farewell to my father and twin brother.”
Death turned towards the window and flicked a long strand of their bangs out of their eyes, still squinting as the moonlight filtered through their unbearably long eyelashes. If nothing else, this night had given them an especially odd story to remember amidst the eternal slew of endless deaths that had long since become a blur in their memory.
She watched them, eyes bright and curious, entirely unafraid.
In all honestly, they wouldn’t mind visiting Ying one more time.
“Alright,” they acquiesced. “Take care of what you need to, but I’ll have to come back for you tomorrow night.”
She nodded. “I understand. Thank you, truly.”
“Don’t mention it,” they mumbled, quickly gathering up their cloak and dissipating from the room before they could regret their decision.
✧:･ﾟ
“Good evening, Ying.”
“Good evening,” she laughed just as cheerfully as she had the previous night, watching Death as they pulled their jumble of limbs across her windowsill. They still weren’t used to the peculiarities of this form.
They had thought it would be easier this time.
It wasn’t.
The two talked for quite some time, or rather, Ying talked and Death listened. She recounted all her favorite moments in her unfairly short, unfairly long life as they listened silently, attentively, interrupted only by her own horrific fits of coughing.
Death had witnessed life from every possible cross-section and fracture point: there was hardly anything she could say that they hadn’t heard a thousand times before. And yet, they still found themselves intrigued—entertained, even—by the way she told her stories, eyes crackling as she gestured excitedly with frail hands. She spoke directly to him, smiling at him, staring unflinchingly into the ocean-blue eyes she had given him, completely unhurried and entirely unafraid.
This girl, who had precious little to live for, so excited to share her story with Death.
It was so incredibly odd.
When she exhausted her own share of stories she began telling other people’s, particularly the plots of her favorite fairytales.
Death hated wasted time, hated talking about anything that wasn’t real. They almost wanted to yell at her to stop talking, lecture her that all of this was pointless.
But they didn’t. Instead they let her talk, finding it easy and weirdly enjoyable to follow the thread of each story as she excitedly explained the adventures of her favorite characters.
“What’s your favorite fairytale?” she asked inevitably, smiling at them expectantly.
“I don’t care much for fairytales,” they answered, truthfully.
“Oh, that’s too bad. What kind of stories do you like, then?”
“I’m the unspoken villain of almost every story ever written. I believe my reluctance to engage with them is well justified.”
She just laughed at them, still not in an unkind way.
“What about your own story, then?” she inquired brightly, leaning forward as she folded her hands on her lap. “You can always make yourself the hero of your own story.”
“My story has no beginning or end, no cohesive narrative to follow.”
“So you don’t remember how you became Death?”
“There was no ‘becoming’ for me. I’m simply a being who has always been, and probably always will be.”
She cocked her head. “So you don’t even have a name, then?”
“To the contrary, I go by a great many names.”
“No, I meant a personal name, of course! A name that’s just for you.”
“I don’t need one,” they sighed, long bangs fluttering as they sighed and pinched the bridge of their nose in exasperation. “I’ve never needed one, and it would be completely pointless for me to have one.”
“Don’t be silly, everyone needs a name,” she said, almost chastising. “Hmm, let me think….”
“Ying, this is extremely inappropriate, not to mention danger—”
“I know, I’ll call you Dainsleif,” she interrupted, clapping her hands as if delighted. “I read in once in a mythology textbook that ‘Dain’ means ‘death’ in Old Norse, so I think it’ll be a fitting title for you.”
Death frowned.
“Dain,” she smiled, and the syllable sounded impossibly sweet on her tongue.
Death simply glared at her, knowing words would be useless.
“Come on, Dainsleif, don’t be so grouchy. It’s basically the same as ‘Death’, anyway.”
They both knew it wasn’t.
Dainsleif.
Although they would never admit it, Death liked the name. It felt warm, familiar, almost as if—
“Ying, it’s time to go,” they said, standing up suddenly.
“Already?” she pouted. “But the moon hasn’t even faded yet.”
“I’m sorry. This cannot go on any longer.”
Death was speaking to themselves more than to her, but they would have sooner taken her soul than admit that to themselves.
“Can I have one more night with you?” she asked, looking up at him, golden eyes bright and expectant, almost hopeful. “I’ve never had a real friend before, and I’d like to enjoy it for just one more day before I die.”
“Do you really think making friends with Death is a good idea?”
“Why not? Who else can I make friends with? The birds that perch on my windowsill?”
“Ying…”
She looked at them, curiously, something dangerously close to a challenge in her eyes.
“Is this really that wrong? I know you don’t have any friends, either.”
“No one should consider me their friend.”
“Please, Dain?”
Death sighed.
“One more night, Ying. And then that’s it.”
Their words were firm but their blue eyes were kind, somber voice soft and lenient.
She smiled at them as if she cared, as if she was looking forward to seeing them again.
Death blamed the form she had given them.
✧:･ﾟ
“Dain,” she would smile, golden eyes shimmering. “Tell me one of your stories.”
“They’re not stories, they’re lives,” Dainsleif would sigh, sweeping his cloak to the side as he sat down at the foot of her bed. “It’s rather callous of you to call them as such.”
She didn’t care.
Truthfully, he didn’t either.
He told her about many past lives he had witnessed, past deaths, any and every detail that he could remember.
She loved each and every one of them, scooping them up and holding them in her trembling arms like a bouquet of flowers.
Somehow, inexplicably, she was able to smile and laugh at his tales of death; somehow, she was able to find beauty in even the darkest stories he could offer.
He began to take her optimism as something of a challenge, choosing grittier, darker, more horrific memories to recount every time.
She almost seemed to delight in the morbidity; even if she couldn’t find a scrap of joy in a particularly dark tale, she would at least point out a profound or beautiful meaning that could drawn from even the bleakest of lives.
She amazed him.
“You shouldn’t be smiling at death,” he would chastise her, more of a formality than a genuine sentiment. “This is almost macabre.”
“I think there’s hope in every story, no matter how grim it may seem. Even yours, Dainsleif.”
“I am the antithesis of hope.”
She laughed, and even he had to admit he was beginning to see the humor in the pompous was he carried himself.
She smoothed the bedclothes around her legs, moonlight catching in her golden hair. “If nothing else, death reminds us to cherish what little time we do have left. Without you, we wouldn’t have a reason to make the most of our lives, nor to search for meaning within them. I suppose in that sense, I’m grateful to you, Dainsleif.”
He sighed, long and weary.
“What, you don’t agree?”
He shook his head. “I’m jealous of you mortals, to be honest. You have so much to cherish, all these memories and stories and meanings that you cling onto. I don’t have any of that. All I have is my duty, a vague concept of eternity, and countless lives to collect.”
“But you do have memories—what about all the stories you’ve been telling me.”
“I suppose, but I don’t have the luxury of making lasting memories with others. No one remembers Death.”
“But you’ve touched countless lives, everyone has to know you, in one way or another.”
“Memories go both ways,” he replied, shaking his head. “Once a soul passes on, they lose all their memories of the process.”
She tilted her head, something unreadable slipping into her expression.
“Everyone knows Death, but no one remembers me.”
Ying looked down, breath shallow, actually hesitating for the first time since he had arrived.
When she finally spoke it was slow, careful, each word dragging its way past her near-lifeless lips
“So…that means I won’t remember you?”
“No.”
She sighed, the first hint of actual sadness creeping into her voice.
He tried not to think about what that meant.
She bit her lip, looking up at him again.
“But you’ll remember me?”
Of course I will.
“Hm. Perhaps.”
She smiled. “That’s enough for me.”
He sighed. “Does this mean you’re ready now?”
“Almost. But will you tell me one more story first, please?”
And he did. Again and again and again, everything and anything he could remember.
Hours passed, nights bleeding into each other.
In all honestly, he was indulging himself as much as he was her. Hearing his own memories spoken aloud in the soothing cadence of the human voice she had given him was strangely comforting in a way he didn’t fully understand.
Sometimes when she laughed, he would chuckle along softly. Dainsleif had to admit, he was beginning to enjoy the full extent of expressiveness this human form allowed him.
Ying’s room was quiet, peaceful, all white light and blue shadow save for the dark spread of Dain’s cloak.
He could almost let himself pretend that this was something other than what it really was.
Until one night, there was blood.
“Ying, it’s time.”
She looked up at him, crimson trailing down her chin and slowly staining her ivory gown and bedsheets, spreading and blooming like a deathly flower wherever it dripped.
“Ying, you’re hurting. Please. I can’t watch you be in such pain for much longer.”
She lowered her bloody hand, shoulders drooping.
“I’m sorry,” he said, pretending not to hear the cracks in his own voice.
“It’s okay, I understand,” she said, still calm, still smiling at him.
Even here, even now, she wasn’t afraid of him.
He bowed his head.
“Very well. Are you ready to come with me?”
“Yes but…”
She looked down, for a moment, and if her cheeks turned a darker shade of pink Dainsleif pretended not to notice.
“May I do just one thing before we depart? It’ll only take a moment.”
“Yes, of course you may.”
He had known what she wanted to do long before she even asked.
And he let her do it, gladly, even though he knew was a horrible idea, even he knew it would be the end of the two of them.
She took his hand, holding it gingerly in her own.
He tried not flinch, determined not to let her see how much pain he was in.
“Thank you, Dain. For being kind when you really didn’t have to be.”
And when she pressed her lips to his tear-stained cheek it was soft, adoring, and infinitely more lovely than he could have ever imagined such a small gesture could be.
✧:･ﾟ✧: ･ﾟ✧
“It was then that I took her soul, calm and radiant. She didn’t feel a thing, and her consciousness still felt light and warm as I held it in my palm. She truly died happy, without a single shadow of fear or regret—which is significantly more of a rare occurrence than most mortals seem to believe.”
“So you took her soul as she kissed you, her first and only companion. How romantic.”
“Not really,” Death grumbled, shaking their head. “It was mere necessity more than anything else. If I hadn’t stopped her right there, she could have eroded away my entire hand and half of my face. I was lucky to get away with nothing more than some ugly burns and minor corrosion.”
“So that mask and those gloves…that’s where she touched you?”
Death nodded.
“You can’t come in contact with human flesh in any form,” the young man beside him mused, eye narrowing thoughtfully.
“That’s correct.”
“So if I were to put you in a headlock right now, I could kill you?” the he asked almost playfully, tilting his head.
“You wanna test it out?” Death asked calmly, trailing a lazy finger across the blade of their star-speckled sword.
He shook his head. “I already said I don’t intend to challenge you.”
“Are you sure? You certainly won’t have been the first to try, nor the last.”
He shook his head again, more vigorously this time, making a show of dropping the shattered neck of the wine bottle in his hand as if it were a weapon.
“Good. No one’s ever been able to do it, nor will they, not unless I myself allow it.”
“So that’s why you take this form,” the young man mused, his blue eye shining knowingly in the waning moonlight. “What a touching story.”
Death shook their head. “I disagree, actually. It’s a twisted tale, demented even. A girl in love with death. It’s really quite morbid, if you think about it.”
“And yet, she was able to provide your weary soul with a moment of peace.”
“Inconsequential.”
“You still remember her, after hundreds and hundreds of years. Wouldn’t that make her life more meaningful than most, at least in your eyes?”
“No one cares what I think about life.”
“Ying did.”
Death shook their head again.
“Why haven’t you changed your form, then?”
Death sighed.
“This isn’t the most pleasant job.”
“I can imagine.”
“No one loves death, no one ever wants to be visited by death.”
They closed their eyes, hair ruffling slightly in the light wind.
“I thought maybe if she could love me like this, then maybe I could learn to love myself like this, too.”
A lone bird sang out through the silence, announcing the beginning of the sunrise.
Death turned to the young man beside them, watching him with curious eyes.
“I’m not supposed to do this, but you were able to provide me with a place to rest for bit and a patient ear to hear an old memory. I’m rather impressed, and grateful.”
“So what now?” he asked, something biting and almost bitter in his tone. “You’re going to spare my life?”
“I’ll send your stepbrother over.”
With that his face shattered, his gaudy mask of a smile slipping rather inelegantly for the first time since Death had arrived.
“You know Diluc?”
“Why of course I know Diluc, I’ve had quite a few brushes with him,” Death explained casually, “Enough to get a sense of who he is. He’s not quite as clever as you are but he’s plenty headstrong, and remarkably fierce, too. If nothing else, I’m confident he’ll make sure you stay out of my hands.”
He bit his lip, shifting uncomfortably against the tree trunk.
“What, don’t tell me you’d rather come with me?”
For once, the coy youngster seemed to have nothing to say.
“Besides the obvious, I’m sure you two will have plenty to talk about. Especially if the last time I saw you two together is any indication.”
“You were there?” he gasped, finally speaking in a raspy, horrified whisper.
“Of course I was there, Kaeya, I saw the whole thing. Do you really take your own life so lightly?”
Kaeya looked back at him, guilt flooding his one visible eye. Now that the sky was lightening, Death could see that his other was hidden, tucked beneath a dark eyepatch.
So I was right, that was almost a lethal blow.
Death stood up, attaching their sword back to their hip. “I’ll be back for you again someday, of course, but it had better not be soon.”
They began walking towards the crimson edge of the sky, cloak billowing in the rising wind.
But of course, Kaeya couldn’t resist one last opportunity to play with Death.
It was just too tempting.
“Thank you, Dain,” he called out, light and airy.
Death turned to look back at him, blue eyes unnaturally bright and blonde hair flowing as the sun peaked over the horizon, outlining their darkly cloaked figure in gold.
“Don’t push your luck with me, Alberich. I mean that seriously.”
And before Kaeya could blink, they were gone, leaving him with nothing but the shattered wine bottle by his side, the warmth of the sunrise on his skin, and his own life lying in his bloodstained hands.