Timbrelle laid on a lumpy mattress in a quiet room. Occasionally Adna would take a deep breath or muffled footsteps from the hallway broke up the monotonous silence. She wore a harness that placed a single large tube directly over the hole in her chest. That tube wound over to Adna who laid in a similar contraption. The procedure needed no machinery but required her to lay still and make sure not to jostle the harness.

She knew she wasn’t asleep but without movement, sight or sound, Timbrelle couldn’t feel the passage of time. Her thoughts slowed to a crawl as she inched her way through the endless hours she was expected to sleep.

A voice spoke from the dark and Timbrelle retroactively processed the sound of someone slipping into the room.

“Are you Nerrus’s Chosen?” The sturdy bass of his voice seemed to intend no intimidation. It felt harmoniously ominous and dreadful and professional. “I have a message for His Chosen.”

“Are you gonna kill me if I say yes?” She asked plainly.

“No. I have not been blessed with the Moribund Seal. I am not permitted to take a life until Lord Jir sees fit.” He explained.

“Oh! Jir sent you? I thought you were some sort of assassin.” She brightened. “Sit! Sit! They left some fruit on the bedside table if you want it. It’s too far away for me to reach without removing the harness. I have to admit, I don’t know what a moribund seal is and nobody will tell me what Jir does. Can you give me a run-down? Oh! Are you busy? If you need to give your message and run, I get it. I’m just so happy to have someone to talk to. Chat, chat, chat! I had the same reaction when I met Adna.”

The man took a seat beside her and munched on something that loosed a floral aroma.

“It has been some time since I was offered food. I have… missed this.” His deep voice resonated between them in a contented hum. “Would you like to hear the message now?”

“Is it urgent?” Timbrelle asked, feeling the man place a fruit on the mattress beside her hand. She chomped it, happy to finally have something in her stomach.

“Not particularly.” He mused.

“Then talk to me. I’m desperate for conversation. What’s your name? Tell me about your church. I never liked church much on Earth but here it’s kinda fun.” She admitted.

“I am Exantir. My Lord Jir is The God of the Moribund—or ‘the dying’.” He explained after some quiet consideration. “He was among the first gods to have begun life as a mortal. We are told that he spent decades under the direct tutelage of Death before ascending.”

“That’s cool. So what do you do? Jir is the God of Dying, does that mean you go around giving last rights and… I don’t know, helping ease the transition into death?” She asked.

“We do not.” He continued eating his fruit but an edge of warning crept into his words. “Most people don’t enjoy hearing the truth, Chosen of Nerrus. Jir’s followers are shunned from society at large—perhaps rightfully so. I can pretend you didn’t ask that question if you’d prefer to remain ignorant…”

Timbrelle considered his suggestion for a beat. “Well now I have to know but you definitely earned some points for offering me an out. You seem like a decent dude. Is it that bad?”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he responded.

“To many, yes. The Church of Brassus teaches that Jir was so steeped in blood and misery that the Miasma made Him a god simply to remove Him from the mortal realms. But in truth, He achieved godhood by becoming the very embodiment of His domain in life. You may have heard that the purest connection to one’s god comes by observing Their will and aligning yourself to Their nature. We do this in our congregation by prolonging the act of death in others and savoring the spectral decay.”

“Is that a carefully worded way of saying that your church kills people because they like to watch them die?”

“Personally, no. Those blessed with the Moribund Seal are permitted to kill in Jir’s name. Now, killing would be pointless for me. I am unable to siphon the spectral power released at death until I am sealed. Only then would it serve to sustain me.” He answered right away, unashamed of the reality he lived. “Rather than a being who enjoys watching people die, you may think of me as a scientist who studies death. I must see it enough to understand its laws, patterns and progression. Indeed, I believe most in our meager congregation joined out of scholarly ambition. There are secrets about death to be known and Jir offers a path to harness them. I do not enjoy watching people die but their death will directly benefit me.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“I’ve heard of something like that back on Earth. Mind you, those guys were fictional and, frankly, the bad guys of pretty much every story they appear in. Is Jir the king of liches or something?”

The rumble that emanated from him sounded thoughtful. “That word translates from your language well. I would then call Him: King of the Dying, Maker of Liches.”

“Oh. Are you a lich?” Timbrelle asked, fruit paused at her mouth.

“Almost. I believe my sealing to be close at hand.” He qualified.

“Oh, that’s a relief. It feels a little gauche for a lich to visit a hospital.” She laughed. “Well, happy graduation! It sounds like a big deal. Are you going to celebrate by sacrificing a bunch of people?”

Exantir’s bass chuckle was pleasant and oddly soothing. “That would be quite a few people. And: no. Those of us who receive the seal largely find their first influx of spectral energy as an unaffiliated third party on a battlefield. To that end, I’ll soon be traveling to Florenta for the impending conflict.”

“Thats innovative. A kind of pilot fish for war, right? You don’t start the war, you just eat all the death. Fair.” Timbrelle relaxed back into her mattress and accepted another fruit. “So tell me, are Jir and Nerrus friends or something? Why are you delivering a message?”

“While I receive unending delight from hearing Him referred to as such, no. Nerrus holds dominion that far overshadows my Lord and has existed long before humanity. Jir is something of a… fan. A very enthusiastic fan.” His amusement at the situation tinged his tone. “I imagine that my Lord wishes to lend you aid in order to garner favor with your patron. I think you’ll find Jir incredibly gracious if you help His cause.”

Timbrelle snorted. “Alright. Bet. Next time Nerrus swings by I’ll put in a good word. Make sure you get credit for suggesting it.”

“I intend to. Why do you think I’m so certain of my imminent sealing?” His tone was that of playful slyness, forcing a cackle out of Timbrelle.

“You should visit us again! Adna will be bummed she missed out meeting a lich.” She threw a thumb in the direction of her companion. “Maybe you can give her some tips on siphoning spectral energy.”

Exantier stood from his chair and threw their fruit cores away.

“She reeks of spectral decay… I am intrigued. Perhaps I will see you in Tellcentra. A member of our congregation is competing in the Tryptus. For now, I must be going. I sincerely thank you for the fruit.”

“That’s too bad. It was nice talking to you. Let’s have that message before you head out.”

“First, we have reason to believe that Nerrus’s Emeralden Medium is hidden in Florenta. Should you choose to search for it, I can provide some limited help if you would like to visit during the war. The second—“

“Woah, woah, woah, hold on!” Timbrelle cut Exantir off. “Respectfully, Jir is mistaken. I already found the medium. It was a sapphire in Yost Proper. I’m done.”

A somewhat awkward silence fell over them in which Adna snorted and Exantir shifted his weight.

“You only needed to find the Sapphiric Medium?” He finally asked. “I understood your divine quest to be classified as an ‘S tier’ quest. While infrequently given, they are not unheard of for Unmade to receive. I am surprised to hear it was so simple.”

Timbrelle’s heart dropped into her stomach. “There’s… more than one?”

“…in light of this information, I will suggest to my lord that He begin searching for signs of the other four in earnest. All six will be required for Nerrus to open the Necropolis that holds His brethren—assuming that is the objective.” He explained. “Might I suggest asking your God for direction?”

A wave of nausea sent Timbrelle spinning.

“Many people have advised me that it’s wrong to pray to the gods for guidance. He’s supposed to be above my issues or whatever. I’ve been reading the densest histories with any mention of Crystalurgy. In fact, if they’re to be believed, the ruby medium was probably thrown into the sea somewhere around the seventh century.”

“Chosen. Your ‘issue’ is a divine quest. I cannot speak for your lord but I imagine He’d be willing to assist you. It could only benefit Him.” The near-lich’s unsettling voice was oddly kind. “Chosen. Why haven’t you shown your true potential? Is it because you cannot or will not?”

She sighed a long, deep sigh. “I’m not convinced I have any potential. People keep acting so impressed that I’m Unmade when in reality, I think I got snubbed during character creation. All I really got was the ability to see rocks glow and some insane flexibility. This whole thing feels like I’ve gotten stuck in a glitchy RPG. Shouldn’t I be feeling some wellspring of power in my abdomen or some magical shit like that?”

“Your words translate poorly, though I believe I understand the basics. You may find some answers in the Unmade Cult. Dangerous as they are to Kitons, I’m told that Unmade don’t kill each other. As for your inability to attune to your power, I suspect my Lord’s second message may be the key.”

“…Alright. Let’s hear it. I don’t think it could be any worse than the first one.” She said and braced herself.

Exantir opened the door and said a single word to her before slipping out.

“Die.”