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"Death?" Samora asked with a tinge of confusion. "Why are you here already? I’m not dead yet. Speaking of which, why am I not dead?"

The figure loomed before her, silent and unmoving. If this truly was Death, surely he had the answers. The thought of meeting him felt strange, even ironic. She had never believed in such encounters while alive. The tiniest bit of humor in her realization might have made her smile—if not for the sharp pain searing through her abdomen.

A deep, hearty laugh filled the space. It wasn’t from his lips; his voice seemed to reverberate from inside her very mind. When the sound faded, he tilted his head slightly. "You’ve been dead for a while now. I thought I might be late. Yet here you are, enjoying your own company, singing songs to keep yourself entertained while waiting to be freed." His words carried a sliver of mockery and amusement.

Dead for a while? The statement hit her like a wave, stirring disappointment despite her earlier suspicions. It explained the stiffness, the inability to move her lips to speak. Yet—somehow, she spoke. Perhaps it was her mind reaching out, much like how Death communicated with her. Was this what being dead felt like?

"Freed?" Samora asked, wary. "What does that mean?"

"To release your soul from this body, which can no longer serve you," Raeglon replied, his tone patient, almost like it was a routine. "It’s my role."

Samora frowned. "But isn’t death… final? Don’t you just fall into a void? That’s what I thought, and my elders say our souls would await judgment."

Raeglon's lips curled into a faint, impressed smile beneath his hood. "You humans know more than you should. Impressive," he said with a brief nod. "Yes, those things happen—but only after I sever the ties keeping you trapped in this body."

"But…" Samora hesitated. "What happens after I’m freed? Will I fall into a void? Will I forget everything?"

Raeglon nodded, his tone patient. "First of all, I’m not here to push you into any kind of void. Don’t worry. My job is to sever the ties keeping you tethered to this broken body and take you safely to the world of shadows. I’ve done this since the dawn of creation. Trust me—I know my role better than you know your own hand."

"The world of shadows?"

"That’s where souls reside until judgment day. If they’re not granted rebirth, they stay there forever."

Samora’s breath hitched. "Souls… reside in shadows?" Her voice faltered as a childhood memory surfaced in her mind. She had feared her own shadow as a toddler, certain it concealed something watching, waiting. It wasn’t just her. Shadows seemed to hold an unspoken dread, especially for children. Could it be that they sensed something there—something real, something ancient? The idea struck her as unsettling and strangely plausible. Could humanity’s fear of darkness and shadows have been born from an innate awareness of the souls trapped within them?

"Yes," Raeglon confirmed her unspoken question. "Those shadows are your ancestors, watching over you."

Samora tried to shake her head, though her body refused to obey. "You’re mistaken. I’m not dead." She insisted. "I can still feel pain. Why would I feel pain if I’m already dead?"

Raeglon studied her for a moment. "It happens," he said, thoughtfully. "When a mortal dies violently or under extreme distress, the final sensations can linger. Judging by your body’s state, I’d say you’ve endured a terrible death." He frowned. "But don’t worry—it will all fade once I sever the bonds holding you here. You’ll be free." He stepped forward, his first movement since emerging from the shadows.

"Wait!" Samora cried out. "You said you’ll sever all ties. Will I…" She hesitated. "Will I forget everything?" Her thoughts drifted to the fragile, writhing body she’d glimpsed before the mysterious man had disappeared—the tiny form of her son, Runo.

Raeglon tilted his head, considering. "Not immediately. Once you enter the world of shadows, you’ll feel disoriented at first. Most souls rest in isolation for a while. Over time, the memories fade."

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He crouched, his arms outstretched toward her. Samora felt an unnatural pull, like something draining from her.

"Stop!" she screamed. "No! I don’t want this. Leave me alone." Her plea was desperate.

Raeglon froze, his expression shifting to surprise. He scanned her from head to toe, lips slightly parted. "Look at yourself," he said, almost incredulous. "Once I sever your ties to this world, the pain will disappear."

"No," Samora said firmly.

"Why not? Do you think I’ll hurt you?" His voice softened.

Samora didn’t answer.

"Don’t worry," Raeglon said with faint humor. "It’s no worse than cutting a strand of hair."

"No," Samora repeated, her voice trembling. "I’d rather stay in this body, with this pain. I won’t let anyone take me from it." Tears welled in her voice.

Raeglon paused, then slowly extended a hand toward her crown.

"Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!" Samora screamed inwardly, her voice echoing in the hollow space of her mind. Her body refused to respond; she couldn’t flinch or pull away. Raeglon ignored her protests. His hand settled gently on her crown, unmoving.

And then it began.

The last few months of her life unraveled in his mind like a film reel. He saw her kinsfolk abandon her when they believed her child would be a monster. He saw her husband accuse her of infidelity. He saw her wandering the streets, pregnant and destitute, scorned as a beggar. The Tuscanian elders' secret meetings to kill her baby before it could take its first breath. Her desperate flight from the village. Turo’s relentless pursuit across the lake, his knife dripping with her blood. Her agonizing labor, alone and defenseless. Her body faltering, right in the middle of giving birth. The mysterious man tearing into her flesh to dig out her child. Her soul’s helpless yearning to cradle her baby, to protect him, even as he had slipped away from her lifeless self.

And through it all, her soul lingered, trapped and suffering, unaware of its own death. She had waited for him—Death—while enduring the unbearable memories of violence, betrayal, and injustice.

When it was over, Raeglon lifted his hand. A single tear, almost like a wisp of smoke, slid down his cheek. He stood silently for a moment, his shoulders slumped.

"Your sacrifice was immense," he rasped after a while, his voice low with reverence. "I salute you." He exhaled, as though the act of speaking was a burden. "You will be rewarded. Your next life will be one of peace and abundance, free from the trials you endured in this one. But your resilience has touched me. For that, I will grant you one request—anything within my power. Ask, and it shall be yours."

Samora’s thoughts churned. "Anything?" she asked cautiously.

"You have my word," Raeglon reassured her.

Her answer was ready. "I don’t want to go into the shadows—not while my son is alive."

Raeglon's eyes widened, his composure cracking for the first time. "That’s dangerous," he said. "Souls aren’t meant to wander. It won’t take long for you to become a vengeful spirit. And even if you don’t, you’ll be invisible and lonely. You won’t be able to touch your son or speak to him. You’ll be nothing but a presence, unseen and unheard. You’ll be alone. And it wouldn't be worth it. These desires are fleeting, volatile. Insignificant against what's awaiting for you. Why would you choose that for yourself?"

"I won’t be alone," Samora insisted. "Not as long as I’m with my son. No matter my form."

Raeglon shook his head. "No. I can’t grant you that. Souls must follow their path. Ask for something else."

"That’s all I want," she said. "But it’s fine if you want to go back on your word." A bitter smirk found it's way into her heart. Afterall, she had been abandoned and deceived several times already, what would one more matter?

Raeglon hesitated. He stood unmoving, contemplating. A moment stretched into what felt like eternity.

"You understand the consequences, don't you?" Raeglon's voice was a murmur, speaking almost to himself, as though debating whether or not to proceed. "Once you wander like this, once you break the boundaries of what is meant… your soul will never be the same." He warned. "If you seek vengeance, even in the faintest way, you risk becoming something… different. Something dangerous. Your rebirth could be ruined."

He exhaled slowly. "But also, I gave you my word. I can't go back on it."

A long pause. Then, with a visible shift in his posture, he met Samora's gaze. "Alright," he said, almost reluctantly, "but only as long as your son is alive."

Samora felt a flutter in her chest—if such a thing were even possible for a soul. "Thank you," she whispered.

Raeglon released her from her body. Samora felt herself shimmer in the lantern light, rising upwards, weightless and free from all pain.

She drifted toward the stone structure’s edge, her only thought on finding her son.

"Wait!" Raeglon called her. Samora stopped, hovering near the entrance and turned to see him.

"You're prone to feel all the pain and anger you felt while dying if you ever see anyone related to your death," Raeglon warned. "Remember, one act of vengeance is all it takes to turn you into a vengeful soul. Don’t ruin your chance at a perfect rebirth."

The mention of “anyone related to your death” itself sent a jolt through her soul. Turo. Malok. Her breath, if she still had lungs, would have frozen. The pain, the betrayal, the desperation—everything came rushing back like a tide, and with it, an uncontrollable need to lash out.

I have to find them, the thought hit her with a force she couldn’t deny. Turo. Malok.

She wasn’t thinking of Runo anymore. She wasn't choosing to think anymore. The memory of her child, her son, faded into the background. This burning need—this anger—had to be quenched.

Turo. Malok. Their faces seared into her mind, taunting her, daring her to act.

Runo could wait. Her vengeance couldn’t.