Death, the most imposing figure of the Four Horsemen, advanced slowly toward the protagonists. Each step resonated like a distant echo, vibrating deep within their minds, as if his voice and presence were not only in the air but woven into the very fabric of the space surrounding them. The dark figure of Death stopped a few steps away, his scythe gleaming with a somber glow, which seemed to cut not just through reality but also through any doubt about his power.

—Death is neither good nor evil. It is not a punishment nor a reward. It is simply a step that everyone must take, —declared Death, his resonant voice piercing the air, laden with ancient wisdom. —We are not here to judge, but to ensure that the cycle continues. The balance between life and death is fragile, and without us, chaos would reign.

The reality of those words settled over the protagonists like a heavy stone. In their hearts, they knew that death could not be avoided, that it was an inevitable transition. But hearing it from Death himself made it more tangible, more real. This realm was not a place of evil, but neither was it a refuge. It was, simply, a station between two destinations.

The other Horsemen, who had remained silent, nodded gravely at Death’s words. War, with his armor ablaze in living flames, raised his sword, still burning with contained fury. Around him, the heat distorted the air, creating a sensation of imminent destruction.

—We are the guardians of this realm, —said War, his voice a deep growl, brimming with strength—. We ensure that the soulless bodies do not escape to sow chaos in the world of the living. If the cycle is broken, the consequences would be unimaginable.

The weight of those words was enough for the protagonists to understand the magnitude of the danger. The Realm of the Dead was not merely a place where souls wandered without purpose; it was a dangerous territory, where any disruption to the cycle could unleash a destructive force capable of devastating both this world and the world of the living.

Famine, a pale and skeletal figure, stepped forward, his gaze dim yet penetrating. His bones protruded from his withered skin, and the air around him turned dry, arid, as if his mere presence drained the life from everything it touched.

—Life is sustained by balance, —Famine whispered, his voice weak but filled with dark wisdom—. Abundance and scarcity, order and chaos. Everything that exists depends on this delicate balance. If we do not maintain it, the world of the living would collapse, dragging everyone into this realm of shadows.

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Famine paused, his gaze drifting over the soulless bodies wandering on the horizon, reminding the protagonists that not everyone who walked in the Realm of the Dead was harmless.

—And not all who walk here are harmless, —added Famine, his voice taking on a darker tone—. There are forces in this place that even challenge our control. The nature of death is complex. Not everyone accepts the cycle. Some try to resist it... or break it.

Famine’s words resonated with the protagonists, reminding them of what Death and the other Horsemen had said about the skeleton with clock eyes, that unstable being who had attempted to escape countless times. The danger it posed was clear. Despite the constant vigilance of the Horsemen, some entities in this realm had attained such great power that even the forces of death could not fully control them.

Pestilence, wrapped in his dark, poisonous mist, stepped forward, his ragged breath filling the air with an unsettling sound. His mere presence made the protagonists feel their bodies weaken, as if their very life force was draining with each breath.

—This realm is not just a place of rest, —Pestilence rasped—. It is a place of transformation. Here, souls are judged, but some break down and change. Weak souls may crumble, while others cling on with a strength beyond comprehension. Those who do not accept the cycle become dangerous.

The mist surrounding Pestilence moved with a life of its own, swirling around him as if it were an extension of his will.

—However, we must always remember, —Death interrupted, his voice firm with the certainty of one who has seen the end of all things—, that death is not something to be feared. It is not an end, nor a punishment. It is a step, a door to what lies beyond. But that door, if opened incorrectly or too soon, can unleash forces even we fear.

The Four Horsemen remained silent, but their presence filled the space. The protagonists understood that the balance these beings maintained was not just a matter of power, but of responsibility. The cycle of life and death depended on them, and any disruption in that cycle could have devastating consequences, both in the Realm of the Dead and in the world of the living.

Death, gripping his scythe firmly, looked directly at the protagonists.

—Remember this, travelers, —Death said, his deep gaze seeming to pierce into their souls—. Death is neither good nor bad. It is simply another step. But it is a step that cannot be ignored, rushed, or resisted. You, like us, must respect the cycle. Because if you don’t, chaos will be the only thing that awaits you.

With those words, the Four Horsemen retreated slowly into the shadows, leaving the protagonists with a deeper understanding of death and the balance the Horsemen so vigilantly protected. They had learned that death was not something to fear but something to accept and respect, for it was part of the unavoidable cycle that kept the world in balance.

The air, still heavy and dense, began to lighten as the Horsemen faded from sight. But their words, filled with warning and wisdom, remained etched in the minds of the protagonists, serving as a constant reminder of the importance of balance in all things, even in death.

4o