The atmosphere in the Kingdom of the Dead grew denser when the skeleton with clock eyes suddenly stopped. Until that moment, its presence had been a latent threat, but now it seemed to sharpen, as if something had called it. The clocks in its eyes, always marking time with unsettling precision, stopped for a brief moment, only to focus entirely on one of the protagonists.

The main protagonist, feeling the weight of that gaze, experienced a mix of fear and curiosity. Something deep and mysterious vibrated in the air between them, as if a forgotten truth or a lost connection was beginning to reveal itself. The skeleton stepped forward toward the group, its dark energy surrounding it like a contained storm.

The Four Horsemen, who had been watching the situation cautiously, immediately tensed, ready to react. Pestilence, his body wrapped in a poisonous mist, murmured, his raspy voice resonating in the silence:

—Something is wrong. Why isn’t it attacking?

The skeleton’s behavior didn’t match the warnings the Horsemen had shared. It had always been an erratic, violent being, willing to break the kingdom’s balance in its desperate quest to escape. But now, its focus was not aggressive. There seemed to be something deeper holding it back.

Without warning, the skeleton raised a dark sword, forged from dense shadows that vibrated as if they contained fragments of the very darkness of the kingdom. The air around the group shuddered, charged with energy so thick it was almost palpable. The Horsemen immediately took up defensive positions, their weapons ready, waiting for the impending attack.

But what happened next surprised everyone.

The skeleton did not attack. Instead, it positioned itself between the protagonists and the Horsemen, like a guardian protecting someone from an invisible danger. Its posture changed dramatically, shifting from that of a latent aggressor to an imposing defender. It was as if, somehow, it recognized the main protagonist, and instead of fighting them, it was willing to protect them.

The Horsemen, always unshakable, were now baffled. Famine, with his thin, cadaverous figure, let out a growl of confusion, his broken balance trembling in his hand.

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—This doesn’t make sense —Famine murmured, his face distorted by bewilderment—. It’s never done this before.

The protagonists, who had been expecting a deadly attack, now looked at the skeleton with a mixture of astonishment and fear. Why was this being, which had tried to escape so many times, now defending them? The connection between the skeleton and the main protagonist was becoming more evident, but the nature of that connection remained a mystery.

The tense and expectant silence was abruptly broken.

With a speed impossible for its physical appearance, the skeleton swung its sword in one swift, fluid motion. The cut was so fast and precise that even the wind seemed to stop for an instant. Time, which had always been marked with precision by the clocks in its eyes, seemed to freeze.

Suddenly, the dark sky above them tore open.

The moon, bright and constant in the sky, was split in two. A luminous crack stretched across the sky from the horizon to the moon’s center, splitting it into two uneven halves. For a few eternal seconds, total darkness enveloped the kingdom, as if the very light had been severed by the skeleton’s sword.

The power of that blow was unimaginable. Even the Four Horsemen, beings as ancient and powerful as death itself, stood motionless, paralyzed by the magnitude of what they had just witnessed. Death, always impassive, watched with a mix of astonishment and concern, his scythe glowing faintly under the intermittent light that returned to the sky.

—This is... —Death murmured, unable to finish his thought.

The cut in the moon began to slowly heal, as if the sky itself were trying to mend after the immensity of what had occurred. But the impact of what the skeleton had done was undeniable. The power it had displayed in that single movement surpassed anything the protagonists, or even the Horsemen, had ever seen in the Kingdom of the Dead.

The skeleton lowered its sword calmly, its clock eyes still fixed on the main protagonist. The recognition between them was now undeniable. What had once been a simple threat had transformed into something far more complex. The skeleton, once seen only as an aberration, a danger to the kingdom’s balance, had shown a power so devastating that even the guardians of death seemed to doubt.

For a few moments, silence reigned again, but the weight of what had just happened remained palpable in the air. The moon, though repaired, would never be the same, and the skeleton had left an indelible mark on the reality of the Kingdom of the Dead.

The Horsemen watched in silence, unable to predict what the skeleton’s next move would be. It had protected the protagonist, but why? What connection did it have with them? And most importantly, what did its power mean for the balance between life and death?