Humans, peculiar beings they are, venerate the same gods under different names, unlike the Elves with their singular Goddess, and the dwarves with their myriad deities. Regardless of race, the reverence towards these celestial beings remains a constant. In Teren, a world scarred by war and famine, these gods, dwelling in Elysium—the realm of eternal light and harmony—continue their divine tasks for their favored mortals.

In the realms of Aetheria, the domain of air, stars, and the cosmos, and Nevara, the land of flora, fauna, and natural cycles, gods bicker over supremacy. Infernum, the fiery, tumultuous abode of gods of fire and chaos, revels in the mortal conflicts they incite. Meanwhile, Lunaria, the mystical realm of the moon, dreams, and prophecy, forges secretive pacts with Umbra, the shadowy domain of gods of darkness and the unknown. Thalassia, the vast oceanic realm of sea, storms, and aquatic life, and Terradia, the earthy domain of land, mountains, and treasures, maintain their duties without hindrance from other gods.

Yet, one realm stands distinct, housing a solitary deity—Necropolis, the solemn and serene afterlife, ruled by Azrael, the god of death and rebirth. Expansive, mist-covered plains stretch infinitely here, dotted with ancient mausoleums and tombstones, the ground soft and mossy, emitting an ethereal glow. Above, a perpetual twilight sky twinkles with softly shifting constellations, guiding souls on their journey.

A shimmering, translucent barrier marks the edge of Necropolis, where souls pass into their next life, its veil pulsating with radiant colors representing infinite rebirth possibilities. Small temples built from white marble, adorned with glowing runes, offer places for souls to reflect on their past lives, exuding peace and understanding. Tranquil gardens filled with night-blooming flowers in ethereal hues provide solace, the air humming with unseen insects and the scent of blossoms.

Necropolis resonates with a soft hum, the collective echo of countless souls at rest. Occasionally, gentle chimes and distant melodies float through the air, enhancing the realm’s calm and harmony. The cool, refreshing air offers comfort, like a gentle autumn breeze. It is a place for souls to rest and reflect before moving on, free from mortal turmoil.

At Necropolis’s heart stands Azrael’s Eternal Palace, a grand structure of dark stone and ethereal light. Its solemn beauty is both awe-inspiring and intimidating, with high arches, vast halls, and delicate carvings depicting life’s cycle and death. Despite its serene appearance, mortals fear Necropolis, believing it to be a place of torment for the wicked—a necessary folklore to keep mortals in line. However, upon arrival, souls often find themselves mere shells of their former selves, moving towards the Eternal Palace. Some choose to wander, reminiscing, while most move forward.

The Eternal Palace, standing in solemn majesty, is a testament to Necropolis’s timelessness. Its dark stone spires pierce the starlit sky, etched with countless souls’ stories. Inside, silence and light reign, with floating orbs casting a gentle glow over marble floors and tapestry-clad walls. In the Hall of Echoes, Azrael, the God of the Afterlife, sits in serene authority. Tall and draped in robes shimmering like the night sky, constellations shift slowly across the fabric. His pearlescent, almost translucent skin glows softly in the twilight, long hair shifting between silver and black framing his ageless, wise face.

Azrael’s deep black eyes, like twin voids filled with stars, gaze thoughtfully at the Veil of Transition—a shimmering barrier at the hall’s end. Through it, souls move, guided by unseen currents to their next existence. His large, smoky wings, faintly illuminated by starlight, are folded behind him, their ethereal presence adding to his otherworldly aura.

As Azrael watched the souls drift through the Veil of Transition, he pondered. Some souls lingered longer than others, and one such soul had caught his attention—Aurelius, a man recently slain. Though not truly mortal, Aurelius bore a curse. Typically, souls moved through Necropolis in a single day, yet fifteen days had passed, and Aurelius remained within the Gardens of Serenity.

Azrael’s tall, imposing frame moved gracefully among the souls, who parted respectfully before him. The hum of souls and gentle chimes accompanied his steps, shadows flitting like hurried messengers across the hall. He followed the path to the garden, where souls admired flowers unseen in their mortal lands.

“You’ve been here for a while, Aurelius,” Azrael’s voice echoed with the weight of millennia, serene and commanding, like a distant thunder rumble across an infinite plain. His words, steeped in timeless wisdom and gentle echo, resonated like whispered secrets carried by the wind through ancient forests. His tone was soothing yet powerful, evoking eternal peace and the inevitability of death and rebirth. When Azrael spoke, it felt as though reality itself listened, creating an atmosphere of profound tranquility and reverence.

“My apologies,” Aurelius’s soul replied, bowing its head before Azrael. “I just…” The soul hesitated, “I don’t want to go back there.”

“Why not?” Azrael inquired, his voice a calm force of nature.

Aurelius’s ethereal form shimmered with uncertainty. “I don’t want to go back to the pain, the suffering. I was cursed, condemned to relive the worst moments of my life. Here, in the Gardens, there’s peace. I can forget, even if just for a little while.”

Azrael’s gaze softened, his deep, star-filled eyes reflecting a timeless understanding. “The cycle of rebirth is inevitable, Aurelius. Each life, no matter how fraught with suffering, brings growth and change. You must face your past to move forward.”

Aurelius sighed, the sound like a whisper of wind through the leaves. “I understand, but the thought of returning to such torment… it’s overwhelming.”

Azrael reached out, his ethereal hand resting gently on Aurelius’s shoulder. “Courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to face it. Your next life may offer redemption, peace, or a chance to break your curse. But you must take the first step.”

Aurelius looked up, his form flickering with resolve. “Will you be with me, guiding me?”

Azrael nodded, his presence a beacon of calm amidst the twilight garden. “Always. Though you won’t remember me, I will ensure you are born in a place far from war, far from famine, into a more peaceful life. After so long, you deserve it.”

With a deep, ethereal breath, Aurelius straightened, the gardens around them bathed in soft, twilight hues. “Then I will go, Azrael. I will face what comes next.”

Azrael’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “Embrace the journey, and find your peace.”

As Aurelius stepped towards the path leading to the Veil of Transition, merging with the souls of the departed, Azrael watched. His serene presence stood as a silent guardian of the souls, a testament to the eternal cycle of life, death, and rebirth. The ethereal garden, with its night-blooming flowers and whispering winds, echoed with the promise of new beginnings, as Azrael remained, ever vigilant, ever compassionate.

“You make a lot of promises, Lord Azrael,” came a melodic whisper, carrying the soft, lilting tones of a lullaby. It echoed like a gentle breeze through the night, instilling a sense of peace and comfort in all who heard it. When she spoke, her words wove into the dreams of those around her, leaving them with a sense of profound insight and tranquility.

“It is the least I can do, Selene,” Azrael replied.

“Is that how it is?” she responded with a smug look, as Azrael turned to face her. Selene now stood where Aurelius’s soul had been mere minutes ago. She stood at an elegant height, around seven feet tall, with a graceful and slender build that exuded both strength and delicacy. Her skin was a luminescent, moonlit silver, smooth and radiant, with a subtle glow that ebbed and flowed like the phases of the moon. Long, flowing hair cascaded down her back in waves of silvery white, glimmering like moonbeams. It moved gently as if caressed by an unseen breeze, giving her an ethereal, almost otherworldly appearance.

She wore robes woven from the finest starlight and moonlight, which seemed to shift and shimmer with every movement. The fabric was adorned with intricate patterns of celestial symbols and lunar phases, glowing softly in the dark. A delicate circlet of silver and moonstone rested upon her brow, symbolizing her dominion over dreams and prophecy. She carried a staff made of polished ivory, topped with a crescent moon that glowed with a gentle, calming light.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“I do not make promises I cannot keep. I will make sure he is sent to the right place,” Azrael asserted.

“Hm…” she mused, “How come?”

“What?”

“How come you will do that for him and not for the millions of souls that passed through here?”

“I don’t know,” Azrael admitted, his voice tinged with a rare hint of uncertainty.

“Are you becoming empathetic, Azrael?” Selene’s eyes sparkled with amusement, her smile both knowing and serene.

Azrael sighed, a sound like the rustle of leaves in an ancient forest. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I see in him a chance for something different, something better. We all have our moments of doubt, even those as old as time.”

Selene stepped closer, her presence a comforting balm. “It is not a weakness to care, Azrael. Even we are touched by the lives we oversee. Perhaps this is a sign that you are growing, too.”

Azrael met her gaze, his deep black eyes reflecting the stars. “Of course not.”

Selene nodded, her smile widening. “Don’t lie to me, young man.”

Azrael chuckled, feeling a strange warmth spread through his ancient soul. “Thank you, Selene.”

She inclined her head gracefully, the moonstone circlet catching the soft glow of the garden. “Anytime, Azrael. Though it’d be interesting to see how he would fare in his new life. You don’t have any champions, high priests of your own?”

“No, I do not,” Azrael rebuked gently, “I don’t meddle in the lives of mortals as much as the others.”

“Do I sense hostility towards them?”

“The mortals?”

“The others.”

“Maybe. It’s becoming a burden.”

“How come?”

“I don’t understand these souls, yet I am supposed to encourage them to go through the veil. How did my prede—”

“We do not speak of him, and you know well not to do it as well.”

“I was just—”

“Enough, Azrael.” Her voice commanded authority, even in Azrael’s realm. Despite this being his domain, she held more power in her little finger than he did in his entire body. After a moment of silence, she continued, “Try to understand, darling, you’re young, you’re barely two thousand.”

“Thank you, but I am not naive.”

“Naive? No. But you are still learning, still growing into your role. The weight of your responsibilities is heavy, but you must find a way to balance it.”

Azrael sighed, a sound like the rustling of leaves in an ancient forest. “It’s not easy, Selene. The souls, their pain, their confusion—it’s overwhelming.”

Selene stepped closer, her presence a comforting balm. “No one said it would be easy, Azrael. But that’s why we are here, to guide them, to help them find peace. And in doing so, we find our own purpose.”

Azrael looked into her eyes, seeing the reflection of countless stars and the wisdom of ages. “Perhaps you’re right.”

Selene’s smile softened. “I know the others might be a nuisance, but you can always come to me for help.”

Azrael nodded, a sense of resolve filling him. “Thank you, Selene.”

She inclined her head once more, the moonstone circlet catching the soft glow of the garden. “Anytime, Azrael. You have more strength than you realize. Trust in yourself, and in the process.”

As she turned to leave, her form shimmering and fading into the twilight, Azrael watched her go, his thoughts a swirl of newfound insights and possibilities. For the first time in eons, he felt a spark of something different—curiosity.

Curiosity about the souls he shepherded, about the intricate tapestry of mortal lives and how they intertwined with the divine. The weight of his role felt a little lighter, the burden of his responsibilities a bit more bearable. He turned back to the garden, the soft hum of the souls and the gentle chimes providing a serene backdrop to his musings.

Azrael walked among the ethereal flowers, their delicate petals glowing softly in the twilight. He watched as souls meandered, finding peace in the tranquility of the gardens. Each soul had a story, a past filled with joys and sorrows, and a future yet to unfold.

He found himself pondering the nature of these souls, their resilience and fragility, their capacity for love and pain. What lay ahead for Aurelius? Would his next life bring him the peace he sought, the redemption he needed? Azrael’s curiosity deepened, a desire to understand the mortal experience, to connect with the lives that passed through his realm.

He paused by a particularly vibrant cluster of flowers, their colors shifting in the gentle light. Here, amidst the beauty and serenity, he felt a connection to the world beyond Necropolis, to the tapestry of life and death, growth and change.

Azrael closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the night-blooming flowers, and allowed himself to embrace this newfound curiosity. It was a small step, but a significant one, towards understanding the souls he guided and the world they inhabited.

As the stars began to twinkle brighter in the twilight sky, Azrael felt a sense of purpose rekindle within him. The journey of each soul was unique, and his role was not just to shepherd them but to learn from them, to grow alongside them.

With a renewed sense of determination, Azrael continued his walk through the garden, ready to face the challenges ahead with an open heart and a curious mind. The eternal cycle of life and death, rebirth and renewal, continued, and in Azrael’s mind, a little seed of curiosity about the mortals was planted. As he watched the Veil shimmer, he observed the souls moving through it, some eager, some hesitant, but all moving forward.

He stared and monitored for a while as shadows moved around him, and souls continued their journey. With a flick of his hand, a shadow stopped in its tracks and turned to him, awaiting orders like a loyal soldier of his realm.

“Please gather Erebus for me. I want to ask them something,” Azrael commanded softly.

The shadow nodded and flung off deeper into the palace, leaving Azrael once again alone with his souls. He continued to observe the Veil, each soul passing through it carrying its own story, its own essence. The tranquility of the garden seemed to amplify the quiet hum of existence, the gentle rustle of souls moving like whispers through the twilight.

Moments later, Erebus appeared, his form materializing from the shadows. Tall and cloaked in darkness, Erebus exuded an aura of calm authority. His eyes, deep pools of black, met Azrael’s with curiosity.

“You summoned me, Lord Azrael?” Erebus’s voice was a low murmur, like the rustling of leaves in the night.

“Yes, Erebus,” Azrael began, his tone thoughtful. “I find myself with questions about the souls we guide. The mortals—how do they find their strength amidst such suffering? How do they continue to hope?”

Erebus tilted his head slightly, considering the question. “Mortals are resilient, my lord. Their lives, though brief and often filled with hardship, are driven by a fierce will to survive, to find meaning in their struggles. It is this resilience that fuels their hope.”

Azrael nodded slowly, absorbing Erebus’s words. “And what of their pain? How do they cope with the weight of their pasts?”

“Each soul finds its way,” Erebus replied. “Some through love, others through sheer determination. Pain shapes them, but it also teaches them. It is a part of their journey, just as much as joy.”

Azrael gazed at the Veil, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. “I want to understand them better, Erebus. To connect with their experiences. Perhaps it will help me guide them more effectively.”

Erebus bowed his head in acknowledgment. “Your desire to understand is noble, my lord. However how will you achieve that?”

“Thank you, Erebus,” Azrael said, a soft smile touching his lips. “I don’t know. We’ll see.” Azrael stood amidst the ancient stone pathways of Necropolis, his gaze fixed on the shimmering Veil of Transition. The air around him was thick with the scent of sea salt and the echoes of countless souls moving onward, some eager, some hesitant. He observed them closely, feeling a strange curiosity unfurl within him like a flower blooming in the twilight.

He hesitated for a moment, before he continued, “Make sure the soul of Aurelius is sent to a proper place, somewhere where war wouldn’t reach so easily.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Erebus replied with a bow, his form materializing from the shadows.

Azrael turned, his deep black eyes reflecting the starlit sky. “I also wanted to ask, how much of this is automated?”

Erebus looked puzzled. “I am unsure if I understand, sir. Automated?”

“Yes, how much am I needed here?” Azrael’s voice carried a rare hint of impatience, a tone unfamiliar even to him.

Erebus cleared his throat, choosing his words with care. “My Lord, you’re a pillar of the realm. Your presence here is not merely symbolic. Necropolis is part of your being, and without you, it will falter.”

“Hm…” Azrael hummed, pondering this. “What if I took… a vacation? Yes, a vacation!” He smiled, the concept still new and foreign on his lips. “Humans often talk about it. I haven’t taken a vacation,” he spoke as if the word tried to get accustomed to his vocabulary.

“Gods do not need vacations, my Lord. You are immortal,” Erebus responded cautiously.

“What if I want to? Could we arrange a deal, Erebus?” A mischievous smile formed on Azrael’s lips for a moment before he turned to face Erebus, his expression returning to its usual solemnity.

Erebus bowed slightly, acknowledging the unspoken command. “I will see to it, my Lord.”

“Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

With that, Erebus nodded and melted back into the shadows, leaving Azrael alone once more. The god of death and rebirth stood quietly, watching the souls, his curiosity growing with each passing moment. He felt a new sense of purpose, a desire to delve deeper into the mysteries of mortal existence.

Azrael’s thoughts wandered to the coastal village he’d have glimpses of, a place where history and nature intertwined, casting both beauty and desolation. He imagined walking through the narrow streets, his senses overwhelmed by the cacophony of human life. The smell of fresh bread mingling with the briny sea air, the laughter of children echoing off ancient stone walls.

He envisioned his hands moving over the fishing nets, fingers tracing the rough, salt-crusted ropes. Each knot was a story, a testament to the villagers’ resilience. The taste of sea spray lingering on his lips, a reminder of the fine line between survival and surrender, between the divine and the mundane.

As he stood there, the twilight deepening around him, Azrael felt a profound connection to the world beyond Necropolis. The rhythm of the sea, the scars of conflict, and the fleeting moments of peace called to him, inviting him to explore the tapestry of mortal lives.

The eternal cycle of life and death, rebirth and renewal, continued, and in Azrael’s mind, a little seed of curiosity about the mortals was planted. He watched the Veil shimmer and the souls move through it, some eager, some hesitant, but all moving forward. For the first time in eons, he felt not just the weight of his duties, but the wonder of discovery, the promise of new beginnings.