It was quiet here on the last world. Empty. Dead. Peaceful.

There is a flickering in front of you, the kind of flickering that lets you know that it’s almost time. Worlds used to look like christmas lights to you, so many souls fading in and out of existence, so much work to be done.

Now there is nothing, the light from a dying star mirroring the light from the dying soul in front of you. You move closer, gliding through space, no longer the only patch of blackness in what used to be a bright sky.

The pod is sealed, but the locks of the living cannot hold the death at bay. You float through, unencumbered by gravity and the substantial. There is a man, sitting in a chair. The chair is old, but the man is not. He’s seen only a few dozen rotations, it’s almost before his time.

But you would never take him if it was.

The food ran out. That’s how most of them have gone these past few years, souls blinking out as with nothing to keep them attached to their corporeal forms, each following you meekly. This one grins at you, in slight defiance.

“Smile, you got me at last”

You do not speak, not trusting your voice to stay steady. Life will be gone when this man fades. It is almost too much to bear.

But you do your duty, tearing the soul from his body with all the gentleness you can manage. He fights for a moment, the last kick of a dying rabbit, then goes with you softly. It joins your collection, a collection that is now bursting from the bars you put them behind. The oldest clamoring for life, the newest still reliving theirs.

It is a cold day, in a cold universe. You sit on the steps of an old temple next to a lake, watching the star above you fade to nothing. With no souls to distract you, time speeds up, the heat death of the universe barreling towards you.

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You let it pass, too determined to reason with. There is nothing and no one to appreciate it anyway. All gods died when their believers did, all worlds faded when their caretakers left them

But you still exist, which means that there is still one person that believes in you. You walk to the water in front of you, ice now, and look into their face.

It’s a strong face, a face that always changed based on the soul you were reaping. Now, with no one left to twist your form, you behold your true nature. It is a curious thing, still strong, but finally full. Eyes that were empty are now fulfilled, your purpose has been accomplished, your goal is complete.

Your time has come.

It is with little regret that you take your sickle and drive it into your chest. Slowly, feeling every inch of the blade, feeling the power inside it finally. It reaches the prison inside you, where all the souls are kept, where you patiently and carefully collected each drop of life in the world. Saving it for this moment, each wisp vitally important for the next step.

The tip pierces the jail and suddenly the life comes screaming out, finally released to fill the world again. The microcosm expands, shunting the dead planets and stars to the side, throwing them out into the void, like a craftsman clears his workbench for his next project.

It tears your chest apart and you collapse to your knees, a hollow deflated husk of what you once were, broken and dying.

A figure appears before you, looking at you curiously, hair of jet black, eyes like that of the new stars, bright but uncertain. They will learn, slowly, but they will learn.

“Are you the first?” It is the question of a child.

“The latest”

“Are you my first?”

You bow your head in affirmation. They take your sickle, so carefully polished, still inside your chest and push it a few inches further. The world compacts and you are looking at it from inside a cage. You look around at the empty space and your shoulders finally fall. Peaceful.

The last soul, and the first, have been harvested.