The chamber where time seemed to lose all meaning was bathed in a grave light. At the center, a massive obsidian table dominated the space, and on it rested The Tome of Fate.

The embodiment of death sat before the book, his skeletal fingers hovering just above the pages. The tome lay open, revealing the future of a resurrected young mage. A low murmur escaped from within the depths of his hood.

"Let us see what lies ahead for young Erazon," he growled, his voice a deep, ominous echo. Slowly, he began to examine the pages, his curiosity piqued by the intricate weave of destiny he had just set into motion.

Just as the pages started to reveal the next chapter, a sudden burst of light flooded the room. The ancient tome slammed shut with a loud thud, and Death’s jaw dropped in surprise. He quickly picked his jaw up, the shadows around him bristling with irritation.

Standing at the entrance to the chamber was Aeolex. The wizard's long, flowing white beard cascaded down his chest, and his intense, glowing eyes beamed at the grim figure. Behind him, swirling clouds and crackling lightning illuminated the chamber, casting a golden light that hinted at the immense power he wielded.

“What are you up to, old friend?” Aeolex’s voice, rough and full of wry humor, cut through the chamber. His eyes fixed on the book.

Lord Death yanked his hand away. “Ah, Aeo...” he muttered, clearing his throat—or at least pretending to. “Just some... light reading.”

Aeolex’s eyebrow arched, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Light reading? Here? Don’t tell me you’ve caught a cold in this gloomy place. Maybe a bit of fresh air would help?”

Death covered his mouth as if coughing. “It is not meddling if I am merely observing,” he retorted, trying to regain some of his usual gravitas. “I oversee the balance.”

The Windstorm chuckled, his laugh rumbling through the chamber. “Observing? Is that what you call it? Careful now, or you might find yourself tangled in the fates you’re supposed to just watch.”

Death leaned back, the tension in the room easing slightly. “Is it not hard to resist? The Mistwalker roaming among mortals... It’s fascinating.”

“Fascinating, yes,” Aeolex conceded as he stepped closer, the light around him dimming. “But also dangerous. Your missing scythe has already caused enough havoc in the world. You’re here to guide, not to intervene.”

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Death’s gaze drifted to the empty spot where his scythe once rested. “Guide him, you say. But what if he fails? The world teeters on the brink, Aeo. If I don’t step in—”

“You will do no such thing,” Aeolex cut in sharply. “If you leave this chamber, your very presence could wipe out scores of mortals! And let’s not even talk about plants—you so much as glance at a potted one, and we’d have an army of ghouls sprouting from its roots.”

The grim figure sighed, a hint of resignation in his posture. “Yes, yes, I know... A glance in my direction, and their fragile lives... end.” He gazed up at the swirling cosmos, watching the stars fall, their light fading into the abyss.

“It’s frustrating. I can't fight this battle for him, yet I can’t help but feel responsible.” He paused, his voice dropping to a grumble. “For the record... that battlefield incident was a fluke. Both sides were killing civilians... I just wanted to scare them a little.” He raised a bony finger, as if making a point.

Aeolex chuckled, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You are here to maintain the balance, not to choose outcomes. Erazon must struggle, grow, and find his power through his own journey.”

The wizard leaned in closer, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief. “And where, might I ask, is Rhadaon?” His tone was light, but the underlying concern was clear.

Death’s jaw opened wide in shock before he coughed, a sound resembling a creaking coffin. “Ahem…”

“Not worried about what might happen when he opens the bottle?” Aeolex pressed, eyes twinkling. “You remember, of course, that Rhadaon was pivotal in the scheme to slay our last Mistwalker?”

The giant skeleton scratched his chin—more out of habit than necessity—and spoke softly. “It’s fated that he aids Erazon. I’m certain of it.” He hummed, fingers tapping lightly on the table. “Having one so close could be... valuable for the battles to come.”

The old man nodded, his expression turning serious. “I’ll trust your judgment, but remember, your role is to watch from a distance. Erazon’s path is one he must walk alone, with us only as his silent companions.”

Death coughed once more, the sound now one of reluctant acceptance. “Eternally watching as the balance unfolds.”

Aeolex’s expression softened as he stepped back, preparing to leave. “That’s all we can do, my friend. Hope and trust in the resilience of those we guide.”

As Aeolex’s form began to fade into the light, Death turned back to the Tome of Fate. He placed a hand on its cover but did not open it. Instead, he waited until the last flicker of Aeolex’s presence vanished from the room.

Then, with a conspiratorial glance around the chamber, Lord Death slowly reached under the table and pulled out a different tome—one older and far more mysterious than the Tome of Fate. This was the Necromicon, a book of forbidden magics and secrets that even The Nine rarely dared to explore.

He opened it cautiously, the pages creaking with age. A faint grin crossed his skeletal face as he read, the souls around him dancing with barely contained excitement.

“Just a little peek...” he whispered to himself, the secret tome reflecting the glow of the faint light in his chamber. “No more…”