A cold, ethereal glow flickered in the Grim Reaper’s eyes as he reached deeper into the farmer’s memories, peeling back the layers of a life scarred by toil and loss. Shadows danced along the edges of the images he summoned, twisting like the regrets woven through the farmer’s existence.

"You were a farmer," he murmured, the vision sharpening.

"Yes, m’lord," the soul replied, its voice carrying the weight of endless harvests and lost hopes.

A gust of wind swirled through the chasm as the Reaper’s tone hardened. "What fate do you think awaits you in this land beyond?"

"It can’t be worse than what I’ve already been through, m’lord." The soul’s voice cracked, haunted by the fading remnants of its earthly life.

The silence that followed seemed to press in around them, only broken by the distant roar of the river below. "The curse took your land," the Reaper continued, cold and indifferent. "But you stayed behind, even as the shadows closed in. Why?"

Flickers of dim light pulsed through the farmer’s form as he hesitated. "My father and his father before him, they tilled that land. It wasn’t just earth—it was our legacy," he rasped, his voice wavering. "But… that wasn’t the only reason."

A long pause filled the air as the Reaper said nothing, waiting for the truth to be revealed.

The farmer’s form shuddered as he let out a sigh, a sound like dry leaves scraping against a tombstone. "The curse came slowly at first. The crops withered, the animals sickened. Then... the whispers began. The villagers—they looked to me for answers. I was the head of the council—I had to protect them."

A sharp clang echoed from the distant river, and the Reaper’s gaze pierced through the dimness. "And did you?" His words cut through the growing gloom like the swing of a scythe.

"I tried," the farmer’s soul stammered, the memory of failure weighing heavy in his voice. "But the land... it demanded something. Offerings at first—grain, livestock, simple things. But when those failed... I was faced with a choice."

An eerie hum filled the space, the Reaper’s fingers twitching slightly as if they felt the pull of fate. "A choice?"

The air between them grew colder as the farmer’s voice trembled. "Yes, m’lord. I made a deal with the shadows. I offered them more... someone." His form flickered, shrinking under the weight of his confession. "I chose the weakest—an old man with no family, no future. I thought it would save the rest of us."

Light flared briefly in the Reaper’s eyes, like a fading star before death. "And did it?"

The farmer’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible against the distant cries of the souls below. "For a time. The crops grew. The village seemed to live again. But the land... cursed as it was... did not forget." His form wavered, barely holding together. "The darkness returned, hungrier. And the village knew. They knew what I’d done. The shadows claimed my soul long before my body died."

Silence stretched, the weight of the farmer’s sin heavy in the stillness. A low, almost imperceptible sigh escaped the Reaper, though his tone remained cold. "You chose to sacrifice one for the many."

A gust of wind sent swirling mist curling around the farmer’s flickering form. "I thought I was doing what was right... but now, I don’t know."

No flicker of sympathy touched the Reaper’s face as he raised his hand, the crackling air thick with finality. "You are judged."

Without resistance, the farmer’s soul began its descent, drawn toward the river below. The flow of water roared, hungry for its next victim. The soul drifted closer to its final fate, and unlike others, it did not fight. The river welcomed him, pulling him down to join the countless others waiting in the Great Lake.

A whisper followed as the Reaper turned away. "In life, the choices are never simple. In death, they are never forgotten."

His hand dropped, and the farmer’s soul vanished beneath the surface. The river’s screams echoed off the cavernous walls as it wound its way through the hallowed rocks, feeding the lake of tormented souls below. For now, the farmer had been spared—his fate deferred, left to await the final call of the river.

A sharp crack echoed as the Reaper clenched his bony fingers, his gaze shifting to the rising waters. A heavy tension gnawed at him. Extending his hand to the ground, a green ball of energy swirled into existence, twisting and spiraling until it formed into a crow. The creature fluffed its dark feathers and preened its wings, waiting for his command.

"Show me," Lord Death ordered, his voice low and firm.

A faint touch to his temple connected him to the crow’s sight, allowing him to peer into the mortal realm. But the vision brought a deep, bone-chilling unease to him. His skeletal fingers tightened, the crack of bone loud in the silence.

"No..." he growled, his teeth grinding together in frustration.

"Lumi!" His voice boomed, shaking the chasm with its force.

A sudden burst of light announced Lumi’s arrival, the tiny pixie yawning as she fluttered her wings lazily. "You bag of bones! I’m in the middle of something important!" she grumbled, crossing her arms.

The Reaper ignored her, his glowing eyes narrowing. "A great calamity is coming. You must stop Arzone from opening the bottle I gave him."

Lumi blinked, her irritation softening into curiosity. "What? Why? What do you care about some dumb old bottle of bolts?"

A cold silence followed as the Reaper’s gaze darkened. "I believe sending it has set events in motion that could change everything. Stop him from opening it, and keep him away from the scythe. Little one…at the base of the watchtower, you almost told him, didn’t you?"

The pixie fluttered, shifting her feet in the air “Nooo…”

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"You did," the Reaper accused, his hollow voice sharpening. "You are not to tell him."

"I really want to!" Lumi muttered, her wings fluttering nervously. "He’s getting so close to figuring it out."

"You can’t," the Reaper's tone brooked no argument.

"Fine, fine," Lumi huffed, rolling her eyes. "I won’t."

"You won’t," Lord Death repeated, the finality of his command lingering in the air. "I forbid it. Do not reveal his identity." His eyes flared briefly, the weight of his authority settling between them.

With a frustrated sigh, Lumi flitted closer. "Whatever you say, boss."

"It’s bad enough that the dwarf has already given him a book holding the secrets he seeks," Lord Death muttered, his thoughts trailing off as his gaze grew distant. "If he discovers his true identity..."

A tense silence followed, as if the Reaper felt something far more dangerous lurking beyond his control. His bony fingers twitched slightly. "I fear something else is at work, something beyond my influence. If his power awakens too soon... he could destroy everything."

Hovering in midair, Lumi’s wings buzzed nervously. "He’s already working on three types of magic, Deathy. He’s strong."

"Too fast," Lord Death murmured, a rare tremor in his voice. "He’s gaining power faster than any mortal could. For the first time in eons, I feel fear. I can taste it."

His fingers flexed, testing the thickening tension around him. "Guide him. Help them rescue Elizza without confronting Wild-Wizard."

Lumi arched an eyebrow, smirking. "And what if Nox shows up again? That big scary demon nearly got me last time!"

"If Nox intervenes..." the Reaper’s voice lowered into a growl. "They will force my hand, and I dread what that means."

A sly grin crept onto Lumi’s face. "I like him as Erazon, you know. He’s got a girlfriend, too. She’s adorable!"

The Reaper’s gaze flared with frustration. "Another unforeseen problem... her living."

Lumi zipped in front of his face, hands on her hips. "What do you mean? She’s perfect for him!"

"She is mortal, Lumi," Lord Death said slowly, his voice heavy with ancient regret. "And he is One of the Nine. It cannot be. If she dies, it may awaken something far worse in him."

Lumi waved him off with a roll of her eyes. "Pfft. He protects her. It'll be fine!"

"It will not be fine," the Reaper said gravely. "You must keep them away from Wild-Wizard, help them rescue the girl, and guide them out of Magnatar."

Grumbling, Lumi fluttered backward. "You always ruin my fun, Deathy." She flashed a mischievous grin. "But I’ll try."

With a flick of his bony hand, Lord Death dismissed her, sending her spiraling back into the mortal realm in a burst of light. Alone again, his gaze fell on the river of souls below. The swirling waters rose higher with each passing judgment, and time was slipping away. His skeletal fingers flexed as an uneasy chill settled deep in his bones. The future seemed more fragile than ever, and he couldn’t shake the growing sense of doom.

As Lumi vanished, Lord Death stood still, his hollow gaze lingering on the swirling river below. The souls within it writhed, their whispered cries growing louder with the rising current. Time was slipping away, and he could feel it in his very bones—something was about to break in the mortal realm, and it gnawed at him.

Before he could retreat to his chamber to glimpse the mortal world again, another soul stepped forward, its form weak and flickering. Lord Death clenched his jaw in irritation but extended his hand, beckoning the soul forward.

"You seek judgment," the Reaper intoned, his voice cold and unyielding. "Step forward."

The soul hesitated, its shimmering form barely holding together. Finally, it came into focus—a man, gaunt and haunted, his body etched with the marks of a violent death. He was no soldier or warrior but a man once noble in stature, though now broken by fear and betrayal.

“I didn’t expect to be here,” the man stammered, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out. “Not like this.”

“Few do,” Lord Death replied, his skeletal fingers twitching as if eager to be done with the task. “Your choices have led you here. Now speak.”

The soul flickered, its form wavering. “I… I had no choice. The shadows... they came for us. The land was dying, the darkness spreading. I tried to fight it, but it was too much. The Ghostlands consumed everything around us.”

Lord Death tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “The shadows did not consume your soul in life. So what choice brought you here?”

The man’s form wavered again, flickering with guilt. “There was a wizard,” he whispered, voice thick with shame. “A skeletal figure. He came from the Ghostlands. He... he promised to save my family, my land, if I gave him what he wanted.”

The Reaper’s eyes flared, and the man continued, his voice trembling. “He wanted the location of the relics—powerful objects hidden away for generations. My people… they had guarded them, but they didn’t know. I did. And when the wizard came, when the shadows started to consume us… I gave him what he asked for. I told him where they were hidden.”

“And what did he promise you?” Lord Death’s voice was sharp, cutting through the man’s pitiful confession.

The soul’s flickering grew more erratic, as if the very memory of his decision was unraveling him. “He said if I gave him the relics, he would spare my family. He would turn the shadows away from us, save our village from the Ghostlands’ curse. I believed him.”

Lord Death remained silent for a long moment, watching the soul tremble under the weight of its guilt. “And did he keep his promise?”

The man shook his head, his form dimming with despair. “No. He took the relics, and the shadows grew stronger. They came for my village, my family. We had nothing left to defend ourselves with. I... I watched them die. Every single one of them. The darkness devoured everything.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant roar of the river below.

“You betrayed your people,” Lord Death finally said, his voice colder than the grave. “And in the end, you saved no one.”

The soul flickered, shrinking before him. “I… I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… I could save them.”

Lord Death's eyes burned with an ethereal light as he raised his hand. “You are judged.”

The soul shuddered, shrinking even further as it realized what was coming. “Please! I didn’t know—”

With a swift, decisive motion, Lord Death clenched his skeletal hand. “Absolution.”

The man’s scream was short-lived as his form disintegrated, erased from existence. Where once there had been life, now there was only nothingness—a void left behind, his soul’s magic extinguished from the world. Lord Death watched as the emptiness spread for a moment before turning away.

Each soul erased took a piece of magic from the world, weakening the very fabric of existence. It was a terrible thing to do, but it had to be done. The river of souls churned angrily below, rising higher with each passing judgment. Lord Death knew the river was growing fuller by the day, and with it came the inevitable collapse.

He let out a long, slow sigh, his gaze drifting toward the endless line of souls still waiting for judgment. His duties as the arbiter of death had never been his to bear—this was Arzone’s role, the god of reincarnation, who should have been guiding these souls back into the world, giving them a second chance at life. But with Arzone lost, it fell to him to decide their fates, and Lord Death loathed every moment of it.

He could only send the souls to the river or face absolution, the river would wait for Arzone’s return. Each time he erased a soul, the world weakened. Magic was stripped from it, piece by piece, until one day, there would be nothing left. But there was no other choice.

Time was running out. The river was rising, and with it, the weight of his burden grew heavier. If Arzone did not return soon, if the cycle of reincarnation was not restored, the world itself would fall into ruin.

Lord Death’s skeletal fingers twitched in frustration. He needed to return to his chamber, to peer into the mortal realm and see what was happening. Something was stirring there—something terrible, and he could feel it gnawing at the edges of his being. A calamity was coming, and it was only a matter of time before it would break loose.

With a final glance at the river below, Lord Death turned and swept away, his cloak billowing out behind him. He left the endless line of souls waiting, he had judged enough today. His hollow gaze was fixed ahead, toward the mortal realm and the chaos he was certain was about to unfold.

And he could not shake the feeling that everything rested on Erazon’s shoulders.