As he rode his loyal steed, Vesper, Death surveyed his surroundings. The region of the afterlife he traversed was enveloped by an endless expanse of stars, illuminating the once present darkness. With every passing second, hundreds more emerged—each a testament to a newly born life, a memory forged, or a connection formed. Yet, despite this beautiful spectacle, the pure light could not dispel the looming shadow of the question that plagued his mind.

Death had a dilemma. A question that he felt was crucial to understanding the true purpose behind Egoros’ plan.

Why did Egoros choose ???......Interesting. It seems that his name is still censored. For conveniences’ sake, I’ll refer to ??? as Beric, even though ??? is his real name.

Returning to Death’s dilemma, he pondered intensely over Egoros’ choice of Beric. What made Beric so special? Surely, out of billions—perhaps even trillions—of souls to choose from, why him?

Was he overlooking something? Death reflected on the days he had silently trailed behind Beric. As with every mortal, he remained ever-present, an unseen shadow lingering just beyond sight. From the womb to the grave, he was there, patiently awaiting life's one certainty—the end.

From what Death recalled, Beric had lived a seemingly unremarkable life. Of Asian descent, he was a quiet yet intelligent individual, born into a small family consisting of his parents and grandfather—the latter passing away when Beric turned ten. Aside from his introverted nature, there was nothing outwardly exceptional about him………..at least, on the surface. But Death knows all. He knows our thoughts, our connections, and the lengths of our journeys. More than anything, he knows our dreams—because he is the one who ends them.

Death knew Beric’s dream, becoming an adventurer. But, the life that he was forced into did not allow such a path. The world of Earth was not welcoming to such ambitious desires. The only path one could find success within this harsh world is the path of slavery.

For the ones born on Earth, they are sentenced to a sorry life. They become enslaved the very moment they arrive, crying as the rough air enters their lungs. Even at birth, they already have an order: be a good child. Grow up into a scholar, and spend their entire childhood in the prison known as school. Learn what their masters decide is appropriate, numbing their brains to become mere meshes of useless slop.

This world doesn’t want adventurers, stars, role models, or even heroes for that matter. It wants slaves. Worker bees who’ll obey any order, who know nothing else than to simply say, “Yes Sir.”

Death felt a tinge of pity upon seeing the results in Beric’s life. His spite towards his parents, but love at the same time, considering how Beric knew they only wanted the best for him. He felt understanding in how Beric felt alone, having no one to tell his troubles to. He felt…..the same, upon seeing how Beric so desperately wanted something to change……..

Death knew Beric was similar to him. That’s why he felt a kindred spirit within Beric……

But, was Death the only one who could sense that?

Did someone else realize the connection between them?

Is that it?

Did Egoros choose Beric, because of their similarities? But why?

Death started to think back on the plan itself. The plan was structured around a simple goal: to secure a soul to take the spot of Death. Egoros would also benefit by witnessing a story that he had no control of.

But, does this really make sense?

Out of all souls, why Beric? Why the soul of someone who detests the same as him? Would it not be possible that Beric, upon becoming Death, goes through the same thing as him?.......Wouldn’t he also make the same deal with Egoros?

That’s it.

Egoros chose Beric for specifically that reason. He chooses the souls which he knows would later end up making the same deal.

All so that Egoros could witness as many stories as he can.

Egoros is trying to create a never-ending loop……….Death knew this was only possible because of the sudden disappearance of the Supreme Divinity. Due to His slumber, outlandish schemes like this were finally feasible. There was no worry of an invisible being that could see everything.

Death then wondered something else.

Who else is taking advantage of this?

……..Is Egoros the cause behind His slumber?

No, that wasn’t possible. Egoros was but a minor god. He had dominion over only a single world. Such a being couldn’t possibly be involved.

Death then concluded that Egoros was simply trying to ease his boredom by continually picking souls similar to Death such as Beric.

Was this something to be worried about? Truthfully, no. As long as Egoros wouldn’t ruin the balance too much, then Death didn’t care. He already did his part.

All Death had to do was wait for Beric……..

But something was still wrong. Egoros knew Death was no simple pushover. Besides being a primal deity above even the gods, Death’s intelligence was nothing to laugh at.

Egoros was like that too. He was highly intelligent even for a minor god…….He was able to create this plan after all.

So, if Egoros didn’t tell Death about this, then surely, that meant he wanted to keep this hidden from Death’s knowledge.

But, was Egoros just underestimating him? Finding this out through pure reasoning wasn’t too hard. Egoros had to have known that.

Unless, Egoros wanted him to find that out.

Did Egoros purposely keep this hidden, so that when Death would realize it on his own, Death would perceive it as his own work?

What if Egoros simply did this to lead Death into thinking this way?

If Egoros did this, all so that Death would believe this answer……..then it’s a red herring. There’s something else that Egoros is hiding.

Death tried to think back about Beric’s life. Perhaps he was missing something.

His grandfather…….His dreams…….His school life……..The separation from his friends………His lonely life……..His death.

Wait. Something’s wrong.

This was all he could remember about Beric. All he could muster out of his memory was Beric’s lonely life and shattered dreams. He couldn’t fully take into account Beric’s existence: his friends, actions, thoughts, and his life in general. Death had the power to store every life that had crossed his path within his memory. He could remember every single detail in an ordinary day in someone’s life.

He was Death after all.

And yet, why wasn’t it the same for Beric? Why was it that he could only remember these specific details?

What if…….this is the doing of someone else?

What if someone, in some way, erased his memory of certain aspects of Beric’s life?

This would mean that someone wanted to keep something hidden……..Like Egoros.

Death reasoned that perhaps Egoros had intentionally allowed him to retain memories of Beric’s dream and family, subtly guiding him to the conclusion that Beric’s life mirrored Death’s own. A way to suggest that Egoros had chosen Beric for that very similarity. But now, Death was certain. It was all a ruse. Egoros had wanted him to believe that, all to conceal something far more significant.

Egoros has an ulterior motive in picking Beric.

And so, Death hurried Vesper. Death had a new destination in mind. A place that could possibly answer his questions. The Library of Alexandria.

You may have heard of this building before. In the ancient world on Earth, it stood as the greatest archive of knowledge ever known. It housed countless scrolls and tomes, preserving wisdom through the ages—until its tragic destruction by fire in 48 BC.

Another interesting fact is that it was a part of a larger institution, the Mouseion, a work of art that was dedicated to the 9 Muses……..Death was not looking forward to seeing them.

Upon arriving, Death dismissed Vesper, leaving him to stand alone before the massive library that loomed ahead. This part of the afterlife now resided in the realm of the gods, altering the very landscape. The sun had risen, wiping away the stars that had once speckled the sky. In their place, a clear expanse stretched above, with wispy clouds swirling gracefully in the breeze. And at the heart of it all stood the Library of Alexandria.

Marbled columns upheld the grand entrance, their surfaces glistening with sunlight against the chiseled limestone. Beyond the entrance lay a vast courtyard, populated by the renowned philosophers and scribes who had once walked the Earth. Olive trees lined in neat rows formed a natural boundary, enclosing the space. Small bushes were arranged similarly, their vibrant flowers scattered across the ground in a myriad of colors, adding to the serene beauty of the scene.

As Death stepped into the courtyard, he observed Euclid engaged in a discussion with several young scribes, laying out the foundations of geometry. Nearby, Eratosthenes and Strabo were deep in conversation, debating the methods and intricacies of mapping worlds like Earth. Off to the side, Archimedes tinkered with machinery far beyond his own era. In another corner, the trio of astronomers—Hipparchus, Petosiris, and Berossus—shared their thoughts on the cosmos, passionately debating their differing views on what was right and wrong in the field of astronomy.

Although built in Egypt, the library was founded by the Greeks, with Persian influence woven throughout, a legacy of Egypt’s time under Persian rule. This blending of cultures was largely due to the Ptolemaic dynasty. But, of course, you're not here for a history lesson.

Despite their cultural differences, the philosophers, scribes, and all present mingled as old friends, sharing laughter and peacefully engaging in deep discussions on perplexing topics. Though they didn’t agree on everything, there was one thing that united them: a puzzle none could solve. An equation so impossible that not even the brightest minds could crack it—the escape from Death. And it was this very truth that caused them to fear him, even in the afterlife.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

But Death was accustomed to it. Their sudden silence upon his arrival didn’t faze him. Their instinctive retreat as he drew near didn’t trouble him. The whispered conversations that began as they thought he could no longer hear? It didn’t affect him. He heard their murmurs of displeasure. He heard them speak of the misfortune that tended to follow his presence. It didn’t bother him.

At least…….not too much.

As Death reached the marble steps, he ascended slowly, doing his best to ignore the glares of those watching him from behind. At last, he arrived at the bronze doors, and with a deliberate motion, he pulled them open, granting himself access to the Library of Alexandria.

The first chamber was a vast hall, its marble flooring cold beneath the feet of those who walked. Tall, marble columns stretched upward, supporting a colossal ceiling adorned with hanging chandeliers. Near the chandeliers, high-set windows allowed sunlight to filter through at a precise angle, casting a dusky glow across the room. Illuminated by this soft light, rows of towering wooden shelves lined the walls. Oil lamps rested on tables, casting warmth on the darker corners of the hall. If one looked closely, they might glimpse the shadows of those who had shaped history. They would possibly see the writers of the past, whose lives had been devoted to recording the world’s story. The air was thick with the scents of papyrus, beeswax, and ink. Among the shelves, Death observed the scrolls, each meticulously wrapped in linen and stored in clay or wooden cases, preserved with care for everybody to use.

Continuing forward, Death reached the center of the hall, where hundreds of scribes hunched over their work, diligently copying texts by hand or translating foreign languages. Beyond them, scholars engaged in intense discussions, their voices echoing in the large hall. Death paid little attention to them. They were all too absorbed in their work to even notice his presence.

At the head desk, Death saw the figure of Zenodotus, the head librarian. His large, grey beard flowed down to his chest, and he was draped in a Himation, a large rectangular cloak wrapped around his body. The cloak didn’t obscure his face, allowing Death to see the weariness in his eyes.

“Head librarian.” Death spoke with a stern tone.

Zenodotus perked up. “Master Death? To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I require the tome of a mortal, hailing from the celestial body ‘Earth’.”

“Of course, of course.” Zenodotus hurriedly tried to make his table clean. He grabbed a clipboard. “Name?”

“???”- Still? That’s a shame. Let’s do that again.

“Beric. Male, of Asian descent, deceased. Cause of death, an automobile.”

“Beric……Beric…..Beric…….” Zenodotus turned to his right. “Apollonius, is it the same for you?”

A similarly dressed man answered back. “It is.” He’s the second in command.

“What’s troubling you?” Death asked.

Zenodotus started trembling. “I’m deeply sorry, Master Death…….but for some reason…..this tome you speak of.”

“Yes?”

“It does not exist.”

The air used to be warm, but upon hearing that, Death’s mere presence made the air become freezing.

“What do you mean?” Death’s eyes felt just as cold as the air.

Sputtering, Zenodotus tried to explain. “While I’m not sure myself, I can assure you that this tome you wish for is not present here. Either it has never existed……or….”

“Or what?”

Zenodotus felt like he was walking on a field full of landmines. “Someone took it and……never returned it. Though, I don’t see that as being plausible. If it does exist, then I would at least be able to see the name of the one who’s borrowed it.”

Death turned his back. What was going on? It was for a fact that Beric existed. Just because his tome wasn’t present, it didn’t mean that his life was simply already gone………”May I have your permission to search the archives for myself?”

“Certainly, Master Death. Be my guest.” Zenodotus pointed Death in the direction in which Beric’s tome would have been.

Death followed the direction given and wandered deeper into the archives. Endless shelves of books stretched before him, each one containing the life of a mortal. His mind filled with the weight of their stories as his eyes scanned for Beric’s. With each shelf he searched, frustration began to mount, his annoyance growing at the lack of progress.

“What do we have here?” The voice of a woman came from behind Death. It was not just any voice, for it sounded like the pinnacle of what a singer could reach.

Death turned around, begrudgingly, to come face to face with Calliope, the chief of the Muses. “Madam Calliope.”

Calliope was a striking young woman, her voice as sweet and divine as heaven itself. A laurel wreath rested gently on her head, nestled within her short, braided black hair. Her sepia brown eyes shimmered with curiosity and amusement, catching the sunlight that reflected off the trumpet in her right hand. In her left, she held a long scroll of parchment. Dressed in a simple yet elegant Doric chiton, she offered Death a warm smile.

“I sense something queer. For you to appear here, not one time but two. Tell me, what is troubling you?”

Calliope was the type of person to take advantage of their voice and to attempt to rhyme with every sentence. It very much annoyed Death.

“I am currently occupied with searching for a specific tome.” Death turned back around to continue searching.

“Would you enjoy my assistance?” She placed herself next to Death.

“No.”

“The way you so readily decline help is very consistent.” She walked back. “Someone like you can’t help but be alone. But, acting like that will not help, down to the bone.”

What was she talking about now?

“Calliope! Where are you?” Another distant female voice called out.

Oh no.

“Right here.” She answered back.

Death wondered if he could sneak away before they arrived, but before he could even try, the rest of the Muses appeared.

One by one, the remaining Muses arrived, each dressed in the same style but distinct in their headwear and belongings. First came Clio, with the same hair, headwear, and outfit as Calliope, but instead of a scroll or trumpet, she carried a large book. Close behind her was Erato, her crown shimmering in the sunlight as she clutched her zither tightly. Euterpe, playing her flute, drew the doves near Erato to glide around the crown of flowers adorning her head. Melpomene and Thalia entered together, their masks clearly marking their identities—Melpomene wore the mask of tragedy, while Thalia wore the mask of comedy. Polyhymnia stood out in a unique white dress, gazing into the distance as she absentmindedly played with the chain in her hands. Terpsichore followed, her laughter filling the air as she played the lyre, dragging Urania along with her. The youngest of the Muses, Urania wore a crown of stars and a light blue dress that seemed to flow effortlessly with her every movement. Orbiting near her was her trusty globe, an essential companion for her cosmic pursuits.

“What’s up, Calliope?” Terpsichore asked while moving closer to her. Upon seeing Death, her smile grew even bigger. “Master Death? It’s good to see you again!” She smacked Death on the back.

“Master Death? Oh no, no, no, no. Is something terrible going to happen?” Melpomene muttered while gripping her mask tightly.

Thanks to Euterpe’s flute’s comforting ability, Melpomene calmed down before doing anything crazy.

“I’m only here because I require a tome.” Death grumbled as he continued searching.

“Want us to help?” Terpsichore asked.

“No.”

“That’s to be expected.” Terpsichore stated before hopping back.

“What is it that you seek?” Polyhymnia asked while still looking far out into the distance.

“A tome of a mortal on Earth.”

“Did you not ask the head librarians yet?” Urania quietly whispered.

“I have, and they stated that the tome I wish for does not exist.”

The muses let out a collective gasp. This was a first for them.

Terpsichore was the first to speak. “Really? That’s odd. Are you sure this tome of yours is real?”

Death turned around to glare at her. “I am.”

Terpsichore backed up even more. “Sorry.”

“The head librarians haven’t made a mistake in the entirety of this library’s existence. I don’t understand how this tome of yours hasn’t been recorded.” Calliope muttered out loud with a serious look.

Thalia pinched her ear.

“Ouch!” Calliope squeaked.

“You forgot to rhyme.” Thalia answered with a snicker.

“Surely, this isn’t the time to worry about the need to rhyme.”

Death could only let out a sigh. “Look, don’t you all have somewhere to be?”

“That is true. We have a performance that is very much soon due.” Calliope started walking away, with the rest of the muses following. “Good luck, Master Death.”

The other muses voiced the same, while Urania awkwardly bowed, before running back to the rest.

“Finally.” That was all Death could think. At least that part was settled. The real issue, however, was the tome. As Calliope had mentioned, it was true that the librarians had never made a single mistake throughout all of time…………Yet, as minutes turned into hours of searching, Death began to wonder if he had been wrong. If Beric’s tome wasn’t recorded, it would make sense. Given Death's interference in the karma link between Earth and Beric, it was plausible that the Library couldn’t properly record it. That was why Death had come here before, to retrieve the new tome of Beric’s life. It had been Egoros’ only request after the plan’s first stage……………………..

Only request? Death’s eyes widened. It was a simple detail, one that shouldn’t have warranted this level of attention. He recalled the script that Egoros had meticulously planned. He remembered how Egoros had orchestrated Beric’s actions: to offer Death a deal, to make conditions that seemed fair, but in reality, to give himself a significant advantage. Death also remembered how Beric had employed a cunning tactic—using seemingly innocent requests to conceal his true intentions.

After serving the karma link between Beric and Earth, all that Death had to do was connect it back to Zarvendia, so that he could reincarnate within the said world………But, the only ones who knew about this were Death……..and Egoros.

What if Egoros took this to his advantage? To hide something in Beric’s life?......What if Egoros acted upon it?

But how? How could Egoros even take the tome, and do it without even being seen?

The only ones permitted to visit the Library of Alexandria were those deeply involved with it: scribes, philosophers, and gods from the Greek, Persian, and Egyptian pantheons. Death, of course, was allowed, as were a few other primordial deities…….But after the Supreme Divinity’s slumber, there had been whispers of other gods sneaking into the library. These rogue deities, operating outside the established rules, could potentially hold the answers Death sought.

Was it then? Did Egoros use that chance to take the tome?

……..No. It doesn’t explain how the tome isn’t even remembered. Why did Zenodotus act like it never existed? Surely, if it was just stolen, then they would have at least remembered it, or have an account of it…….but to say that it doesn’t exist……..

It doesn’t exist. Death hurried out of the library, not even sparing a glance at the surprised looks of those around. Summoning Vesper, he hurried him to go back to Egoros’ tower.

Beric’s tome doesn’t exist……at least, in this moment. At one point, it did.

What if Egoros hadn’t taken it himself? What if he had used someone else to take it for him, under a different title? Death's mind raced as the thought formed. What if Egoros had anticipated this very realization? What if he knew that Death would expect him to waste time interrogating all the pantheons? What if Egoros had set a trap, ensuring that Death would waste so much time in a fruitless pursuit, when all along, the answer lay in just one person?

The karma link was severed. Without it, Beric’s soul was by itself……without a tome. Without the karma link, and the history of the very soul, how could one write the tome? How could the librarians record his life if there wasn’t one?

What if, upon connecting the soul to Zarvendia, Egoros simply made it so that the tome that the librarians would inscribe was actually the life in the new world?

What if the one who took the tome and supplied Egoros………..was actually Death himself?

And if all of this were true, then Egoros would be laughing heartily, delighted that the life he had worked so hard to keep secret was now lost in the depths of Beric’s new existence. The pages of Beric’s fate, now rewritten, held a mystery that no one, not even Death, could fully unravel.

Finally arriving at the tower, Death stormed past the crumbling playground, through the poorly designed door, past the glasses wearing individual, and straight into the elevator. Impatiently stomping his feet, he drowned out the obnoxious music filling the space. When the elevator finally reached Egoros’ floor, Death rushed forward. Bursting through the door, he found Egoros seated calmly, sipping from a cup. Without a hint of urgency, Egoros glanced up at Death before turning his attention to the computer, presumably checking something.

“Right on time.” Egoros put aside his cup as he pointed towards a chair in front of him. “Let’s talk, my friend.”