The afterlife was a void, a vacuum where nothing existed. Cassian's soul drifted through the endless expanse, a speck fading into irrelevancy.
People said memories flashed before the eyes of the dying, yet Cassian felt nothing. His memories slipped from his reach, losing the very things that defined him.
Through the fragmented memories, he remembered the day his life derailed, the day his father left them and never came back. He was nine then. If only his father had stayed, his mother would still be the vibrant woman she once was, not buried under the weight that came with alcohol. He wouldn't have had to do odd jobs to keep the family afloat. His sister would still have been with them.
Eight years of trying so hard to keep the family together. Now it didn't matter.
You useless brat! You'll never amount to anything, so stop trying. His father's words were distant, but the sharp sting that came with them never dulled with time.
Maybe Father was right. Defeat washed over him, draining what little strength he had left.
A groan made him turn. He saw other despairing souls around him. All were of different ages and walks of life. All ragged, tired, and waiting for their eventual demise.
At least I won't die alone.
Suddenly, a flash tore across the void. A rift split through, spilling blinding light. From it, a creature emerged, small at first but growing as it approached.
"It's the Reaper!" a terrified voice cried out. Panic rippled through the souls as they scrambled like chicks before a hawk.
The Reaper drifted forward. Tattered garments darker than night flowed around it. A wooden staff rested firmly in its grasp. From its head sprouted massive, twisted antlers, and a black wooden mask obscured its face.
As it flew over the souls, they dissolved, fading from existence.
Fear gripped Cassian as he tried hopelessly to escape, his desire to live suddenly flaring up.
Please, any god out there. Have mercy!
A burning sensation flared on his left shoulder, like hot coals pressed against it. Searing in pain, he staggered. It was too late.
The Reaper loomed before him. Cassian shut his eyes, embracing final death.
Nothing happened.
Slowly, he opened his eyes and saw the Reaper staring down at him. Cassian could faintly see a twisted smile carved into the mask. It cocked its head like a cat, as though amused.
A deep, rich voice came from it, speaking in a foreign tongue, ancient and unsettling yet vaguely comforting.
Before Cassian could react, it placed its hand on his forehead.
His soul warped, and colours exploded before his eyes. It felt like he was being torn apart. So this is death. He shut his eyes, saying his last farewells.
An irritated voice pulled him out of his ordeal. He opened his eyes and saw a soul in front of him.
"Hey, move it." A soul from behind barked, shoving past him.
Cassian blinked, disoriented. Ahead of him stretched a line of souls leading to a massive temple. Mist clung to the gates. Thousands of stars twinkled in the dark sky, and antlered rabbit creatures darted about.
"Boy, get back in line." An arm slung around Cassian's shoulders, pulling him firmly. It belonged to the soul of a young man. He gave him a once-over.
"Don't you want to be reincarnated?"
Cassian froze. "I'm sorry, reincarnated?"
The man gave Cassian a look. "Yeah, didn't you know?"
"But… I died."
"Of course you did. We all did. That's the whole point." The man chuckled like he was explaining to a toddler.
"No. It was different. I saw something called the Reaper—"
"Wait, you saw the Reaper?" The man stopped abruptly.
"That is what I just said."
"But that's impossible. No one survives it. If you saw it, you should be gone."
Cassian rubbed his forehead. That is why I am confused.
"But you're here. That's what counts. Consider yourself a very lucky soul."
The line moved, and soon Cassian had reached the gate. Souls moved through a glowing entrance in the gate. He hesitated, unsure of what lay beyond.
"Keep moving," the man encouraged. "All the best in your new life."
Cassian exhaled. "Thanks." He would need it.
A lot.
—Meanwhile in the temple—
The room was cold and still, the way Oriven liked it. It mirrored the lives of mortals and grounded him in his work as the god of reincarnation.
He sat at a large table that overflowed with parchment. The orange lamplight reflected on his deep blue robes, and charms dangled from his ivory antlers, jingling softly in the breeze. A white wooden mask rested on his face.
A small jackalope rested on his shoulders, burrowing herself partially into Oriven's pale blue hair. Her name was Anya, Oriven's dearest companion. She cooed softly at Oriven's touch.
With his free hand, Oriven picked up a scroll that stretched onto the floor, on which names were etched in with golden ink. Each name represented souls to be reincarnated.
"Greetings, brother." Oriven looked up and saw a figure leaning in the doorway, known as Korveth to the deities and known as the Reaper to the mortals. His black robes clung loosely around him like smoke. His mask was crudely made, and his antlers spread out wildly like thorns.
Oriven set the scroll aside. "What brings you here? You should be harvesting souls." He sounded weary, wondering if his younger brother was slacking in his duties again.
Korveth flicked his wrist, waving Oriven off. "Can't I visit whenever I please?"
"Korveth…"
"I was harvesting until I came across a soul you'll find interesting." Oriven could hear a grin in his voice.
Oriven raised a delicate eyebrow. "Like the time you insisted a drunken bard's soul was destined to reshape the cosmos."
Korveth tilted his head, annoyed by Oriven's flippant tone.
Sighing, Oriven returned to his work. "If you came to discuss your findings, come back later. I am busy."
"It had the mark of a goddess."
The words hung in the air, freezing the room.
Marked souls were souls claimed by deities. And by law, Oriven was always notified first before a soul was claimed. Yet no word had come.
"But no one spoke to me of this," he murmured, pondering deeply whether he had missed a letter.
Korveth's laugh was rich and unsettling, a sound that had charmed more than a few hearts in the past. "I don't blame them; they marked a nobody soul destined to die. They must have been very desperate." His staff scraped along the crystal floor as he glided into the room. He loomed behind Oriven, watching his brother scan through the parchment until he found the record he was looking for. Anya darted towards Korveth, and he cradled her in his arms. "Did you miss me?" His grin widened, voice dripping with amusement as Anya rested snugly in his arms.
Oriven ignored them and read through the record. Cassian Thalanor. Firstborn of the Thalanor family. Death by stab wounds and blood loss. Nothing special.
Why him of all people?
Then his eyes caught another name, one he had hoped to never see again.
What does that woman want?
Korveth leaned over, and his chirpy mood dropped.
"That explains it." His voice was low and void of emotion.
The paper crumpled as Oriven clenched his fists.
A bell chimed, signalling a soul's arrival.
"Our guest has arrived," Korveth drawled, but it didn't have his snarky tone.
Oriven stood, and his staff materialised in his hands.
Vines coiled along its length, flowers bloomed at its crest—a stark difference from Korveth's charcoaled staff.
Oriven glided towards the doorway with Anya perched on his shoulders. He paused slightly and tilted his head backwards. "This is my duty, Korveth. Leave."
"And miss the fun?" Korveth drifted after him like smoke.
"I won't condone your interference. Considering she is involved," he said firmly, referring to the goddess.
"You still think she matters to me?" Korveth's tone sharpened, taut with restraint. Oriven didn't answer, but the silence said enough.
Korveth let out a long sigh. "I am just here to see the soul, nothing more." He had his smug tone back, and he drifted away.
Oriven shook his head, unsure of what his brother was thinking. Anya cooed softly, rooting him in the present. I'll solve this mess, no matter what comes my way.
But he underestimated how far the desperate would go