After Lethe receded, the world did not immediately recover.
Not because restoration failed—but because it was deliberately slowed.
Night pressed flat like a sheet of paper.Distant lights were still on, yet no longer pointed anywhere.
The entire waking city fell into a solemn hush, broken only by intermittent barking in the distance.
In myth, this state was described as the moment before a supernatural procession begins—a density of time reserved solely for those about to be reclaimed.
"You are not far from the end of your allotted fate."
The voice appeared naturally, like a footnote already written, finally turned to the correct page.
He stood within the shadow of a street corner, wearing a long coat that belonged to no era.
The fabric was not cloth, but layered data residue, its edges constantly rewritten within the field of vision.
His face carried no age.His features were intentionally lowered in recognizability.Only his gaze remained—cold, precise.
A Reaper.
A member of the Undead.Occupation: soul severance.
"My purpose in walking the waking world," he said,"is to confirm which lifelines have already snapped, and which merely remain delayed."
"Other members attempted to stop me. I overruled them.""My appearance itself is the first price you are required to pay."
His gaze settled on Silent Man, lingering longer than necessary.
"You."
"Your lifeline has been severed multiple times.""You should have been reclaimed."
Silent Man did not move.
He stood firmly, as if his body itself were an answer not yet submitted.
"And yet, you persist," the Reaper added."This does not conform to procedure."
I stepped forward half a pace.
There was no explosion of light.Only a slight brightening—as if existence itself had been permitted.
"So you came to sever souls?" I asked.
The corner of the Reaper's mouth shifted almost imperceptibly.Not a smile—a marker indicating a completed evaluation.
"Possibly," he replied."Or a test."
"That depends on how long you can endure."
I understood.
In their view, a "procession" was never mercy—only an early verification of whether reclamation would proceed smoothly.
Silent Man's aura shifted slightly.
Not anger—a triggered defense response.
The shadow of black wings flickered briefly behind him, then was forced back down.
He was restraining himself.
The Reaper raised his hand.
No weapon.
Soul severance required none.
The air was drawn into a thin line—like a blade not yet falling, yet already resting against the throat.
It was not a threat to the body, but a designation of existence.
"Do not rush," he said."This is not an execution."
"It is verification."
Pressure descended instantly.
Not pain—but the weight of being classified as near completion.
I felt the Luminary Elf Heart within me respond to the threat.
Not with violent counterattack, but with refusal—
a refusal to be marked as finished.
Golden light spread from my palm, flowing across the ground like a thin boundary.
It did not burn.It did not cut.
It simply caused the "soul-severing line"to lose its point of attachment.
The Reaper's movement stopped.
For the first time.
He lowered his gaze, examining the light.
"Completion level is low," he assessed."Half-formed."
Sethiel 's consciousness surfaced nearby, like an observer summoned by name.
He glanced at the light, nodded slightly, and said,"Jiang Hanna still has a long way to go."
I turned toward them.
"Then what exactly did you come here to do?" I asked.
My tone was level. Not accusatory.
"A procession?""A test?""Mockery?""Or—just to confirm how close we are to death?"
Sethiel and the Reaper did not answer immediately.
Because the question did not exist within the procedure.
The Reaper looked back at Silent Man, his gaze returning to professional neutrality.
"Your condition is unstable."
"An infected vampire should not be capable of sustaining this level of output."
Silent Man finally raised his eyes.
"Then you should know," he said,"I am not your reclamation object."
The Reaper's gaze sharpened.
Not offense—but data deviation.
He attempted soul severance again.
This time, I did not step back.
The power within me responded instantly.
The golden boundary advanced forward—by a single inch.
Only an inch.
Yet it was enough to invalidate the severance judgment.
The Reaper stepped back half a step.
Not repelled—but voluntarily withdrawn.
He looked at me, a faint trace of unnecessary emotion surfacing for the first time.
"So your standard for soul severance," I said calmly,"is simply seeing who lasts longer?"
He did not deny it.
I continued, still evenly,"Then today, you may be out of work."
A brief silence followed.
Not because it was amusing—but because the statement struck at necessity itself.
Sethiel let out a low chuckle, then disappeared.
The Reaper straightened.
"Test complete," he said."Result: reclamation conditions not met."
He turned away, his shadow beginning to disassemble.
"Remember this," he left behind."The procession does not occur only once."
"When you believe you are strong enough—"
"I will return."
Night flowed back into place.The city's sounds reconnected.
Silent Man exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing—yet he did not smile.
I looked at him and knew this was not the end.
Only—
the first time we had been judged not to vanish immediately.
The procession was over.
And we—were still on the list.