Rona.
I stood rim-rod straight as gooseflesh rippled across my skin.
Who was that?
I was locked in a haunted room. Alone. Under the same roof as a supernatural powerhouse and possibly giants, in a place I knew absolutely nothing about.
I craned my neck, searching for the source of the sound.
Nothing.
"I'm going insane, aren't I?" I chuckled under my breath as I scanned the room.
It was the same as before. Straight out of a medieval fantasy book, without a single speck out of place.
I massaged my temples out of habit. Years of stress‑induced migraines did that to a person.
I stared out the window in quiet melancholy. Harsh wind whipped my face, but I barely felt it.
"What am I going to do now?" My fingers dug into the window frame, leaving faint scratch marks on its embellished surface.
Two years. I only had two years to earn a five‑star review from the Progenitor. Death himself in the flesh.
Me? The Progenitor's assistant?
What was I even supposed to do? Scrub his feet? Ferry souls down the river?
My thoughts spiraled as I conjured a hundred possible situations and an equal number of solutions.
A workaholic in life and in death.
I sank onto the chaise lounge by the window.
Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe it was the day itself, but I didn't realize when sleep finally claimed me.
Unaware of the pair of watchful red eyes lingering in the shadows.
—
A chill slid down my spine as the grandfather clock on the wall choked out a decadent tune.
I jolted awake.
My eyes met a pair of glowing red orbs.
I screamed, yanking the quilt over my head.
Wait.
Quilt?
The soft, feathery mattress beneath me was not the chaise lounge I laid in last night.
How did I end up on the bed?
"Careful now," he laughed. His voice was rich, dark, and deep, the kind that sent shivers down your spine.
Not the kind of shivers that made you sleep with a frying pan under your pillow.
"I'm dead," I said flatly, throwing the covers aside.
"And I tend to forget that," he replied, amused, "with how lively you look."
It was the damned British accent, making my feet curl up underneath the covers.
He looked down at me, gaze unreadable. I raised a brow, confused.
"You seem to be making yourself quite at home," he said, gesturing around the room.
"I can't believe it let you in," he murmured under his breath.
There was a trace of sadness between his brows.
For a fleeting moment, he looked dangerously human.
That terrified me more than the version of him seated on his throne.
I cleared my throat, breaking the spell.
He turned back to me, the moment gone, replaced by that familiar lascivious smirk.
"Now," he said lightly, "for today's itinerary." He pointed between us. "We're going on a little field trip."
I stepped forward. "Then what's stopping us? Let's go."
Disgust flickered across his face as he wrinkled his nose. "You're not wearing that."
He pointed at my tattered dress.
Heat crept up my face as I looked down. Even I was repulsed. "Do baths exist over here?"
"We're dead," he replied dryly. "Not decaying."
He snapped his fingers and vanished.
I sighed. One thing I'd never get used to.
—
I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, awed.
Everything was immaculate. Spotless. Perfect.
For a being that had existed for centuries, he certainly understood household management.
The tiles gleamed, surrounding a state‑of‑the‑art jacuzzi large enough to fit a swim team.
Maybe this place wasn't so terrible.
I soaked in the tub, scrubbing every inch of grime from my skin. The once‑clear water darkened into a murky brown.
The next problem was clothing.
I strolled into the dressing room, blinking as vibrant colors flooded my vision. A stark contrast to my usual monotone wardrobe.
Silk. Cashmere. Cotton.
I brushed my fingers over a soft shirt.
"It wouldn't hurt to try," I murmured.
Now, what exactly did the dead wear on a field trip?
—
I followed the glowing runes back to the throne room. It wasn't hard to remember.
The enormous doors stood wide open.
I stepped forward, then froze.
Voices.
"The sightings of decayed souls in the eastern hemisphere have increased drastically," a voice said. "More of them are evolving. I fear this may become an impending issue."
My heart hammered as I pressed myself against the stone wall.
Decayed souls.
Those dark, twisted things beyond the river.
I knew I wasn't meant to eavesdrop on a god's conversation.
Unfortunately, rebellion was a bad habit.
"What could be the cause?" the Progenitor asked.
"None so far, but we'll continue the search." he paused. "The Fate's Banquet is approaching. Will you attend?"
"When have I ever—"
"I'm a bit busy," he interrupted. "I have a lousy little human to catch."
My breath hitched.
Familiar red eyes locked onto me.
He leaned closer, his breath brushing my cheek.
"You should know this, little human," he whispered. "Never eavesdrop on a god."