Page 23 of Reaper's Ruin
She glanced around at the shadowy trees, the muted colors of the Shadowveil version of the Sylvan Court. “And where exactly is here?”
I looked around, stunned I’d missed my exact mark. I’d been too distracted by her to land as precisely as usual. But I recognized the surroundings immediately, knowing we were nearby.
“Sylvan territory,” I said, forcing myself to look away from her. “The sorceress’s cottage is close.”
I’d passed through here once or twice on my quest to reap souls, having been shocked once that a woman living in a small cottage I’d walked past had seen me as clear as if I’d been standing in front of her. She’d then told me she came from a bloodline that could straddle the world of the living and the dead, and like Soraya, see behind the veil. If she hadn’t been fae, I may have stayed and talked to her longer. But though she seemed kind, and having a conversation with the living intrigued me, I didn’t linger, simply returning to my hunt to swipe another delinquent soul from existence.
“It’s beautiful, even all... grayscale like this,” Soraya said, turning in a slow circle to take in our surroundings.
The Shadowveil version of the Sylvan forest was indeed striking, in its way. Massive trees stretched overhead, their branches forming a cathedral-like canopy. Ghostly wisps of light drifted between trunks like wandering spirits. In the living realm, this would be a riot of green and color, vibrant with life. Here, it was a study in silver and shadow, haunting in its stillness.
“Which way do we go?” Soraya asked.
I closed my eyes, reaching out with senses honed by centuries of tracking souls. Though I didn’t have her frequency imbued on my staff, Reapers could still sense the energy of all nearby souls, both living and dead, when we tried.
There—a faint pulse of energy, different from the steady rhythm of the forest. “This way.”
We moved through the trees, the mist-light of the Shadowveil casting everything in a ghostly glow. Soraya stayed close, occasionally passing her hand through a fern or flower with a faint look of regret. Every so often, her arm would brush against mine, sending an unexpected, though not unpleasant, jolt through me.
“Do you think she’ll be able to help me?” Soraya asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But she’s our best chance at understanding what’s happening to you.”
“And if she can’t help?” Her voice was small, fearful. “Will you... will you have to reap me then?”
The question struck me with a powerful blow. Would I? Should I? My duty as a Reaper was clear. If she didn’t move on, I would have to erase her. But my duty to help the last human in Faelora felt as heavy on my shoulders as my duty as her Reaper.
“Let’s see what the sorceress says first,” I replied, unwilling to make promises I might not be able to keep.
We walked in silence for a time, the forest growing denser around us. Eventually, I caught sight of a warm glow ahead—different from the beams of light filtering through the trees. It had to be the sorceress’s cottage.
As we approached, I saw a small clearing with a cottage nestled against the base of an enormous tree. Unlike the muted surroundings, the cottage glowed with a faint golden light that pierced through the veil between realms. Behind it stood an ancient oak, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, its branches reaching up like arms outstretched to the sky.
“There,” I said, pointing.
Soraya squinted. “I don’t—wait, I see it now. A light.”
Weapproached the cottage cautiously. I could sense protective magic surrounding it—a faint resistance in the air, like pushing through invisible cobwebs. Likely enough to stop anyone living from crossing, but here in the Shadowveil, it would take far more powerful magic to stop us from passing through.
The cottage itself was small but well-built, with wildflowers growing around its base and herbs hanging to dry from the eaves. Through a window, I glimpsed movement—a figure moving about inside.
“What now?” Soraya whispered
I lifted my hand to knock, an old human habit, but quickly realized my form would pass right through. But not knowing if she would be startled if we just stepped through and appeared in her home, I hesitated for a moment, then called out, unsure if she could hear me.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door flew open, and a young woman stood in the threshold, a knife in one hand, her eyes wide and startled as she looked around the empty clearing right past us.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice sharp with alarm. “Show yourself!”
“She can’t see us,” Soraya whispered, disappointed. “I thought you said the sorceress can see us.”
“This isn’t the sorceress,” I answered, peering around her looking for the woman I’d met decades ago.
But then the woman’s gaze sharpened, focusing directly on us despite the veil separating us from her world that should have hidden us from living eyes. She frowned, lowering the knife slightly.
“What in the forest’s name...?” she murmured.
She was young—perhaps twenty-two at most, with delicate features and eyes that shifted between green and gold in the strange light. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and if I lookedclosely, I could see tiny flowers woven through the strands, as if they grew there naturally.
