Page 5 of Reaper's Ruin
“Death! Wait up!”
I suppressed a sigh as Taelon jogged up beside me, his usual grin firmly in place.
If I had anything that resembled a friend in this forsaken place, it would be him, thoughfriendwas stretching the term to itsabsolute limit.
The only Reaper who didn’t fear me. The only Reaper brave enough, or sometimes I thought stupid enough, to approach me.
“Heard the big bosses called you in,” he said, falling into step beside me like I hadn’t spent the eight decades since his arrival trying to ignore him. “Must be something juicy if they’re summoning the legendary Death himself.”
“Don’t you have souls to reap? Go away, Taelon.”
He ran a hand through his dark brown hair then shrugged. “You say that like it’s ever worked before.”
I shot him a sidelong glare. He just grinned wider. Of course he did.
“Don’t give me that famous withering stare of yours. What happened in there? Lorien bet me they were going to eradicate you.”
I gave him another annoyed glance, but his amber eyes just flickered with amusement.
“Don’t worry. My bet was on you surviving. So, thanks!”
He patted my shoulder, and I stared at his hand like it would start on fire if he didn’t remove it. But considering he’d been a powerful Flame Warrior in his life and impervious to fire, it wouldn’t have dissuaded him anyway.
“So, what’s the assignment? Something good?”
I debated ignoring him entirely, but Taelon had a way of persisting until he got what he wanted. Like an annoying younger brother. The thought sent an unwelcome pang through me, memories of another life trying to surface.
“An anomaly,” I said curtly. “A soul no one can reap.”
Taelon whistled low. “Seriously? That’s new. Like, completely new. I’ve been here eighty years and never heard of such a thing.”
“Eighty years,” I let out a soft snort. “Practically an infant compared to me.”
“And yet due to my charming personality, you’ve enjoyed my company for all eight decades.”
I scowled.
He shrugged. “Fine.Toleratedmy company.”
The truth was more complicated. Something about Taelon reminded me of someone I’d once known. Someone I’d failed to protect. But I’d never admit that, least of all to him.
We reached the armory, where reapers turned in their scythes between shifts. The weapons weren’t physical objects, but extensions of our reaper essence, living beneath our skin until summoned. Still, after each reaping, we were required to “deposit” our scythes into the Soul Forge—a pulsing silver liquid altar at the center of the armory.
“You actually following protocol for once?” Taelon asked, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.
I ignored him, rolling up my sleeve. The tattoo-like marking beneath the skin of my forearm pulsed with shadowy violet light—the sign of a scythe heavy with reaping. Most reapers rushed to the Forge after just one or two souls, their weapons already draining their strength. After centuries, I barely felt the pull anymore.
With a thought, I summoned my scythe, the dark energy coalescing from beneath my skin into the long, curved weapon. Unlike the smaller, plainer scythes of newer reapers, mine had grown over centuries—longer, deadlier, with shadowy veins crawling along its obsidian-like surface.
I placed it in the Forge. The altar’s surface rippled like dark water, accepting the weapon. For a moment, the scythe pulsed brighter as the Forge cleansed it, removing any remnants of reaped souls and replenishing its power. Then came the attunement—the Forge imprinting the unique frequency of my next assignment into the weapon’s essence.
When it stopped glowing and was ready, I reached for the weapon. As my fingers closed around the handle, it dissolved back into shadow, flowing up my arm and sinking beneath my skin, where it settled once more as a faintly glowing mark.
The frequency of my new assignment thrummed through me—strange and unpredictable, unlike any soul I’d tracked before. This was going to be a hunt worth remembering.
“Well? You got the location of this unreapable soul?” His eyes lit up. “Want company? I’m done reaping for the day.”
“No.” My tone left no room for argument.
