Far from the darkness filled battle taking place, a single snowy owl perches on a snow laden branch. In the blink of an eye, the owl was replaced with a beautiful woman with waist long, snow white hair. She balanced precariously on the branch, though her slight weight was nothing to the old plant. Her eyes - a deep forest green with flecks of brown and gold - stared solemnly at the battle taking place between the immortals.
A weight landing next to her didn't distract her from her distant observation, though the clearing of a throat gave her pause.
Beside her, a tall, unnaturally thin man perched on the branch, leaning his traditional, and trademark, scythe leaned across his narrow shoulders. He glanced at her through a wild mane of slate-grey hair, his sharp, pale eyes mirroring her look of sorrow.
"Lady Life." His voice was but a hoarse whisper, almost immediately swallowed up by the viscous winds and hungry shadows. She still heard him, despite all the interference, like listening to her favorite song through the radio static.
"Lord Death." Warmth and familiarity colored her usually indifferent tone, and he grinned at her, sharp teeth as white as the snow falling around them.
She turned her gaze back to the fight, anxiety clutching at her flighty heart, watching as children - souls she had spent so long on spinning into life - fought against the rising tide of darkness and fear. She wished they would stop; whatever Pitch Black did, he was still one of her souls, and it hurt to see any of them in such pain.
Death tilted his head, pushing thin, bony fingers through his unkempt hair in order to see further. He knew Pitch would be fine, considering fear couldn't be killed and all. It could be set aside, knocked away for a few decades, but never killed. He was more worried for the children, the ones fighting against an immortal enemy.
"They'll be fine." An empty lie, but let his counterpart look so dismayed at the current events. "The winter child is a guardian now, and he was never really human to begin with anyway. And Pitch always bounces back within a decade or two. Calm your aura before they realize we're here."
Life glared at him, her green eyes as cutting as jagged ice. She shivered, turning her head away as the Sandman erupted from a cloud of his golden sand, easily snatching Pitch up and defeating him in mere minutes. Seeing the nightmare king hit the ground, it broke the woman's heart, and her eyes brimmed with tears. She would've swept over to scoop him up and into safety if Death hadn't swung his scythe around, blocking her from saving the poor shadowy child.
"He chose this. Remember that. We cannot interfere unless he asks us to."
"But Death! He's hurt and scared and..." she trailed off, ducking her head in shame. "You're right. I let my emotions get a hold of me. I can only pray he calls for us soon. I hate seeing him in such suffering. If only those insufferable guardians had sought to help and co-exist instead of just driving every dark spirit from their corners of the world..."
The battle was over, the children safe for another handful of years, and the guardians celebrating. A tugging at Life's heart told her work needed to be done, souls to spin into existence. Death seemed to know this, and laid a gentle, albeit cold hand on her shoulder, smiling softly in the way only she saw.
"I'll keep watch on him. You go back to work. New souls are a must, but I'm sure anyone can agree to giving someone one more day before death comes for them. I'll stay."
He slipped between the cracks and watched, as slowly but surely, Pitch Black regained his strength and stretched his battered limbs.
Death was never wrong. Pitch Black would always rise again.
And if he had a helping hand in getting back onto his feet, well, no one would know.
