Pulling weeds, untangling them from the more fragile stems, sorting what could be composted and what needed to be discarded. Turning the soil, loosening it with her fingertips, observing the interactions between plants—some nourishing each other, others parasitic. These actions seemed simple, mechanical: exactly what Aisling had needed.
Kneeling in the damp earth, the young woman dug her fingers into the loose soil, pulling out knotted roots and dried-out stems. The mineral and vegetal scent of the ground filled her nostrils, familiar and comforting, carrying her back to childhood memories where the only thing that mattered was the harmonious growth of the plants under her care.
The herbs of the Twilight Realm were still mostly unfamiliar to her, some glowing faintly, others bearing strangely metallic hues, but she knew there had to be medicinal treasures hidden among them. And since war now seemed inevitable, they needed to build up reserves. Every remedy, every poultice, every infusion could make a difference.
Yet, despite her efforts to focus on the task, to ground herself in these physical motions, her mind remained burdened.
She closed her eyes and drew in a long breath, but the weight of the stares she had encountered upon leaving Ren's home still pressed on her chest like a stone. Many had watched her, some with respect, others with fear. Some with hope, and others with reproach. The emotions overlapped, contradictory, impenetrable. Even the faces she knew best seemed marked by a new distance, a hesitation, as if no one quite knew how to speak to her anymore.
She had felt alone, trapped inside a bubble of silence in the midst of her own people. Everything had changed, everyone's minds turned toward war.
So she had gone looking for Idris, Fenja, Nimue. Ren had told her the ring had been removed and that one of her friends must have it. But when she finally found Idris in an open space near the city's gates, he seemed absorbed in a discussion with Uriel, War, and the rest of the Hellguard angels, listening intently to battle strategies. He stood near his mother and what remained of the human army, his gaze grave and focused.
Aisling had stopped at a distance, a weight settling deep in her stomach. She hadn't found the courage to approach them.
Later, she had spotted Fenja, busy in one of the main streets, surrounded by other survivors, working on the feathers of a hunted creature to craft arrows. She seemed focused, coordinating the efforts efficiently. Again, Aisling had frozen, hesitant, before silently turning away and walking off without a word.
What a cruel irony it was to be the one who had set the wheels in motion, and yet find no place where she truly belonged. Even the Watchers had instinctively stepped back as she passed. Only Samyaza, the oldest among them, had approached her, no doubt sensing the turmoil eating away at her.
"What do you need?" he had asked, his deep voice filled with compassion.
"A place with time...?" she had answered with a small, sad smile.
He had nodded, resting a light hand on her shoulder before pointing her toward a spot set a little apart from the city, a hill standing alone. A ruined cottage perched at its summit, a remnant from another time. From there, she had an unobstructed view of the city below, the castle, and beyond, the wild lands stretching to the horizon. A crumbling, unfinished stone wall marked the boundary of an abandoned garden, where a wild meadow had reclaimed what had once likely been cultivated ground.
Since then, she had been battling her bad mood on her knees in the earth, ripping out a stubborn root with the same fierce anger she used to wrestle her inner chaos.
A harsh caw split the silence, severing the thread of her thoughts. Aisling startled and jerked her head up.
There, perched on a twisted branch of a dead tree, was Death's black crow, its glossy feathers catching the dim light, its piercing yellow eyes fixed on her with a somber, almost mocking intelligence.
She narrowed her eyes, unimpressed.
"Sorry for you," she snapped, her tone sharp. "You won't find anything to peck at on me today."
"I doubt you would be to his taste."
The calm, composed voice made her jump. She spun around, her heart missing a beat.
Death was there, sitting on the crumbling wall, his back to her, as if he were studying the ruined house.
She was sure she would have heard him approach. Even absorbed in her work, she had remained alert. Yet he had appeared like a shadow, untouchable, immune to the very laws of the material world. The thought of having been surprised like that, exposed in the vulnerability of her thoughts, only worsened her mood.
"Too talkative?" she muttered, bending back over the soil, refusing to give him more attention.
"Too alive... Though he does enjoy pecking at warm eyes."
"Charming."
She shot a glance at Dust, who hopped excitedly on his branch, clearly delighted with the conversation. From the corner of her eye, she saw Death place something on the wall beside him, his movements precise, measured, almost methodical.
"Is this your house?" he asked.
"Apparently so..."
"Hmm... Dust, give it to her."
The crow gave a caw in response, then with a beat of its wings, it flew closer and landed in front of her. Something gleamed in its beak. Aisling hesitated a moment before holding out her hand, and Dust dropped the object into her open palm before completely losing interest in her and beginning to peck at the worms she had brought to the surface while turning the soil.
"What the..."
The ring.
"Before you assume I did anything to your little specter..." Death continued, still absorbed in what he was doing. "She's fine. She's at the castle. We simply had... a little conversation."
"Which involved three or four death threats?"
"I stopped at two."
"Impressive," she said, not even bothering to hide her sarcasm. "Why did you want the ring?"
"You haven't earned the right to ask new questions..."
At last, she turned her gaze toward him and saw what he was doing. A chessboard.
The pieces, finely carved from white and violet crystals with a dreamlike shimmer, stood in perfect order, waiting for the first moves of an interrupted game. Aisling rose slowly, approaching the wall as Death placed the last pieces with an almost ceremonial precision.
"You made this..." she breathed.
"We hadn't finished our game..."
Aisling stared at the shimmering board for a moment, fascinated by the delicacy of the work. Then she lifted her eyes to Death. His profile remained impassive, sculpted by shadow and light. She didn't quite know what to say, but strangely, her foul mood had faded.
Without another word, Death stood up, as if sensing her gaze on him, and approached the ruins of the house.
"This wall wasn't built properly. Better to tear it down and rebuild it. Otherwise, it will collapse again."
"Oh, and now you know how to build houses too?"
"I used to know how to build many things," Death said with a slight shrug.
"There were craftsmen among the Nephilims?"
"Mostly weapons..."
He brushed one of the stones of the wall with his fingers, as if testing its strength, then pulled it loose with a sure motion and placed it carefully on the ground.
"I'll handle this. Play."
Aisling opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it when she saw him, to her great surprise, actually start clearing the unstable stones. He worked methodically, lifting each stone without apparent effort, as if they were mere fragments of glass in his hands.
She glanced at Dust, still perched nearby, as if expecting the bird to provide some explanation. But the crow merely preened its feathers, indifferent. Resigned, she approached the chessboard and opened the game, moving her first pawn across the crystal-carved board.
Then, after playing her move, she stood up and went to join him, imitating his gestures to clear the poorly placed stones. They exchanged places in this way with each turn, working in silence, alternating between the stones and the chess pieces.
The calm of the moment was interrupted when Aisling, deciding to break their strange, unspoken agreement, finally captured one of his pieces.
"I took your pawn."
"Which one?"
"The one near the bishop..."
"Hm... Ask your question."
She drew a short breath, hesitating for a moment.
"Why were you so interested in the ring?"
"Because I have never seen a metal quite like it before. A unique, strange alloy. It seems to be endemic to this world. In the hands of the right blacksmith, it could become a valuable asset... And also because of the flower. With Earth destroyed, for someone to know its form well enough to carve it seemed... unlikely. It appears they grow here too."
"And in Hell, is that it?"
"More precisely, on the banks of the Styx, the river that carries the souls of the dead."
Aisling leaned against a stone, studying him for a moment, struggling to keep her bitterness contained.
"Oh... well, I'll have something pretty to look at, then."
Death slowly set the stone he was holding back down and fixed her with a cold stare. She immediately noticed the tension in his body—imperceptible, yet undeniably there.
"Should I stop here, or should I keep working to repair this house?"
She blinked, surprised by his reaction. Something had shifted, a tiny fracture in the impassivity he usually displayed. But what?
"Let's keep going."
"Good... my turn."
He stood up and went to play, moving a piece forward without capturing any. Aisling frowned slightly, convinced he could have captured at least two, maybe even three of her pawns.
"What's the point if you just let me win?"
"Was that your question?" he arched an eyebrow, vaguely amused.
"No, no, no... Ahem. You said many things had been sacrificed for us... Were you speaking about your life and the lives of the three others, or... something else?"
Death did not answer immediately. He took a long breath, loosened the folds of his tunic, and pulled it aside to reveal the top of his chest. Aisling squinted, noticing a strange scar, as if his skin had been shattered by shards of glass and clumsily pieced back together.
"You wear your roots. I carried mine..."
He saw that his answer was not enough. A deeper sigh escaped his lips.
"I saw the books in the old library the ancient Watcher showed you. You know about the Nephilim."
Aisling did not quite know how to react, searching for her words carefully.
"I... I know that... you exterminated them. But... I don't know why."
"Because they wanted Eden," the Horseman's gaze darkened. "But it was not meant for us. Long before Earth, the Garden was destined for you. Our very existence threatened the Balance. So... yes, we exterminated their bodies."
"Their bodies?"
A heavy silence settled between them. Death turned slightly away, his gaze getting lost on the horizon. For a moment, Aisling thought he would not answer.
"I preserved their souls. I... couldn't destroy them."
His voice was lower now, almost imperceptible.
"I thought maybe there was a way to save them... I sealed them within an amulet, I hid it, I hoped to find someday... something..."
Aisling felt a strange pressure in her chest.
"Hope...? I can understand that..."
Silence. Then he lifted his head again, his face closed off.
"But... I was wrong."
"What? Why?"
"Our nature is too violent, too hungry for power, for conflict. We are made for destruction. And that led to Corruption. It seeped everywhere, for centuries, wreaking havoc among all peoples..."
"I don't understand," Aisling set down the stone she was holding, her gaze fixed on Death, her brows slightly furrowed. "You speak of it as if it were something tangible."
"It was," his voice sounded grave, almost distant, as if he were sinking back into memories he would have preferred to leave buried. "A force of malevolence and destruction, a taint that clung to those it touched, gnawing at them from within until it drove them to commit atrocities, before inevitably plunging them into madness. Hatred incarnate. Outer Darkness."
He paused, brushing a hand distractedly over the standing stone wall. He slightly clenched his fingers, and his tone grew even graver.
"But in truth, the Corruption was born from the trail of destruction left behind by the Nephilim during their blind conquest. It had no will of its own at first, merely an echo of the horrors we had committed. But it eventually awakened, fed by the hatred and agony of Absalom... after I killed him the first time."
His gaze darkened, and Aisling felt an invisible weight settle between them.
"His taint has pursued you since the dawn of humanity, and over the centuries, it even contaminated the Heavens and the Hells. He became the Champion of Corruption, but through my past actions, I was its source."
Death stopped there, his fingers sliding slowly over the rough stone. His gaze remained lost in the gaping hole they had cleared, as if he were seeing something beyond it.
A chilling silence fell.
Never would Aisling have imagined seeing Death like this, nor glimpsing what lay behind his mask of coldness and sarcasm.
Part of her whispered not to press further, but another part was too thirsty for truth.
"How... how did it end?"
"Hmmm..."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then resumed in a deeper, rougher voice.
"The Corruption... Absalom, resurrected in his most monstrous form... reached the Well of Souls. I defeated him there for the second time."
"The Well serves as a receptacle for the souls of the dead, doesn't it?" she asked, lifting her eyes to Death, seeking confirmation. "Once sent to the Well, a soul remains there until it crosses the City of the Dead, where it is purified and prepared for rebirth. After this purification, it returns to the Well and waits for its time to be reincarnated..."
"In theory, yes..." Death nodded slowly. "But a dark power was draining the Well's energy. It wasn't enough to simply restore its balance... To replant the seeds of humanity, to repair what had been broken, someone had to physically enter the Well and offer a sacrifice of billions of souls to mend it..."
Aisling felt a shiver run down her spine.
"A sacrifice..."
Her gaze slid almost instinctively toward the scar on his chest. The arrangement of the marks on his skin, resembling shards embedded in his flesh, took on a whole new meaning.
"The souls of the Nephilim..." she realized, stunned. "That's how you died."
Death did not respond. He simply lifted his eyes to the sky, staring at the clouds with an absent look. Then, without a word, he turned away and walked back to the chessboard. He moved a piece calmly, as if their conversation were not about an event that had cost the lives of an entire people... and his own.
Aisling felt her heart tighten. She wanted to ask more questions, but he continued before she could open her mouth.
"It wasn't enough, though..." he leaned lightly against the wall. "On Earth, War uncovered a plot. The Destroyer, the Champion of Hell, had imprisoned Azrael, the Angel of Death, to force him to divert the Well's energy to feed his army. As long as Azrael was chained, souls could no longer follow their natural cycle. Once Azrael was freed and the Destroyer defeated, human souls were able to begin reincarnating again."
He nudged a stone he had pushed aside from the wall with the tip of his boot, making it roll into the grass.
"Until now," she whispered. "So many souls have been lost... Not just ours..."
She looked up at the Horseman, who was watching her with something strange in his eyes, something she had never seen there before.
Surprised, Aisling looked away, her gaze drifting, almost against her will, toward the dark roots snaking under her skin, slowly spreading along her arms like cracks in ancient glass.
She opened her mouth, hesitated, then finally dared to ask the question burning on her lips.
"Death?"
"Hm?"
"What does it feel like... to die?"
He stared at her for a long moment, a beat of silence stretching between them, then he exhaled softly through his nose before raising an eyebrow in slight amusement.
"That's a lot of questions for just one pawn, isn't it?"
Aisling let out a small laugh, sincere and unexpected.
"Yeah, maybe it is..."
She returned to the game, moved one of her pieces forward, then stepped back to let him play.
Death did not waste time thinking and swiftly captured her bishop, his move precise and methodical, as if he had foreseen this moment from the beginning.
"Why are you hiding here?" he asked without lifting his eyes from the board.
Aisling paused for a moment, her fingers hovering over a piece.
"I... can't stand their looks anymore," she wet her lips, searching for her words. "Everyone either stares at me with fear or admiration, and... if I'm going to feel alone, I'd rather it be because I truly am, instead of being drowned in a crowd that looks at me as if I were a stranger."
"Do you want me to leave you?"
"No."
"Hm."
She raised an eyebrow.
"That's it?"
"Yes... your move."
Aisling wrinkled her nose slightly, then turned her attention back to the chessboard.
"If you're just satisfied with hearing me ask questions, I can do that without playing chess."
She saw him sketch a faint smile, almost imperceptible, but definitely there.
"Wouldn't it be less interesting that way?"
Another smile escaped her, despite herself. She moved her piece and, this time, captured one of his pawns.
"Why was humanity set apart from the rest of the universe? Why leave us in ignorance? Things could have been different."
"Because you are weaker than most other races. Physically, mentally... It is your nature."
He said it as if stating a simple fact, like saying that water was wet or fire burned. There was no disdain or condescension in his voice, just a plain observation.
Still, Aisling felt a wave of irritation rise within her. She stared at him, mouth slightly open, stunned by the blunt simplicity of his response.
Then an ironic smile slowly curved her lips. She shook her head, suddenly exasperated at seeing such a rare moment of mutual understanding so stupidly wasted.
"It's incredible to hear that... We are weak? I had to teach Uriel and War the concept of amusement, I saw angels and demons bickering like spoiled children. Angels can't even love freely, they must follow a Codex for that too. Demons are persecuted as bloodthirsty monsters, and yet one of them helped found this place. The Nephilim were never truly free either... and we are the weak ones?!"
She locked her gaze onto his, a fire burning in her eyes.
"A human can be freer in a single lifetime, however brief, than you have ever been across centuries of existence. That is not weakness."
Death listened without flinching, unmoving, his expression unreadable. Then he tilted his head slightly and said in that same calm voice:
"If that's true, then I have destroyed my people twice... for nothing."
The sentence fell between them like a blade, slicing clean through any possible reply.
He had not spoken with bitterness or regret, only with that same implacable neutrality that defined him.
Aisling felt something tighten inside her. She looked away, fixing her eyes on the grass beneath her feet.
A silence settled, and she thought the conversation was over. But after a few seconds, he spoke again, more softly this time.
"That said..."
Aisling turned her head slightly toward him.
He was watching her again, intensely, as if trying to uncover a secret hidden in her gaze.
"I suppose... maybe she was right about that," he murmured, his tone thoughtful.
He didn't continue immediately. He studied her a moment longer, then a faint smile brushed his lips as he whispered:
"To believe in a beautiful lie..."
Aisling frowned slightly, puzzled. What was he talking about? What was he trying to say?
But before she could ask, a bell rang out from the city, signaling the start of the communal meal.
She looked up at the sky, only now realizing the day had already slipped away.
"You'd better go," he said without looking at her. "You're leaving for Earth tomorrow. Samael gave you a lead; Strife and Idris are going to follow it. Go with them."
"You're not coming with us?"
"No. I need to travel to another realm, if it still exists. We're going to need reinforcements, and I have questions that need answering. But first..."
He gently took her hand and, with the tip of his finger, once again traced a sigil onto her skin.
"Don't let anyone remove it this time. I'll join you later."
Aisling hesitated, then finally rose and made her way down the hill, casting one last glance over her shoulder.
Death remained seated there, lost in the thoughtful contemplation of a chess piece, glinting softly between his fingers.
