Archive of Our Own

   The Golden Grim strode down the tall hallway, his footsteps determined and apace yet soft, so soft they were nigh inaudible to the naked ear and certainly not strong enough to echo across the corridor’s vast expanse. The air seemed to stiffen with his presence, and what little colour there was around him faded as he passed, like existence itself died a little more wherever he passed.

   Once upon a time, they called him sickly. They called him cursed. They called him a disturbing plague on the state of the universe. The Grim never fought their claims; were they so wrong? Even now, in the wake of a calamity, the ones whose names were celebrated as heroes looked down at him with apprehension and fear.

   They were heroes. That made them Good. And Good hated him. It always had, and always would.

   The golden metal of his claw clenched into a fist. It was foolish of him to get distracted. Melancholy had followed in his footsteps since before he had feet to step with - he should be used to it by now. He was supposed to be used to it by now. Darkness and despair was in his blood, it should not seep into his thoughts in any way beyond mere recognition.

   Not for the first time, he let a familiar voice rasp into his ear;

    “Let go, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ . You are above pain, and sadness - you are its master. Embrace those emotions, wield them; do not let them consume you, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ . Only the weak allow their impulses to control them. You aren’t weak, are you, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ ?”

   He hissed to himself. He did not miss Him (Master of the Castle, Emperor, Uncle) any more than he missed Darius, Eberwolf, that insolent mortal, or any of the others who abandoned him. And yet it wasn’t Darius’ sarcastic quips that whispered to him, haunted him, pursued him in his dreams and ensnared him with its words. It wasn’t Eberwolf’s mischievous teases that brought the centuries of agony crashing back, burning and blistering his skin as though he was being vivisected once again.

   The voice was right. He was above pain and sadness. The terror, the fear , it was unbefitting of him, of His perfect creation.

   Reinvigorated, yet his stomach twisting, he pressed on. Besides, presuming Darius’ letter wasn’t some nasty trick from the Upper Gods to their lowest kin, he had to make a first impression that didn’t leave the new Life recoiling in complete disgust - hatred, while a given in cooperation, was best left minimised.

   His mind settling, the silence of the castle was brought into light. Every muffled tap of his leather boots against the flawless green carpet that lay on every floor was the loudest thing in the world, his ears fixating on the sound every single time it struck out. It was, to use an aesthetically fitting word, deathly.

   At least, until he crossed the threshold into Life’s quarters. Two and a half centuries ago the small hallway would be cluttered beyond anything acceptable outside its doors, but with Terra evicted and the castle deserted there was nothing but the seven rooms Life needed to do their designated job. The Grim knew each of them well: a chamber for their crystal ball, a portal to the mortal realm, a room for Life and a room for their followers - these were all things every god living in the castle had, besides the Grim. Then, the three more god-specific rooms: an all-terrain exhibit for new, experimental species of land and air life, another exhibit for the aquatic, and a greenhouse to tend to plants.

   Only the door to the last of those was open. That was unusual enough, but from it came the gentle tune of someone… humming? He wasn’t completely sure; the sound was mostly foreign to him. Cautiously, his hand ready to pluck his scythe from thin air, the Grim crept towards the greenhouse and pushed the door further ajar, scanning for the source of the sound from the entryway.

   It didn’t take long. Only a few metres away, kneeling next to a patch of dirt and digging it up with a small spade, sat a girl younger than the Grim. She looked… content, based on the placid smile on her face and the happiness in her eyes, something the Grim hadn’t expected from a god with dirt and grime strewn across her lap and hands.

   The Grim could never imagine Terra being so dirty. Or anyone, for that matter.

   The Grim almost took a step forwards, but hesitated. The room gave off such a brilliant, vibrant aura of love and freedom and life , of which the girl was nothing less than a beacon of, and the Grim was reluctant to taint it with his own miserable self. Even from such a distance, some of the plants drooped and wilted, their life-force degrading slowly but surely for every second he remained.

   Nevertheless, it was only a minute or so before the girl took a short breather, and no doubt in that lapse of focus her brain detected the darkness edging her vibrance for she jumped, eyes widening and head whipping around to meet him. This would, usually, be a good time for him to introduce himself, or apologise for staring… but.

   His throat tightened as the most beautiful shade of emerald crossed into his vision, the glasses between them doing nothing to hurt the utter, indescribable magnificence that had just entered his brain and would stick there forever. The Grim had met the God of Colour - he did not compare to this girl. He, he had been glorious, yes, splendid and dazzling and enamoring nearly all he met… but this girl, the Grim knew nothing of her character but she was the definition of beauty, in that she defined the very word itself. Beauty was not an adjective for her, she was beauty. There was simply no other way to describe it.

   Not, of course, that it mattered. The Grim was incapable of feeling lust. His brain was simply realising a fact - she was beautiful. Nothing more.

   “O-Oh!” she squeaked after a moment of staring, even her voice melodious, “You must be…”

   She didn’t finish her sentence, hastily getting to her feet and brushing herself down most improperly.

   “Urgh, I’m sorry, I would’ve worn something nicer if I realised you were home-!” her voice raised in pitch, twisting her head around to check as much of her green overcoat for muck as she could see, “I figured, ‘maybe he’s busy’ and put on some casual clothes to start gardening but now you’re here I realise that was probably dumb of me-”

   “No, uh, no,” the Grim interrupted her rambling awkwardly, “It’s… fine. I don’t mind.”

   “Oh,” the girl blinked, calming down substantially but still tense, “Okay, then.”

   A beat of embarrassed silence. This was undoubtedly the most improper first meeting the Grim had encountered, ever; a part of his mind wondered if it was the same for her.

   “Well… um, hi,” the girl waved shyly, “I’m Willow, Willow Park. The new God of Life!” she added with unexpected vigour and enthusiasm, as if she was a young child laying claim to a section of the playground. Her confidence apparently returned, she smiled and continued, “You’re the God of Death, right? What’s your name?”

   “...I’m the Golden Grim,” he answered, uncertainly. What did she want him to say? There was what He called him, but everyone else knew him as the Golden Grim. She had no reason to want that name, but she obviously knew he was the Golden Grim, so… he didn’t really understand the question.

   “Is that your name?” she tilted her head, smile wavering, “I thought that was just your title, like how Eda is the Owl Lady. Do you… is there anything else people call you?”

   He froze at the mention of his old enemy, but with how still he’d held himself insofar he hoped she hadn’t seen it.

   “I… some call me the Grim Reaper?” he tried, “The Golden Guard? The Grimwalker? San La Muerte ? Jeoseungsaja ? Thanatos, Smrt , Mot, Azrael, Troke- uh. I apologise, I’m not… being especially helpful.”

   “Oh, no, that’s okay!” she rushed in quickly, “Then, can I just call you Grim? ‘The Golden Grim’ is a bit of a mouthful.”

   After only a pause of deliberation, he nodded, stiffly.

   “Okay,” she slowed, “Cool.”

   Another pause, this one was longer. The Grim didn’t like how many of these there were; bitter as they may have been, at least his conversations with Kikimora or Lilith weren’t so awkward . And, rude as the thought was, he imagined she was using the breaks in dialogue to figure him out. Automatically, he shied away from her, and she seemed to take the movement as a form of impatience.

   “So! The almighty Emperor’s Castle, huh?” she began again, with false cheer, “Or, at least it was , until the GATOs overthrew him. That makes you the new Master of the Castle, huh?”

   A second nod.

   “Emperor Grim of the Underworld,” she phrased it to herself, wandering closer to him steadily, “That’s a pretty impressive title. King would be jealous.”

   “...Lord Grim,” he corrected, softly, deciding to leave the matter of who ‘King’ was for later.

   “What did you say?” she asked, without the anger or frustration that those words were usually partnered with.

   The Grim gulped, bracing himself, should she reprimand him for the correction. “It would be ‘Lord Grim’, not, uh, that. B- Un- The last Master of the House was only Emperor because he was representing the God-King. And, uh. I’m not. So. Lord Grim.”

   “Still impressive if you ask me,” she shrugged, “I’m just Dem- uh, just Willow. I suppose ‘Willow of Life’, specifically, but that just makes you even cooler, huh? Lord Grim of Death. Wow. Super tropey if it was in a movie, but badass in real life, don’t you think?”

   “I-I suppose,” he answered immediately, flustered. Was that the right thing to say? Agreeing with his superiors was always easier than fighting them, but she wasn’t his superior, nor his underling. Was she testing him, his morals? He didn’t know if her pleasantries were a formality or genuine, and it made identifying what was and wasn’t acceptable really complicated.

   “Well, Mr. Lord Grim of Death,” she sounded the same, if anything happier than before, so his answer had probably been correct?, “Since I’m going to be here for a while, why don’t you show me around? The map said this place was huge , no wonder we missed each other! It’s a good thing you thought to check up here.”

   Despite the repetitiveness, the Grim just nodded. He wasn’t used to such a casual, friendly conversation, and didn’t have the will to tell her that A) he hadn’t been looking for her, and B) the Grim could see other people on the map, thereby negating any form of ‘search’. Besides, based on their current interactions, she seemed happy to be the one doing most of the talking.

   “So… tour?” she asked again. Once more, he nodded.

   “Cool!” she beamed at him, heading directly for him. The Grim stepped away from the doorway to let her through, but properly flinched when she got right into his space with a bright smile. Unfortunately, she saw, and the way her face fell made him feel a different kind of sadness.

   “I’m sorry,” she murmured, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

   “No, it’s just…” he attempted, and it was only when she looked back up at him with hopeful eyes that he found the voice to continue, “I… am the God of Death.”

   “I know?” she frowned in confusion. (Not angry at him, not angry at him, not angry at him.)

   “...My body is death,” he clarified, as confused as she was. What about this didn’t she understand? He doubted Darius hadn’t thoroughly explained the role of Life to her before she accepted it; surely she knew what she was getting into.

   “...And?”

   “If-If you touch me, even some areas of my clothing, you die,” he explained uncertainly, dread creeping into his veins. If she didn’t know what he could do to her by accident, what he had done before, what a monster he was-!

   “Oh, is this- oh. ” Realisation appeared on her face, but it wasn’t the kind he was expecting. Normally, they reacted with fear, and tended to take at least one step back. But Willow, the only things he could see in her eyes were sorrow, and sympathy, which… was different. Why wasn’t she frightened? Of death? Gods were supposed to be immortal, so the idea that something could actually end them typically scared them infinitely more than it did to mortals, who were taught from day one that it was an inevitability.

   For mortals, death was something they typically expected, unwelcome as it could be. For gods, death was a chance, a rare possibility, that they reduced by throwing one of their own into the deepest pits of the Underworld, as far away from them as possible. It sounded cruel, but with the chaos some of the Grim’s predecessors had caused just by existing outside the Underworld, it was justified.

    Especially in the Grim’s case.

   “The same goes for my eyes,” he continued steadily, “If anyone sees their colour…”

   “And that’s why you wear this,” she breathed, gesturing to the round, simple, golden mask that covered the entirety of his face, “But… how do you know? Darius made me study up on the previous Death Gods; none of them had this kind of ability. Have you e-ever, um, touched anyone?”

   He winced, and turned away. It wasn’t a secret, and she deserved to know for her own safety - but it still hurt to tell.

   “...Yeah. My parents, when I was born. As well as five other people that looked at my eyes, I don’t know who they were. T-The Emperor, my uncle, he saw what happened and was wearing special gloves at the time, so he picked me up, gave me a mask and raised me to replace my father, who I got most of my powers from. Later, he told me that because my mother was the God of Life, my body grew my bile sac wrong and I lost control of some of my death magic, which is why it… happens.”

   He didn’t say anything more, didn’t elaborate on the long, painful in-between from birth to present. That was something he doubted even Kikimora knew, and he had only known Willow for a few minutes - he was not so attracted to her that he would lay down the secrets that held him up, not now and preferably not ever.

   He started. Attracted? Where in the Titan’s name had that word come from?

   He chanced a glance her way when she said nothing, the suspense of awaiting his answer finally growing too strong to resist. She was watching him with a mix of mournful sympathy and potent fury that he saw for only a second before the latter faded, or more likely hid itself. He grimaced and leaned somewhat away, expecting a reprimand or an insult, but her following words were tender, not at all the sharp tone he had grown accustomed to.

   Was she… restraining herself? Hiding her anger at him? He wasn’t so sure he liked this revelation.

   “I can only imagine how awful that must be,” she spoke quietly, so convincing he almost forgot her rage, “I know it doesn’t mean much, but… I’m sorry. And… the Emperor, he couldn’t rewind and try to warn them?”

   “No,” he told her dispiritedly, “He tried, many times, but… my parents always fell in love. They always had me. And I always killed them. Often others. I… I slaughtered a whole town, once.” He flinched as she gasped. “This… was one of the better timelines he found.”

   “Not the best?”

   He grimaced beneath the mask. “No, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ . By your definition, the ‘best’ timeline is one where you were terminated before you could harm anyone else. Although if you insist, I could go back and do precisely that, save the lives of those you murdered. A baby’s life for five noble ones; a rather persuading offer, you of all people should know that. Keep that in mind, the next time you question my wishes.”

   “...No. Not the best,” he repeated instead, then straightened his slightly-hunched back and switched topics before she could prod him any further, “You requested a tour, and as we are going to be coworkers for an extended duration, I am inclined to grant it. You found your quarters already; next is the main hall, which connects to the majority of relevant rooms, then I’ll lead you to every room you may need to use, and we’ll resolve by heading to my quarters, so that you may locate me if I am needed. You may notice I have marked certain doors with Xs; while you are permitted to go inside if you wish, I would heavily advise against it. Follow me.”

   Briskly, he took off, eyes forwards and focused on the path rather than the stunning girl he was leaving behind- leaving behind? Despite his command, the yet-blinding sensation of warmth and prosperity that followed Life wherever she stepped stayed where it was, and the hairs on the back of his neck reckoned she was probably watching him leave.

   He mentally pushed it aside. They were equals, she wasn’t obligated to do as he said, and he’d no doubt discomforted her with his abrupt change of mood. It was no surprise she’d stay away from him, especially not with how wide and frigid his aura had grown. Or, had he upset her, by making her feel like she’d made him angry? Silently cursing, he got a reign on his magic and pulled it in, trying to keep his dreary, frozen eminence in check. After a few moments, he realised with a start that Willow’s aura, that was big and beautiful and brought only joy to those in it, had begun moving in his direction. He tried not to react when she sidled up next to him, not as close as before but far more than anyone he was used to.

   He tried, and failed, to ignore the pleasing sensation of their auras mingling, the cold and the warm fusing to make something sweetly temperate.

   “Um…” she hesitated, “How do you… do that?”

   He relaxed the tension he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

   “Do what?”

   “The aura thing,” she elaborated, “I’ve never seen someone retract theirs manually before.”

   “Most auras are nice to be around,” he pointed out, but from the way her face tightened that was the wrong response.

   “I mean,” he continued hurriedly, “In general, people don’t really like feeling sad, or cold, and darkness is usually linked to negativity, so… not great. I taught myself how to shrink it, and that seemed to make people less grumpy with me.”

   “...I like it,” she hummed, mostly to herself, and the Grim almost snorted at the incredulity, because it was rare to encounter a lie so obvious in his line of work. As if sensing his disbelief, she added, “Well, I’m used to the climate of the Titan, and my aura’s warm by default, so the heat of the Underworld is kind of uncomfortable. Life’s room has cooling, but it’s a bit too artificial for my tastes. I like nature’s cold, and your aura reminds me a lot of that, so it’s nice.”

   He stared at her, eyes wide, not that she could see them.

   “What… about the sadness?” he asked, cautiously, not wanting to fall for any kind of trick, “The despair, the anguish, of a dying soul? You said you studied Death Gods, you should know my aura’s makeup; you don’t… feel any of that?”

   Willow shrugged, as if she wasn’t doing a universe-first.

   “A bit. But how could someone be unhappy when someone as nice as you is around?”

   The Grim was caught mid-step, and almost tripped over, but managed to catch himself. Willow kept moving, and now it was his turn to watch her depart, mouth hanging open. That was a compliment, and not a sarcastic, condescending, or otherwise backhanded one. Just… an honest-to-titan compliment , that or a very, very good lie, and the Grim excelled in identifying misinformation.

   It didn’t make sense. Why was she… happy…around him? Nobody was ever happy in the presence of Death. Mortals ranged from frantic panic to content acceptance, with a few exceptions from those who came to him intentionally, but even they were just excited to be rid of what they left behind. And gods were fearful, or hating, or dubious, any number of emotions that all ultimately amounted to wishing him away as quickly as possible. Only He had really wanted him around, but that was for what he could provide, not who he was. The closest he’d ever gotten to a companionship with was Eberwolf, and considering he hadn’t spoken to the God of Beasts since the Day of Unity, he imagined that didn’t count.

   But here was someone who did. Why was this girl he barely knew being nicer to him than the man he’d worked under for centuries?

   Willow slowed, then stopped, and turned her head back. Her smile had returned, and she had a cheeky, excited glint in her eye that told him he’d reacted the way she’d hoped. He crossed his arms to cover the feeling of vulnerable exposure in his chest, and she giggled, a euphonious sound he automatically doubted he’d caused - but there was no-one else here to cause it.

   “I doubt being happy around me is hard, coming from a girl with virtue springing from her every step. But for those who don’t look, speak, and shine like angels, I imagine it’s quite a bit more difficult.”

   Her emerald (beautiful) eyes shone, and as hints of pink crept across her cheeks her grin faltered, briefly, before stretching wider than before.

   “Well well, I wouldn’t expect Lord Grim of Death to be such a flirt.”

   “Nonsense,” he scoffed, forcing the blush out of his voice because he wasn’t flirting; he wasn’t! Death had no time for romance, and who would have someone they couldn’t touch anyway?, “I, ah, don’t have a good comeback, but repartee isn’t Lord Grim of Death’s strong suit.”

   She laughed, and smiled at him no less genuinely yet with a lot more affection. She bowed overdramatically, and gestured onwards, head down, saying with a comically posh accent,

   “Very well, we may desist, if it so pleases His Lordship. Might he be willing to lead the way?”

   The Grim sniffed in amusement and mimicked, “He be willing.”

   In a much better frame of mind this time around, he took off, the positivity-buzzing, bubbly God of Life trailing by his side.

---

   In the few days Willow had been at the castle, a lot had changed for the better. And by ‘a lot’, he meant most everything.

   Despite the castle’s massive size intended for thousands of inhabitants, Willow managed to make the Grim’s priorly-solitary existence much… fuller . Gone were the weeks of absolute quiets, where the only sounds were His whispers from years long past - she sought him out every morning, an impressive feat when he rarely stayed in one spot for long. Be it surveying the Underworld from the castle walls to doing paperwork in his room to simply patrolling for loose phantoms, she always caught him sooner or later. Initially, she asked him to move his sleeping quarters closer to hers to ‘make you easier to find’, however when that failed - both of their rooms were personalised for them, and it was a lot of effort to relocate - she instead began teasing him for inhabiting the top of a spire, comparing him to a ‘Disney Princess’. That soon backfired when, upon her detailing the perks of that role, he pointed out that being a ‘Disney Princess’ seemed quite practical and useful, even in the cases where they weren’t armed with song magic.

   Except the animal sidekick part. That just reopened old wounds.

   He soon pinned this demand for attention down to a mix of power and determination. When she wanted something done, she had the tenacity to seek it and the raw strength to get it, but instead of wielding her mostly plant-oriented magic for malice or greed, like Terra before her, she used it for nobility and heroics, or at the very least non-harmful personal gain. It took very little time for the Grim to see why Darius had chosen her for the role; she was fast, insanely powerful, kind, and wise beyond her age. Despite being nearly a century younger than the Grim, she was as mature and intelligent as he.

   For the first little while, he had intended to help her settle in, but she learned so quickly he ended up being entirely useless. However, she actively sought him out rather than use her magic to summon him, so she obviously still desired his aura to cool down. Unfortunately, she spent a lot of her recreation tending to plants without magic - and the Grim’s aura killed plants, no matter how hard he repressed it. She insisted it was fine, that if she was a good enough gardener her plants would be able to withstand the magic, but that didn’t stop the Grim from never once setting foot in her prized greenhouse. It didn’t take her long to recognise his stubbornness on that front.

   He wasn’t entirely sure whether he adored or disliked her perceptiveness. It only took one or two conversations for her to identify which things he was receptive to, and which things he wasn’t: banter and jokes, absolutely; personal talk and discussing his past, not so much. He didn’t know whether he was obvious or she was ingenious, but due to his own defectiveness in that regard he always felt like he was… losing, around her. She figured him out so, so quickly, and he still wasn’t sure if it was distressing or awe-inspiring. She’d yet to hint at any kind of ulterior motive, at least - although. Perhaps it was just the gods he’d grown up with, but there was always a sense of something else , like there was an aspect to her he just didn’t know. That hidden rage from earlier was just the tip of the iceberg; every now and again, she’d have an emotion to hide, or know a strange fact about him, and she already seemed to have a rather good grasp of his mannerisms. The last of those, and maybe the one before, could be on Darius’ part, but if so, why would she never tell him? From the way she spoke, she knew Darius only distantly, an ally she trusted but wasn’t closely bound to by any means. He’d offered her the role - why, the Grim wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like Darius to make such propositions to strangers - and assisted her with getting to know the post, but there was no reason for him to tell her about the Grim’s weapons of choice. The scythe was famous; scarcely anyone knew of his sickles, his sword, or his revolver. And yet Willow did. Naturally, too, bringing it up in casual conversation as opposed to ‘I remember learning that’.

   By the end of the first week, his final verdict was that her compassion and friendliness were honest, and that she did want to not just cooperate but get along with him, however she also had her secrets, and until he knew more about who she was he wasn’t going to let her in on anything major.

   On the dawn of her eighth day, he switched from dull paperwork to the thought-provoking task of cleaning up the Gateway in preparation for the massive horde of new phantoms that he’d have to sieve through after a week of absence. It wasn’t normally the Grim’s job, but with the Underground abandoned since the Day of Unity he’d taken over the role, just as he’d taken over every other post His vanquishing had opened up. It was hard, all right, and two-point-five centuries of nonstop juggling was exhausting - especially after the mortal’s rampage, which still needed cleaning up - but it kept him busy, and tiredness was better than boredom.

   So, with only as much preparation as he needed, he departed the castle, skeletal steed carrying him out the open gates with his blackest mantle flapping behind him in the scorching air. He rode persistently and swiftly, slowing for nothing and only occasionally bringing out his scythe to swing at a particularly brave phantom, who always learned their place after a single, precisely-aimed slash. He went on for hours, the path familiar to him yet the terrain ever-changing - he travelled this road every thirty years, and things changed each time. The leafless trees grew taller or collapsed, the lava lakes seeped into places they didn’t belong, and the earth shifted with tremors and quakes.

   Save for an unfortunately-placed rockslide that interrupted the road, the trek was mostly uneventful, especially as he drew further to his destination. The mindless phantoms who had no wish other than to see where the path took them slowly dwindled until the most recent passed by him, and he was left alone with his mount. Still, it took another few hours before he finally pulled on the reins, halting his mount, and sliding off its back, already grimacing with the state of it.

   He wasted no time resting - half the day had disappeared already, and there was always something that needed doing. The solid gold pillars that flanked the doorway were both rusted and chipped, and as they were the most grandeur aspect he resolved to fix them first. The statue on the right was of him, arms crossed over his chest with his iconic scythe in his right hand, and although it was rather substantially degraded it needed no design updates. With just a few spells and a small time sink, it was pristine and shiny once more. The same, however, could not be said for the left statue, currently just a base with no figure atop it - better vacant than wearing Terra’s venomous smirk, at least.

   He held out a palm, and a ball of black flames emerged, clicking and crackling harmlessly.

   “Captain?” he asked, uncertain. Despite his fears, he quickly got a response;

   “Grim,” Willow gasped, “Where are you?! Are you alright? You- you just disappeared and I couldn’t find you anywhere, a-and there was no message, no note, so I thought maybe you got attacked or something, I know there are some nasty creatures that find their way here sometimes-”

   “Oh, did… you want me to notify you of my departure?”

   “Yes!” she practically yelled, and he winced. As if she’d seen, she took a deep breath, and continued, “Sorry for yelling, I just… nevermind. You’re alright? You’re okay?”

   That was the same question twice. “Yes. I left the castle to clean the Gateway; it was due doing, and there is an influx of souls I need to reap.”

    “There is? I didn’t see any kind of list - you just know that?”

   “Ah, no,” he explained, “But roughly a hundred thousand mortals die per day, and I typically clean up deceased animals that Beasts misses because they’re, ahem , not especially thorough. I temporarily neglected my Death duties in favour of maintaining the castle and aiding you get accustomed to the environment, so, presumably, there was a buildup.”

    “Oh,” she sounded an emotion similar to surprise but audibly distinct, more… tight?, “That’s… thank you. I, um, didn’t know you were taking time off for me. I appreciate it.”

   “Your tone suggests embarrassment,” he noted, “I didn’t mean to imply you couldn’t settle yourself. My apologies; I swear not to share it with any whose opinion of you may be tarnished.”

    “Ah. No. That’s, um. Alright,” weirdly, her voice had grown even tighter, “Soo… ‘Captain’, huh?”

   Oh, that was right. He’d called her that, not the ‘Life’ she was used to. “I remember you mentioning you were the captain of a flyer derby team. When we met, you observed that you had no title, as opposed to my ‘Lord’, so… I thought Captain Willow of Life would work? To restore balance? If it desecrates or displeases you, I can always-”

   “NO!” she cried sharply, and he jumped, the flames in his hand rearing for a moment with his surprise. There was one of their infamous pauses, as the Grim waited for the yelling and Willow recalibrated, but, as she always did, she spoke up again after a moment, “Um. Sorry. Y-Yeah, I, I like it. Thanks.”

   “It’s, uh, my pleasure, captain.”

   A beat.

    “Well… I know where you are, now, so, I guess that’s all you wanted to tell me? Unless you called for a different reason?”

   “Actually, yes,” he remembered, straightening his voice to get more professional, “The Gateway has depictions of Life and Death, and I was going to ask you to warp to me so I could build an acceptable likeness of you. Unless you’re busy?”

    “Uh, no, I’m not. Wait, so I can just… teleport to you? Whenever I want?”

   “You should,” he confirmed, “Life and Death are soulbound, like Time and Space, Love and Hate, the Core Gods, groups like those. I could warp to you if I wanted, though it’s improper to do so without permission or forewarning. I’m assuming you know how to warp?”

    “I’m not a baby, Grim,” she snickered.

   “Just checking,” he hummed back innocently, and she laughed.

    “So, just to clarify, I look into my navigator, and…”

   With a flash, Willow popped into appearance next to him, her hand holding a silvery flame of her own and looking rather startled. Immediately, he was blasted with a wave of utter goodness, and it took all his effort not to melt in relaxation. The Grim sniffed at her face, his fire dissipating, and she huffed.

   “ Some of us don’t expect warping to be so easy,” she grumbled, snuffing out her fire and frowning good-naturedly at him, “I wasn’t soulbound until a month ago, and this is the first time it’s actually come up. Don’t laugh at me.”

   “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he chuckled, and although she swatted at him, her grin betrayed her true feelings.

   “So, uh, this is the fabled Gateway,” Willow sucked in her lips in an attempt to appear indifferent, looking the worn, gold doorway up and down, “It’s very… old?”

   The Grim snorted, and Willow gave him a victorious smile, distaste of the Gateway forgotten in favour of open affection for him.

   “There’s a reason I clean it. It’s not a particularly preserving climate, after all,” he observed, gesturing to their surroundings, burnt and sooty and dry, a polar opposite to the land Willow was used to.

   “Yeesh, now that you mention it,” she grimaced, hunching and tugging at her white collar, “It is hot out here, and that’s with your aura. I can’t imagine how you feel, right now.”

   “Oh, my cloak’s enchanted with a cooling spell,” he absent-mindedly informed, then realised something he really should’ve recognised earlier and unclasped the fabric, shrugging it off. Willow looked at him in excited anticipation, then pouted when he offered it to her.

   “Seriously? You’re wearing armour and a hood underneath your cloak? Do you get any sunlight?”

   “Where are we, captain?” he asked, and she poked her tongue out at him.

   “Fine, stupid question. My point still stands. Do you ever show off skin?”

   “We… didn’t like to take risks,” he answered tentatively, “Do you want the cloak or not?”

   “Ooh, yes, please,” she seemed to comprehend the offering and accepted it, slinging it around her body as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and gasped heavily once she was fully covered.

   “Oh my titan , this is so comfy ,” she breathed, “Do you have any spares? This one feels so good ! And it has part of your aura in it, too!”

   “Uh- yes, I do,” he cleared his throat and turned away, grateful for the hood concealing his burning ears. Stiffly, he drew a spell circle, and caught the identical cloth that fell into his hands. When Willow went to take hers off, though, he held up a hand and donned the replica instead, murmuring, “Keep it. I, um. Have the aura part innately.”

   Glancing her way, she was smirking at him in a way that implied neither the mask nor the hood could hide his flush, and denied her attention until she stopped looking at him like… that .

   “...Okay!” she beamed brightly, “Thanks! So;” she skipped past him, “What’re we making? Is there any kind of specific pose I have to do, or is it freeform?”

   “There’s, uh, a way you’re supposed to stand, but you wouldn’t be the first to do your own thing. It’s up to you.”

   “Hrm,” she considered, inspecting the Grim’s posture, “What did you do?”

   “I wasn’t- uh. No. I-I mean, I just did what was expected of me. So. Yeah.”

   She gave him a strange look.

   “Why don’t you change it, then? Make a Grim original? Isn’t having no expectations to live up to the best part of living by yourself?”

   He gulped.

    “You are but a culmination of your predecessors, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ . My d̸̛̘̭̹͍͔͖͎͇̳̉̏́͒̍͌̇̈́̋͋͝r̶̢̨̞̦̞̫͓̬̆̑͆͜z̷̝̘̺͗̋̋̄̍͛̔̌̾̓̔̈x̶̡̛̟̌̂̐̇͛̿̾̉̃̓̀̐͆į̸̝̤͎͇̳̖͙͓̗̭̤͈̣̅̊̆̅͑̆̒̓͜͠a̸̪͛̓̒̐̏͋̂͒̽̋̌̀̚z̶͕̯̯̅͆͆̏̉̍̓͋̏̔͠͝ was a great man, foolish and ignorant to my warnings as he was. No matter how I pleaded, you were always birthed to kill him. Still, he was mighty despite his shortcomings. The least you can do to honour his name is respect his posture; make sure to copy it perfectly. Even the slightest inaccuracy smirches him, and you would not dare stain the memory of your own j̷̛̗͇̳̥̳̠̭̊̓̃͌̔̋̈́̎̈́̀̈̕ͅb̶̡̩̬͕̩̽̈́͊̒͑̅͌̕̕ṕ̶̨̧̨̲̻͔͕̘̯̔̇͜͜ṕ̴̼̲͊̽͌͑͗̓͐͗x̷̙̹̒̉̇͊͜ḵ̶̛̮̞̯͖͚̙͖̙̬̞̖̰̍̔̍̈́̐̈́̐̄̒̈͋̎̒̕ͅ , would you, Ņ̸͉͎̠͚̭̝̪͇̥̪̣̹́͋͌̋̒̊̈́̅̊̀͘͘̚͝ͅì̴̲̼̺̱̜̹̲͔̳̙̠̐̚͜ẙ̴̮̈́̑̄̍̄̇̂͊͘͝ẁ̶̼̈́̍͒̓͌̈́̂͗̆̚͠͠i̶̡̜͍̗̣͒́͑͒͂͋͋͛̚͠ẹ̸̢̧̠̞̘̗̪̯̪̮̘͎̤̱͂̂̾̒̑̎́͛͌̾̕̚ ?”

   The voice was right, rotten as the aftermath was. To do anything less than uphold his father’s name was disgraceful and Punishable.

   “...I, ah. Like it this way.”

   The strange look turned into concerned doubt, but she just nodded and went back to studying his statue wordlessly. If he breathed, he would’ve sighed in relief.

   “I think I’ll do my own thing,” she decided finally, “I don’t think I have any connections to the previous Lifes, and I want to be my own girl, you know? Unless you have any ideas?”

   The Grim almost spoke up, but as soon as he actually thought about it for a microsecond he shut up and shook his head.

   Just because she reminded him of what he’d heard of his mother didn’t mean she should emulate her. Also, the two of them mimicking the Grim’s parents gave his mind ideas he was too ashamed of to describe.

   “How about… this?” On that last word, she spun around and took a fighting stance, her hands out like claws. His cheeks tingled, but he ignored that and said,

   “It looks… good. But, perhaps it makes you look too aggressive? This will usually be their first impression of you, so it would probably be better to make something that fits your personality, or is stoic.”

   “Hm, good point,” she agreed, manoeuvring herself into more of a boxer’s stance, clenched fists and confident smile, “So, more like this, then?”

   His ears were tingling too. “This is a weird question to ask, but, uh, are you a fighter? I haven’t seen a weapon, or a staff, on you, and you’ve yet to demonstrate any combat knowledge.”

   “I could say the same,” she responded sassily, “Although I guess the scythe in your statue is kinda self-explanatory. And I’ll fight to protect the ones I love! I… just haven’t needed to in a while. But that doesn’t mean I’ll stop practising!”

   He smiled, faintly. Although he was willing to fight for her, this alternative was much more attrac- PRACTICAL.

   “Then I think it’s good,” he nodded, “Do you want me to construct the statue, or…?”

   “No, I’ve got this.” She pivoted, making a sweeping arm gesture, then paused. “Right, I, uh, left my palisman with my dads. Whoops!”

    ‘Why?’ he almost asked, but stopped himself with a twinge of sorrow. Even if their fate was left unclear to most, everyone knew what happened to palismen who found themselves in the Underworld. It was natural for her to assume the danger lay in the Underworld itself, and not with its ruler.

   It still stung.

   “Okay, let’s try this one more time.” She lifted her finger and made a circular motion. In moments, a large, gold replica of Willow’s previous stance built itself up on the now-repaired base, looking the same way as the Grim’s - onwards. She stepped back until she was beside the Grim and admired her handiwork.

   “I think it’s missing something,” she mused, which wasn’t the response he was expecting.

   “You do?”

   She averted her gaze to him. “You don’t?”

   “Uh,” he blanked, “No…? There isn’t anything lacking in comparison to what they have been historically.”

   “Then we’re doing something wrong,” she decided, and he frowned.

   “How?”

   “We’re our own people,” she stated as if it was the most basic thing in the world, “We’re individuals, and individuals have more personality than a posture anyone can mimic. Your mum, wasn’t she super feisty and energetic?”

   He nodded, then clarified, “I never met her, obviously, but that’s what I’ve been told.”

   “Then she probably made a pose sort of similar to this, yeah?” Willow resolved, gesturing to her own, “But I’m not her, so I want to be more of my own thing. Maybe if I…” She drew another circle, and some of her statue’s features changed - some pieces turned to wood, vines wrapped around her body, and flowers bloomed in various spots.

   “That’s better!” she clapped happily, then pursed her lips, “But now you look super bland compared to me - no offence.” She giggled, and the Grim was temporarily distracted.

   “Oh, ah, that’s not an issue,” he began, but she held up a finger to shush him.

   “This isn’t up for debate, mister. Equality, remember?” she cheeked with a grin, and he couldn’t help but smile slightly, “This statue doesn’t do you justice, and we’re going to fix it. What’s your magic - not Death’s magic, Grim’s magic. What’s your specialty?”

   He hesitated. Exposing his powers to her meant she’d have knowledge of what he could do, and could scheme to exploit his weakness and- no. Perhaps it was her voice, perhaps it was the way she was looking at him, perhaps it was a mix of everything they’d done together until this point, but in this moment, he just knew she wouldn’t trick him like that. She wasn’t conniving Kikimora or leering Lilith, she was Willow .

   “Um…” he racked his brains for his list of magicks, “Sorry, I, uh, don’t really use my other powers very often, so I forget.”

   “Take your time,” she smiled patiently.

   “...I know I have some weak life magic, from my mother,” he listed slowly, “But I don’t use it very often. I have agility powers, which I got from- uh. I have agility powers. I have most basic spells, and then there’s my Death abilities. Besides a grasp of glyph magic, there’s-”

   “You know glyph magic?” Willow interrupted, her tone portraying surprise, “I thought Luz was the only one who used glyphs; did she teach you?”

   “By ‘Luz’, you are referring to the mortal, right?” he asked instead of answering, “You have implied knowing her to some capacity a few times; is it fair to assume that is her name?”

   Willow tensed, for good reason. If she knew the mortal, then she knew about her Underworld adventure, and more importantly about the Grim’s battles with her. They were, for half a century, enemies, and had never met since to change that status. So Willow’s hesitance to talk about her wasn’t unfounded.

   “...Yes, it is,” she finally confirmed, tersely, “You, uh, don’t… mind… that I know her?”

   He straightened, and avoided her eyes.

   “The mortal was breaking free after being sent here by accident. I was doing my duty and preventing an escapee. We were obligated foes, and although generally unfriendly towards one-another, I do not consider her a personal enemy, no more than I consider the nameless gods who provided her with magic my opposition.”

   Willow flinched at that. Curious.

   “She is not my friend, but if she is yours, I have no objections. But to your prior question,” he turned back to her, “No, she did not teach me. Whereas she received glyphs from gods who believed in her cause, I searched for them myself. I found the very idea of something that made up magic fascinating, and sought it out, though I find the concepts more engaging than the execution. I don’t think it’s the best choice for my statue.”

   “No,” Willow shook her head, relief in her voice, “It’s not. How about ice? I think it’d look cool. You know the ice preservation spell, right?”

   “Yes, I do,” he nodded, “Admittedly it’s not very useful compared to the gold preservation spell I’ve yet to locate.”

   She giggled again. “Maybe if we ever find time away from the Underworld, we could ask Matt for some help. He owes me a few favours, anyway.”

   She bounced over to his statue, unaware of the state of shock she’d left him in. Time… away from the Underworld? As in a break? He’d never had a break before, unless periods of doing less rigorous work to rest counted. But… no work? As in, a duration in which he wasn’t completing tasks that needed doing? It felt unnatural, and all of His underlings would agree, with their one day off a mortal year. And yet… he didn’t think he’d mind visiting the Titan, taking the glares and the mutters and the repulsion, as long as she was with him.

   “So we’re totally doing something to that scythe,” Willow’s voice interrupted his thoughts, “Because it’s massive and super awesome. We could replace the blade with ice, or something- ooh! What if we made it glow!? I think that’d look great!”

   He frowned to himself. What was he thinking? It wasn’t a matter of choice; if he went to the Titan, there was an extremely high risk of him killing someone. That had always been the case, and always would be, for there was no surgery, no spell, that could fix him. He’d been cursed since birth, and even if he hadn’t, Death didn’t belong on the Titan. It was a place for Good.

   Ugh. He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for this.

   He pictured the change she was suggesting, gave his input, and the two got started.

---

   The door creaked open, slow and gentle, the hinges whining despite it. The woman didn’t even look up, rocking back and forth slightly on a comfortable, green chair older than she was. The Grim wasn’t even sure she’d heard him, in her mighty age - ninety-nine according to his file, which, if he wasn’t mistaken, was quite a feat for mortals of her generation.

   He waited for the door to open completely before setting foot on the deflated carpet, and tenderly clicked it shut behind him. Still, the woman did not react, not even when he carefully tread the small living room toward her. Only when he kneeled before her, hands sprayed open in peace, did her wrinkled head shudder up, leaning somewhat to get a better look at him.

   He paused for a second, pulling up the aforementioned file in his mind for a language she knew. She was mostly deaf, so he took a different approach.

   “Hello, m-a-d-a-m,” he signed in auslan, as respectfully as he could.

   After a pause where she continued to study him, grey eyes squinting, her dark-skinned hands began to move at a snail’s pace. Seeing how they shook and estimating her pain, he took her hands in his own and pushed them back to the arm rests with a shake of his head, ignoring the sensation of despair that came with the lack of a touch he felt.

   “You don’t have to speak,” he comforted her, then; “I a-m a friend. I a-m here to help you. I suppose you may call me ‘k-w-e-r-t-a-t-y-e’, u-n-l-e-s-s I a-m mistaken.” He paused, giving her time to process. “I a-m here for you now - you are guilty of living too long. It i-s time for your punishment.”

   Another, longer pause. He didn’t like calling it a ‘punishment’, but maintaining her beliefs as much as possible was his primary goal. Eventually, the woman’s head bobbed in a small nod, which the Grim mimicked.

   “Are you ready?” he asked, “Take all the time you need. There are many who don’t accept. O-t-h-e-r-s who fear. I will wait until you are ready.”

   The wait was silent and still, nothing like his usual reaps. Some victims joked, some smiled, some cried, some screamed - they all came with him eventually, willing or otherwise. But the woman, her body was decrepit and her mind was slow, making the whole transaction tranquil, in a sense. She was already to die, that was guaranteed the moment he stepped in the room; it was just a matter of watching, and waiting.

   He smiled when she nodded.

   “Alright,” he finished, and got up. The scythe felt too grandeur, the sickles too gruesome, so he held out his hand for the elegant, dark broadsword that appeared in a burst of mist and sparks. He held it high above his head, and didn’t hesitate in swinging it down, running her down cleanly. His sword cut neither her nor her chair, however, phasing through the matter like the ghost that it was, leaving a faintly pink trail as it cleaved through her form. The pink wisps dissipated as the last of her soul was transported to the Underworld, and he let his sword disappear as her body fell back into her seat, both life and soul evicted.

   He took a step back. She was as peaceful in death as she was in life; selfishly, he liked that. He much preferred it to the bloodied, mangled corpses he sometimes encountered. Here, it felt good; she had spent her time with Life, and now she was to go with Death. He was perpetuating a cycle, instead of imprisoning a soul that had died too early. But so was the mortal existence - life, with a chance of death around every corner. Without him, life would have no drive, no need to thrive or evolve; as meaningless as a speck of dust in space.

   “That was nice.” He jumped with an undignified yelp and spun around in shock. Willow giggled from her spot in the doorway and waved with a cheeky wink. Feeling his face flush, he cleared his throat, and greeted politely,

   “Ah. Hello, captain. You’ve, uh, returned from the Titan then.”

   The Life of three months nodded with a tired smile. “Yeah, I came back after we finished our game. I’m too bummed to work, and I’ve only read about how Death works, so I wanted to check in on you and maybe see it in person, if that’s alright.”

   “Uh, yes,” he nodded, “I’ve never heard of a rule indicating otherwise, so it is your right.”

   “That’s not what I meant,” Willow hummed without missing a beat, “I’m asking if you want me around. I don’t care what some stupid rule thinks, I care what you think.”

   “W-Well,” he stammered, even though he should be used to this by now, “I… uh, wouldn’t mind your presence. That is to say, I find it enjoyable. I, uh, authorise it?”

   She chuckled, shaking her head, but she didn’t press further so the answer seemed acceptable.

   “Anyway, ah, how was your match? Were you victorious?”

  “No,” she sighed, positive attitude making way for exhausted frustration, “It was an uphill battle from the start and our team is lacking physical strength. Viney and Skara-”

   “Are support units,” he supplied automatically, “And do not need the raw power, though Animal Care has her gryphon and Lyricists has her magic. Ephialtes is extremely quick, thanks to his technique, but neither his magic nor his physique are built towards combat. Pollution has powerful magic, but is lacking in both physical statistics, making him easy to knock out and your weakest unit. And you are very strong physically and have good magic, but your agility is nothing special. What you need is another quick unit that is also quite strong, regardless of their magical ability, replacing either Pollution or Ephialtes depending on the new unit’s magic.”

   “You…” Willow stared at him, eyes wide and shining, “I don’t really talk about our weaknesses; you figured all of that out?”

   “Uh-” he realised his mistake, “Well, you see, ah, I know some things about military tactics, and while not so brutal, sport is in some ways similar to warfare. In fact, I believe you mentioned War being the head of your local grudgby team?”

   Willow nodded.

   “So, when you mentioned your struggles, I, um… may have internalised some suggestions of my own. Obviously, I’m not part of the team, and you have a strategist already who is no doubt better than I am, if anything it’s just offensive to-”

   “No, um,” she interrupted. Her eyes averted, a pink blush spreading on her cheeks, and when she spoke next her voice was a few octaves higher, “It’s… uh. I’d like to hear your ideas. You pretty much predicted what I was going to say anyway, about the kind of member I’m looking for, though I’d add that they should hopefully be creative and smart but also humble, or at least not arguing with the rest of the team. Um… actually, you’d make a really good player, Grim. You’re, uh, almost exactly what we’ve been looking for, honestly.”

   “Oh,” the Grim blanked. This was far from the response he’d been expecting, in particular that last part, “Um. Uh, but we should probably discuss this after I’ve finished.”

   “Oh, yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Willow agreed tensely, suddenly full of energy, “W-W-Well? Where do we go next? Lead the way, Grim!”

   The Grim nodded awkwardly, then remembered, “Ah. We’ll need to stand, um. Next to each other. Unless you want to spend energy warping?”

   Willow hesitated. “Isn’t warping two people more energy on your part? I’ll go separately,” but he was already shaking his head.

   “I can warp anywhere in the mortal realm effortlessly,” he explained, “As long as I’m needed there. Um, so taking you with me shouldn’t be a problem. But, I might accidentally touch you, so…”

   “Well… okay,” she decided, closing the distance between them and stopping before him, “Is this close enough?”

   He nodded, stiff despite himself. They’d been this close before (closer than anyone) but he couldn’t help and feel frightened at the concept of him accidentally brushing her somehow, her turning cold, her falling limp as she died… the Grim shook his head at the anxiety-induced motion, getting a tilt of his head from the Life God before him.

   “Keep in mind,” he warned, “Sometimes it gets pretty brutal. And sometimes the mortals are really aggressive, they don’t always want to go. You’re Life, you meet your creations, raise them… but you don’t see what happens once they’re gone. It’s, uh. Not very pretty.”

   “I’ll be okay,” she reassured, softly, “I’m a big girl. I can handle a bit of blood.”

   That wasn’t what he was referring to, but nodded anyway.

   “Alright, then,” he finished, “Hold still.”

   The Grim stepped out from behind the tree, surveyed the scene, and grimaced. It wasn’t the worst scene ever, but he didn’t like showing this side of things to Willow either. Willow joined him a few moments later, and after a few moments, gasped.

   “Oh…”

   The landscape was as polar opposite to the previous one as it could be. Musty, foul-smelling and covered in sand, the unobstructed sun beating down on everything in the area and barely a sign of mortal inhabitation in sight, it was nothing like the quiet, comfortable residence of the woman before. The Grim sighed as he located the target, and stepped closer, not a grain of sand sticking to his boots.

    “Marhaban ya tifl,” he greeted. The young boy, no more than six or seven, glanced up from his collapsed state, grey eyes weary and unfocused.

    “Man ‘ant…” he vaguely coughed out, his voice hoarse and small.

    “Malak,” the Grim introduced vaguely, crouching down and stroking the boy’s beige-brown head, lightly, “‘ana asfi, walakinak tuufiyt.”

   The boy gaped at him for a moment. “La…” the boy shook his head, “La…”

    “Naeam,” the Grim sighed sorrowfully. “‘ana asf,” he repeated.

    “La…” the boy continued, his eyes too dry to cry, “La… la…”

   “Sshh,” the Grim tried to soothe as best he could, “La bas… anat bikhayr… sawf akhadhak ‘iilaa makan ‘afdal min huna. Hayth min almuftarad ‘an takuna. Sawf takun amana hunaka. Wabaed dhalika sa’ueiduk ‘iilaa huna, wayumkinuk aleaysh maratan ‘ukhraa. Hal turid dhalika?”

   The boy trailed off at the Grim’s proposal, eyes glimmering with newfound hope. It hurt, to lie like this… but maintaining his beliefs as much as possible was his primary goal. If he had to promise a resurrection that would never come, so be it.

    “Naema… ‘uwdu dhalik,” he agreed, softly, and the Grim smiled, patting him once more before letting go and standing up.

    “Thuma kuna sakina, ” the Grim urged, “La tukhafi. Ma ‘afealuh qad yabdu mkhyfan,” he warned, raising his scythe above his head to demonstrate. The boy glanced fearfully at the weapon, then nodded and shut his eyes. Permission granted, the Grim lowered the weapon, and out came the boy’s soul, the pink disappearing into the air just as the woman’s had. The weapon vanished when he was done, and he cautiously looked over at Willow. The Life in question was standing in the shade of the tree, watching the exchange with sad eyes, but she smiled when the Grim focused on her.

   “That was sweet,” she hummed, then chuckled to herself, “Heh, that’s what I said last time, wasn’t it? Oops. But I mean it. You’re so polite, it’s…”

   She never continued, so he awkwardly provided, “I… like to make their last moments alive as comfortable as possible. That’s not always an option, but… it’s a big deal, for mortals. Dying. So… I don’t want them to remember it with hate, at least not while I’m Death. If they’re going to spend eternity in the Underworld, I can at least make their entrance a fond memory.”

   She gave him an odd look, briefly, then seemed to shake off the notion. “And I’m sure they appreciate it. Come on, who’s next?”

   Over the next few hours, the pair cycled through tens of thousands of souls. After every stop, the Grim expected Willow to say she was bored and request a transport home, or maybe do so herself, but it never happened. Suffice to say that wasn’t his expectation. He’d had companions before, but they never stuck around for more than ten minutes of the admittedly rather dull work. The Grim knew better than to complain, but even the kindest of his fellow workers got bored of it quickly. All except Willow. Willow lingered for the whole time, and, oddly, never tried to interfere or participate, which was the only reason anyone joined him in the first place, and his vehement denial at their request was usually the game-ender. But Willow had yet to even ask. It was strange, and he wasn’t quite sure what to think of it.

   However, he was too preoccupied with something stranger to consider the query. Willow continued to give him those confused looks throughout the experience, always after he reaped their soul, yet never mentioned why. He’d asked if she was okay, and she’d said she was fine; he’d offered to take her back, and she’d been extremely certain in staying. So he doubted it was because she was unhappy. The most logical conclusion was that she, as Life, felt uncomfortable watching her creations be annihilated before her eyes, and was too polite to leave his side. He didn’t like to distrust her assurances, but what other explanation was there?

   Furthermore, she had a second, befuddling tendency: he found her hand inching towards his own, on several occasions, subconsciously. Either she realised or he called her out on it, and in both scenarios she flushed bright pink, retracted her hand, and spluttered some kind of apology. It was common enough to warrant a concerned question on his part, pointing out the lethality of contact with him, and she’d awkwardly scraped out a curious explanation;

   “W-Well, uh, it’s a, um. Tradition, on the Titan, that, uh… when two people are together, a-alone, like this, they… hold hands. And, I. My mind must’ve been trying to do that, heh heh! But, uh, that’s not something you’re familiar with, so… it’s best we not. A-Also the dying part. That too. Sorry if I weirded you out.”

   He’d shrugged, said it was fine, and that topic had ended. The frequency of the movements lowered, but never stopped entirely, to the point where the Grim started avoiding unnecessary close contact with her, just in case, and tried to ignore the sad looks she gave him.

   But it wasn’t all odd looks and near-deaths. They kept an ongoing conversation the whole time, though it was mostly Willow doing the speaking as the Grim got more and more drained, not that he didn’t provide his fair share of input! The aversion to discussing their histories stayed strong, but he did get insight into her personal life; she was closely allied with Augustus “Gus” of Ephialtes, Amity of Amity - “How creative,” he’d deadpanned sarcastically, earning a light giggle - a basilisk named Vee, and the mortal, Luz, the latter of which were actually adopted siblings, though she’d spared the details, claiming it was ‘ really complicated’.

   From the wary tone she took when she mentioned Vee’s species, he assumed she knew of his involvement in the basilisk experiments. Yet another detail she wasn’t supposed to know about him.

   There were her parents, Gilbert and Harvey of Marble and Venom respectively, and he hadn’t been surprised when she admitted that before being Life, she was Willow of Willows (he did not provide a sarcastic comment). Willow was adept in plant magic, so it made sense for her previous godhood to revolve around them; she’d blushed when he told her that, though, so maybe he wasn’t supposed to have solved that?

   But, mostly they talked about flyer derby. She managed to convince him that Augustus was better in action than on paper, winning the argument by retelling the story of how he, alongside the elderly God of Illusions and the previously-mentioned Matt of Gold had bested the mighty Gods of Domination, Patriarchy, and… Butterflies. The Grim had been doubtful, but Willow insisted he was stronger than he sounded. The tactic Augustus had wielded during said fight had been undeniably clever, and the God of Illusions had been tutoring him since, tying into his nightmare abilities nicely and transforming him into quite the strong unit. Furthermore, Augustus had co-founded the team, and kicking him off wasn’t exactly Willow’s style.

   “Jerbo’s a very neutral player,” she’d added as a side-note, “He’s not super driven, and he’s been working with Darius, Raine and Alador a lot lately so I wouldn’t be surprised if he hopped off the team by himself. He wouldn’t mind if we replaced him; the main issue is finding someone good enough!”

   The recruiting process, it seemed, was very lenient. The lack of a dismemberment risk caught him off guard; the idea of a dismemberment risk made Willow stare at him in bewilderment. It wasn’t so much hard to enter as it was hard to really be applicable - Willow was specifically looking for strength, speed, and smarts, but the majority of signups were magically inclined and lacking in the physical department. What’s worse, the best candidates she knew were Boscha of War, a mortal named Sasha, and the Grim, all of whom weren’t available for separate reasons.

   “I suppose Luz might be good?” Willow’d sighed in consideration, “But she’s got weak arms, and glyphs can only make basic spells at high speeds. She’s an alright flyer, we just need the raw power and she doesn’t have it.”

   “It’s a dilemma,” he’d agreed, “But I’m confident you’ll figure it out, captain.”

   She’d smiled affectionately at him, then it’d turned mischievous. “Maybe if you ever pop out of the Underworld for a change, I won’t need to.”

   He’d huffed, and she’d laughed. “You know why I can’t, captain. Besides, I can’t fly. That’s half of the name, you know.”

   “Hey, we’d find you a palisman,” she’d waved a hand at him, “Nobody’s bonded with the Bat Queen yet.”

   That time, they’d both laughed.

   Overall, the whole experience had been… enjoyable, despite the occasional gory death or enraged victim that greeted them. He got a chunk of intel on Willow, and he let a few tidbits about himself slip that he assumed she didn’t know, though with her record there was no way to be sure. In total, most of their existences were left unclear to each other, but the Grim had an extremely good reason for that and he was confident Willow did too. They were content to be comfortable with each other, no sour pasts to taint their visages, or in the Grim’s case his mask.

   At least, until the ending.

   “...Um,” Willow, hesitantly, spoke up, after he reaped a middle-aged soul within the closing stretch, only a few thousand until he was done for the day. He glanced up at her when she said nothing, and waited as she found her words, “When you, uh… why do you do it like that?”

   “Do what?” he asked.

   “Reap,” she clarified with a clearing of her throat, “Why do you… use your weapon? I mean, not all of them are bad, right?”

   He tilted his head at her and frowned, furrow deepening. “What do you mean? I always use a weapon. That’s… how I reap. They’re enchanted, if that’s what you’re referring to.”

   “No, it’s- uh,” she faltered, “I mean… I guess it’s your choice, but… surely not all of them deserve being sentenced, right?”

   “...What? Sentenced- Captain, what are you talking about?”

   “You-” her own brow deepened, “You don’t… need to use your weapon, Grim. That’s, uh, Death 101. You- you did know that, right?”

   “What’re you- Yes, I do need to use my weapon,” he half-laughed, suspecting a jest, “They enable me to reap, without them I can’t,” but she was shaking her head.

   “No, that’s not true. Death can reap with their magic or their weapons, that’s part of the point of death magic. Every book on Death ever has that listed. Why are you using only your weapons?”

   “W-Well, what difference does it make?” he scowled, because he didn’t like the direction the conversation was going, “Hands, scythe- I’m still reaping, aren’t I?”

   “Grim…” she spoke slowly and carefully, like she was handling a growling dragon, “If you use your weapons, you… you sentence them to an eternity in the Underworld.”

   “Yes,” he growled, angry now at whatever game she was playing, “That’s always been the case! Dead mortal go into Underworld - Death 101! ”

   “To be enslaved or imprisoned or left aimlessly wandering forevermore, right?” Willow continued despite his outburst, “That’s what they do? When you send them there?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Doesn’t that seem a bit cruel to you?”

   “That’s not my decision! ” he snapped, and she recoiled, “I’m not a titan, Captain I don’t make the rules! If Death is supposed to chuck mortals into the Underworld, that’s what I do! I’m a god, not a mortal! I have a job to do! ”

   She shut her eyes, inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly. He waited for her to finish, his normally-soft aura sparking with electricity. “Grim,” she tried again, “The Underworld is a punishment . For bad mortals. That’s when you use your weapon; to cut down the ones who deserve it. To send them there.”

   He felt a shiver run down his spine, but he shook his head and snarled, “No. Whatever books you’re reading are wrong. I was taught-”

   “Just what did Belos teach you, Grim?!” she cried, suddenly, and he froze at the name, “What did he say to you?! Because it’s a lie , Grim! He was a liar! A murderous, cheating, proud liar!”

  A… liar?

    “No!” he roared, only partially at her, “He had everything! He was the Emperor! He was Time! He was the Master of the Castle! He was my uncle!! What else could he possibly want?! What possible thing would there be for him to cheat for and lie for, as you claim he would?! And who are you to challenge that?!” he accused, “Belos was there, every second of every day of every fucking century , and you expect me to believe a god I haven’t even known for a year over him?! Do I even know you?! You dance and you dodge and know too much and say so little, and even if he was an ass, he never lied to my fucking face!! So please, give me something to work with, some inkling of a semblance of a fragment of insight into who you are that lets me believe you .”

   Instead of continuing the yelling spree, she took a shaky breath, bobbed her head slightly down, and asked, so softly it was little more than a murmur, “...What do you know about the Day of Unity, Grim?”

   He paused as she’d done. Angry as he was, an argument was nothing to yell at his fellow god for. She wasn’t his inferior; he had no right to shout. Stupid of him. Let his anger get the best of him. She has something to exploit, now.

   “...It was the date he would bring paradise to godkind. The Underworld, the Titan, anyone, so long as they followed him.”

   “I see. If… I tell you that wasn’t true, are you going to keep yelling?”

   He swallowed, and averted his eyes.

   “...No. I’m sorry for instilling that fear.”

   “I forgive you. Well then, it wasn’t. The Day of Unity, it… it was a spell. A big one, with you at the centre. It… was going to kill all gods, and destroy their godhoods. He wanted to annihilate us; every single one.”

   The Grim felt his blood turn to ice and his bones go as heavy as cinder blocks.

    No… no, it… it can’t… he wouldn’t…

   But his mouth wouldn’t move to speak, to ask, to deny.

   “That… that was his ultimate goal. And… he got close. Really close. Grim… if he could lie, to an entire species , convince them that their genocide was their paradise… he could lie about this. Please, Grim. Reaping souls with a blade, it’s… it’s not the only way. I know it sounds insane, but Grim, please, I swear it on my godhood, I just… need you to trust me on this. I-I can’t… talk about me. Just yet. I can’t lose you, not yet. A-And if you have to hate me to believe this, so be it, but you deserve the truth and I promise, with everything I have, that you can trust me. I wouldn’t lie about this.”

   …He had a thousand things to say. A hundred thousand. But he couldn’t speak . His mouth wasn’t moving. His voice box wasn’t activating. Why couldn’t he speak? Why? He had no lungs, but he tried breathing anyway, to no avail. He couldn’t. He couldn’t .

   Until he could.

   “...So,” he rasped, breaking the eerie silence, “Then I… I’m… I ruined… I’m torturing billions of people… all of them…”

    “No!” Willow cried, leaping towards him, “No, Grim! He tricked you! Like he tricked everyone into helping him! H-He was just lying, it’s not your fault! Everyone believed him!”

   “Ruined… so many… all those… the poor mortals… I’m… I did this… to them… your creations, I, I ruined it, broke the cycle, I broke the cycle, r-r-ruined the expectations of every Death, every Death before me, my father , ruined them, disgraceful-”

    “Grim!” he faintly heard, but the soft, sweet tone made barely an impact. He staggered, his vision blurring, and he wanted to scream, cry, pull this fucking mask off but he couldnt, he couldnt, he didnt want her to die, didnt want to hurt anyone else , didnt deserve this, her, the godhood, he messed up Disgraceful little brat it was all his fault Waste of space toiled the name of death Should’ve saved É̷͚͈̣̩̭͖͚̙̤͈̼̞̿̑̓́ḁ̷̢͕̘̼̲̗̔̅̇͐͌̀̒̉̇́̓͜͠w̵̹̟͚̻̫͖͇̖͎̩̪͖̳̜̎͗̒̈́̏́̎͒̏̎͘̕͝͝ḯ̷̟͉̝̪̻͖̗̮̤̙͛̚̚͜c̶̜̙̗̦̍̃ instead shouldve saved his parents instead Nameless, homeless, snotty orphan a nobody with no home and no life he wanted didnt deserve wants wanted to die didnt deserve wants didnt deserve he wanted to couldnt die the one thing the one thing the one thing death couldnt kill didnt deserve life death didnt deserve to live die not alive dead soul in dead body killer killed them killed them killer killer killer death disgrace of a

   He felt his magic activate by itself.

   And vanished.

---

   All creatures had their genesis.

   The First Titan, their genesis had been a desire, a curiosity, to see if they could add more to their world then the nothingness they had been born in.

   The archivists had a genesis, when they abandoned the gods they had sworn to follow in favour of exploring the infinite possibilities their mother shared to them.

   Mortal life, their genesis had been the moment they made a choice, did something that wasn’t a directive of the DNA Life had installed in them, grew into something more .

   Gods, too, had their genesis.

   The first Fate, their genesis had been war, when they slew the titan that kept their brethren from exploring the powers their bodies urged them to wield.

   The latest Fear, his genesis had been a humbling, a mistake that cost him his body and his mind and reduced him to a brainless animal of sludge exploited for sport.

   The latest Day, her genesis had been when she uprose against the man she had been sentenced to obey, sacrificing her body and her magic rather than slaving under a false crime.

   The Grim’s genesis had not been quite so liberating. It had not been out of wonder or instinct, combat or an err that cost him everything. The Grim’s genesis had been cold, hard, and painful, but he’d survived regardless. It was that achievement that began him, began the transition from ‘the son of Life and Death’ to ‘The Golden Grim, God of Death’.

   The Grim’s genesis had been a cage, with shackles and a table and an uncle with a scalpel. A sad truth of reality, a harsh repercussion for failure, learned with blood and tears and wails. It was there, then, that he Learned. Learned who he was, what he stood for, what was Right and what was Wrong. For centuries he let his genesis define him, just as the adults defined others by their genesis, Fate by their action and Fear by his stumble.

   With his genesis, he became Death. He became the God of Death. He became the Golden Guard, the Grim Reaper. He Learned to do as He ordered, obey His commandments and endure His Punishments. He Learned to be fast and efficient, he Learned not to let emotions blind him, and most of all, he Learned He was Right, and thus, The Grim was Right.

   He spent eight centuries dedicated to what he’d Learned, following it to the letter and facing repercussions when he didn’t, and two and a half more more struggling with the temptation of freedom that he mostly neglected in favour of what was Right. Even when there was nobody to Punish him, he did it himself, though the pain was a mere shadow of the torture He could put him through.

   That was ten-point-five centuries of obedience. Of Right.

   The Grim was ten-point-five centuries old. He’d spent his whole life doing Right.

   And it could all be a lie.

   The Grim was fortunate his bones would never ruin his posture, with how long his back had been bent, hunched in the corner of the Punishment room where nobody could see him and nobody could find him. Head tucked in his arms, eyes shut, back against the wall in a cell at the edge of the world. He was as far away from Good, from Life, as a god ever could be.

   Excellent. Good without Bad was meaningless; Bad was meant to be hidden, pushed aside, ignored, not inexistent. And right now, he was.

   He didn’t know (didn’t care) how long he’d been here. It had been his first stop, and concealed from the universe as it was, there was no way to judge the passing of time. Willow was strong, but the amount of effort to find him she’d need to use was far more than was possibly worth exhausting on someone like him. She would not find him.

   Bad was meant to be hidden from Good, after all.

   The Good, but not the wise.

   The Grim raised his head a few inches as his palm began crackling, flickers of black flame attempting to appear before being snuffed out, accompanied by small streaks of… oh. He almost laughed, bitterly, as he recognised the colour of the caller. Of course . After centuries of ignorance, now he calls. What a joke. The Grim wondered if he’d done it intentionally.

   He focused on the deep, rich purple that lined the black, and the palm of his hand burst into black flame.

   “Well well, look who it is,” he chuckled bitterly, “His highness himself. How kind of you to grace me with your presence again. What can I do for you. ”

   A beat of silence. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you address me with such rancour, little prince,” Darius’ smooth voice observed, “Ms. Park was right when she described your demeanour as… atypical.”

   “Doubt she used that word,” the Grim sneered, “She doesn’t have the dialect of a fucking thesaurus.”

    “I’m not going to take offence to that, little prince, as I’m quite sure you’ll beat yourself up over it later. A-”

   “Are you?” the Grim raised an eyebrow before Darius could continue, “Are you really, Darius? You’re sure? Positively certain? ”

   A sigh from the other end. The Grim rolled his eyes. “I understand your frustration, but please tone down the aggression, little prince. Believe it or not, I’m trying to help you in a civilised manner here.”

   “Well you’ve done a shit job!” the Grim snapped, “When’s the last time you actually bothered to ‘help’ me?! First you’re ignoring me, next you’re abandoning me in this hellhole for two centuries! Besides letting me know Willow was going to show up, done by letter and without consulting me , you haven’t said a damn word to me since you fucked off! How is pushing someone onto me that I’ve never met before helping , exactly, Darius?”

    “I digress, leaving you down there by yourself was not my intention, however reforming a millennia-old system takes time and focus, especially with those eager to claim the Emperor’s open seat. I was confident you could handle yourself for the time being.”

   “Oh, really? All of a sudden, the ‘scrap of his father’s legacy’ is competent at something? Pardon me if I’m a tad sceptical!”

    “I apologised for my rudeness prior to the Day of Unity,” the Grim could hear the strain in Darius’ voice as he tried not to sound annoyed, “I was not aware of your… position, for the majority of our encounters, and when I learned of it, you had been hidden away. Then, further information came into light, and I realised my presumptions were quite inaccurate. I did not reinstate you as Death because there was no one else for the job, you know.”

   “...This is pointless,” the Grim growled, sensing the conversation was going nowhere, “What do you want, Darius? You’ve never checked up on me before and it’s too late to start now. Either say your piece or screw off, which I know you’re good at doing.”

    “‘Too late to start now’? What do you mean by that, little prince?”

   “Answer the question,” he spat.

    “...Fine,” his tone straightened, “I received a call from your associate that you had gone missing, upon certain pieces of knowledge coming to light. She was very concerned, and came to me for guidance, which I provided, and now I am taking action to talk to you directly, as I should have done a long time ago. Does that suffice?”

   “...Yeah. You’ve done that. You can leave now.”

    “Little prince, I’m certain you understand the difference between having a conversation and withstanding a ferocious attitude. I may fail to show it, but I, too, am rather worried. The Golden Grim was always admirably tenacious for such a young god, let alone a Core God, so to hear of him collapsing was quite a shock. In your spiteful frame of mind, this may come as something of a surprise, but I do in fact care for your wellbeing. I made an err in judgement in leaving you alone for so long, I admit, and I wish to make amends. That is to say nothing of your associate, who has been worried sick. With the rate she’s been tearing up the Underworld in pursuit of you, I’m astonished she didn’t encounter you before I contacted you. Where did you disappear to?”

   “...Darius Deamonne of Plagues doesn’t make amends,” the Grim scoffed, ignoring the last inquiry.

   Darius didn’t seem to mind. “It is rare, but I can assure you that he does, especially when his own mistake has spurred such distress in the mind of someone he is rather fond of. But he can only accomplish such a goal if the one he wants to apologise to is willing to listen.”

   The Grim said nothing, turning the Plague God’s words over in his mind. On the one hand, the rage was still bubbling underneath the surface - this pompous ass wanted to apologise only after the Grim had had the breakdown, not literally anywhen else . That implied he wasn’t here because he wanted to be, rather because the situation had escalated into a scenario that required action… which was a very Darius thing to do.

   But on the other hand… he wanted to hope, to pretend, that maybe Darius did care. That he wasn’t here out of obligation, but because, somewhere deep in that cold heart of his, Darius had made room for the dirty, angsty teen with a sharp tongue and a sharper brain he’d worked alongside for so many years. Who knows, perhaps he was making assumptions - look at his last guardian, he’d said he liked the Grim too - but… he also might not be.

   The Grim bit his lip, thankful for the time of deliberation Darius had given him. Maybe it was that, or maybe it was something else; whatever it was, it convinced him to murmur, “...What Willow said… about the Day of Unity being a genocide. Was that true?”

    “Yes,” Darius answered unflinchingly, “Belos planned to utilise a specific niche of death magic provided to him by an archivist he double-crossed to slaughter as many gods as he could. The specifications of who aren’t quite clear, but I am quite confident both you and I would be among the executed. He wished to terminate godkind and destroy all godhoods, and got extremely close were it not for the actions of a minor few, including myself.”

   “I… see. But why? He was already the most powerful creature in the universe.”

    “That is a…” Darius faltered, “...Very long, and complicated story, little prince. One that best be saved for later. But I do plan on telling you, eventually.”

   “...Alright. How do you know the Day was a slaughter, if it didn’t happen?”

    “...Ah,” Darius sighed, “Yes, that is a fair question to ask. It has a long answer, but you deserve to know.

    “Let me start from my entrance, as anything before that is not my right to discuss. A mortal named Luz, who had recently broken free from the Underworld, arrived on my doorstop with no little amount of anger. She demanded I take her back to the Underworld, and present her before the Emperor so she could ‘kick his murdering ass’. She was swiftly followed by Edalyn, who threatened me in a similar fashion, and a young… demon who went by King, more interested in supporting the other two. I was understandably reluctant to accept their demands, and we were on the verge of an altercation when Raine hurried in and settled the situation peacefully. Luz explained to me her situation, and had rushed to locate me when Raine supplied my name as someone she should approach. All you need to know, little prince, is that she had a good reason to despise the Emperor, and not just out of vengeance for keeping her trapped. At the time, I suspected the Emperor had something nasty hidden from the public eye, however even with Raine, Eberwolf, and myself spying in, we had yet to find anything more villainous than mistreatment and unpleasantness. Luz, however, gave us something absolutely, unquestionably suspicious, that warranted further action.

   “So, with aid from Augustus of Ephialtes - an ally of Luz’s - I, Eberwolf, Raine, Amber of Chants, Derwin of Requiems, Katwin of Ballads, Edalyn, Lilith - who found refuge with Edalyn after her banishment - and, at their insistence, Luz, Amity of Amity, and Willow of Willows, entered the Emperor’s mind to seek the truth, whether he was innocent or guilty. Despite my indignation, the group was voted to be the Gods Against the Order, or ‘GATO’, even though three of our members were part of the High Order, one was an ex-member, and her replacement was not our enemy. The name is so utterly misleading… I hate that it is now renowned. But, ahem.

   “And what we found inside was… concerning. I will spare you the details for a later date, they are rather unpleasant, however do expect them. But within our travels, we located the true cause of the Day of Unity. We were unable to create a recording before Augustus’ spell finally collapsed, but we didn’t need people to believe us. We conceived a plan to stop the Day of Unity and defeat Belos, which succeeded - leading into another crisis I’d rather not go over just yet - and from there we worked on rebuilding the system and fixing the many errors that went under our noses.”

   “...So you didn’t really answer my question,” the Grim pointed out, “I asked how you knew the Day was a slaughter, not how you found that out.”

    “I suppose you are right. We discovered the process of casting through one of his memories; for safety reasons, I shall not be disclosing it. If the death magic wasn’t a giveaway, we researched archivist lore during the aftermath of our dive and quickly found the spell he was trying to cast.”

   “And identifying is the first step in countering,” the Grim nodded, getting it, “Out of curiosity, how did you bypass Belos’ time magic? Time is supposed to be undefeatable.”

    “We… well, alright. Don’t freak out, little prince,” Darius warned, “But… do you recall the small demon accompanying Edalyn?”

   The Grim considered it for a moment. He only had so many interactions with the God of Day, but vaguely…

   “Yes, you just mentioned him. King, right?”

    “Correct, he is King. You see, he, ah… is not quite a demon. Shortly before the Day of Unity, a set of circumstances brought Luz, King, and one other to titan-trapper territory. And it was there that they learned King, in fact, was a titan. The son of the titan godkind currently inhabits, specifically.”

   Silence. And not a short one.

    “Little prince?” Darius voice rung out once more, as uncertain as the Grim had ever heard him.

   “Darius.”

    “Are you, ah, okay?”

   “I’m great.”

    “I… see. Does that, ah, concern you whatsoever?”

   “Why would it? I only attacked the rightful God-King on multiple occasions, his guardian more, and his close friend nonstop for fifty years. I have nothing to fear.”

    “Little prince-”

   “Say, the Underworld is full of fire. Instead of wasting effort on my execution and cremation, why don't I just throw myself in? Kill two birds with one stone. You can take my godhood remotely.”

    “Little prince, he-”

   “Or was the solitude my punishment? If so, I think two and a half millennia is more fitting, the centuries were boring but not long enough to drive a god insane, perhaps it's different for titans. Not to question his highness’ judgement, but I picked up some of Terra’s torture practices and could improve upon-”

    “Little prince,” Darius interrupted sharply, “He is NOT the God-King.”

   The Grim blinked, and frowned. “Why not? It’s his birthright.”

    “He is just over six hundred years old; he is a child . For a god and a titan alike. Making you part of the High Order at eight centuries was questionably ethical itself - Edalyn would have my head if I even pitched the idea of crowning him, until he is of-age. That is in another three centuries; until then, I’m certain godkind can maintain itself. There is the debate of whether to even continue the monarchy, but with two of the Core Gods underage and the third living in the Underworld, we have decided to hold off until things are a bit more settled.”

   “Right…” the Grim murmured, feeling a wave of ache pass over him.

    “You sound distracted, little prince. What’s the matter?”

   “I just… tired,” he held his legs tighter, tight grammar slipping, “So much happened…”

    “Ah. Yes, the processing stage took a while for everyone. Some are still in it. It’s understandable for you to feel overwhelmed. Then may I cease your questioning and pose one of my own?”

   The Grim nodded, then grimaced. “Yeah.”

    “Are you going to keep avoiding Willow after this?”

   The Grim sunk into his ball as Darius continued.

    “You know it’s not her fault. I’ve told my part of the story, and I’m confident she will share hers, if you request it. Her telling you didn’t magically reverse-butterfly-effect Belos’ misdeeds into being, and someone was going to let you know eventually.”

   “...Why did you pick her, Darius?” the Grim felt his soul dampen as he asked, knowing he wouldn’t answer, lie, ignore, anything to stop him from knowing, “She knows things about me she shouldn’t, she knows you but never said why you chose her as Life and never mentioned why she wanted the job… who is Willow, Darius?”

   A deep sigh from the other end. “That is a complicated question, little prince. One that I shall not answer - I imagine she wishes to tell you herself. I apologise for the withholding, but we wanted to avoid overloading you; as you know, efficiency is maximised when Life and Death are partners, and better you cooperate oblivious than argue enlightened. Which, might I add, is the first thing you did upon learning something crucial, so you can’t deny our accuracy.”

   The Grim grimaced, hating to be so predictably childish, but Darius wasn’t done. “She did a masterful job of keeping you soothed, little prince. I urged her to break at least some of the news to you ahead of schedule, thinking you were stable, but I was evidently mistaken. Blame-”

   “I forgive you,” the Grim interrupted quietly, and Darius’ breath caught. The pair sat in silence for a while longer, neither really sure where to pick up the conversation. The Grim wasn’t used to these kinds of talks, and from the sound of things, neither was Darius, yet the Grim at least wanted it to continue for a while longer.

    “...I also bring an invitation, little prince,” Darius finally continued, his tone tense, “Though I regret to inform you it is more of an obligation. Considering her heroics, bravery, acts of kindness and overall positive influence on the Titan, a general consensus of godkind has been reached: godkind wishes to create a godhood, and bless Luz with its power, turning her into the first God of Light.”

   The Grim raised an eyebrow in surprise.

   “A mortal, being given a godhood? Is that even possible?”

    “I can assure you, it very much is,” Darius confirmed grimly, with a tone that suggested there was more to that story then he was letting on. The Grim considered pressing further, but decided against it; Darius had promised more answers in due time, and the Grim was going to believe him.

   “Wait-” the Grim recoiled, running Darius’ words over his head, “ Create a godhood? Doesn’t that require-”

    “The magic of the Core Gods,” Darius sighed, and the Grim immediately understood Darius’ stiffness, “Time and Fate have both already agreed, knowing her quite well on a personal level. Willow insisted you would be willing, the same day as your argument, and arrangements have been made for a creation in two days. You are… expected, as much as I hate to say it.”

   “But… why? ” the Grim’s fist clenched, voice shaky, “I- she knows what I can do. Everyone does! If I go there, I… I’ll…”

    “Little prince… while I, unlike Willow, do not believe your deathtouch is another myth of Belos’-” The Grim’s blood ran cold. She… what? No… “-I do believe you are not as dangerous as you have been told. Willow informed me that she quite enjoys physical contact, and has reported multiple instances of nigh-touching between you two, yet she still lives and breathes.”

   “That’s not the point,” the Grim grit his teeth, “What if I- I slip , onto someone, then they’re gone, murdered , and I did it, I did that , ruined everything-”

    “If you are truly fearful,” Darius suggested, “You do not need to linger. Enter, add your magic, and depart; while it would be nice to reconnect, I understand if you would rather it be under less stressful circumstances. With that in mind, as much as I hate to obligate you further, little prince, it would be exceedingly irritating for most of godkind if you failed to participate in the creation. It is neither a cheap nor swift ceremony, and you know how we do not like to have our time wasted.”

   The Grim said nothing for a moment. Something would go wrong, he just knew it. Why else would he have been kept from the Titan? It would’ve been a slaughter! It would be a slaughter, if he went to the ceremony! Willow was wrong - his deathtouch was real, and he was not willing.

   “...I see. Thanks for the invite, Darius.”

    “...From that tone, I can tell you’ve already made your decision. And you are not a man whose mind is easily swayed. I can only ask you reconsider, as your fellow god. I know you have endured nothing but agony and misfortune since Luz escaped the Underworld, but believe me when I say she is, truly, as deserving of a godhood as you and I.”

   “I believe you,” the Grim murmured, and hung on those three words for a moment. “Is that all, Darius?”

   This time, Darius was the one who paused.

    “...That is all, little prince. Oh, but you should know Willow has ceased her hunt for you and warped to the Titan to prepare. Wherever you are, you may return to the castle. I presume it is far nicer than your current whereabouts.”

   “Alright,” the Grim hummed, and scrunched his open hand into a ball, closing in on the flame and snuffing it out. What light it provided faded, and slight fwuf of it dissipating echoed across the cell, now the sole noise in the establishment. The Grim leaned back, head resting against the wall as he stared at the roof, wishing he could see the stars. Though Darius was gone, though he was a million kilometres above his head and far, far out of range to hear, the Grim added, in a mutter so low it didn’t have the reach to echo,

   “...Thanks.”

---

   Gods took the creation of their godhoods extremely seriously, for good reason. It was a huge deal; adding an aspect of the mortal realm to the list of things beneath the gods’ control? It was a recipe for disaster, a major honour, and an overwhelming responsibility rolled into one. It was irreversible, exhausted a lot of magic, and temporarily completely threw off the balance in both the mortal realm and the god’s.

   So when it did happen, rare as it was, godkind went all out.

   The colosseum was godkind’s greatest structure. Built of a titan’s bones, it was truly vast, needing to comfortably contain every single god in existence and provide both visibility for the centre stage but audability as well, making it a truly wonderful show of craftsmanship ever-updating as the God of Creation expanded and edited on the labours of their predecessors, not to mention the constant repairs - when fitting the thousands of gods within its curved walls, there were bound to be destructive accidents.

   And today was no different.

   Every velvet seat was filled, every row packed, every balcony packed to the brim with gods, chatting amongst themselves like a swarm of a million bees, the inharmonious sounds fusing together to make something low, constant, and somewhat pleasing. This was normal; the gods were free to sit by whoever they liked, and though they were more professional than the mortals they supervised, they were nevertheless prone to pre-ceremony conversation.

   Unlike mortals, it dwindled down and silenced in seconds the moment the black-dressed woman stepped onto the stage, not quite in the centre. In no time at all, the great, ancient building second in durability only to the creature it was born from, fell absolutely and utterly quiet as thick as the black hole itself.

   “Welcome, all,” Lilith Clawthorne of Night addressed the crowd with incredible calm, turning in a circle to face every degree at least once, “We, the entirety of godkind, are gathered here once more in a matter of universal relevance. Last here I spoke was to officially strip the ones who aided in his terrible quest or sought to steal the power of Emperor Belos of their godhoods and sentence them to punishments befitting their crimes; Odalia Blight of Manipulation, Terra Snapdragon of Life, Vitimir Kane of Science, and so forth, and gift their godhoods to ones more fitting for the roles, Willow Park of Life, Alador Blight of Science, and so forth.

   “However today, the grand unification of our species is for something much happier, pleasing, and dare I say, brighter. Due to her involvements in the slaying of Emperor Belos, sparing existence from a fate too horrible to imagine not once but twice, it was proposed and heavily supported to bless someone with a godhood, granting her absolute control over any and all light and the title of our first ever God of Light. She aided me, personally, enlightening me to wrongdoings and pushing me off a terrible path I would have regretted most terribly, and I know many of us here today have similar stories regarding her in some way or another, so it is with no small amount of pleasure, honour, and pride, that I call forth Luz Noceda, bester of Grometheus, Titan’s Chosen, mortal zenith, hero of the Titan and our future God of Light to the stage.”

   After a beat of stillness, a youngish-looking mortal girl emerged, head bent in shy humility as she hopped up the stairs and took her place in the direct centre of the stage, intentionally not looking upwards at the infinite eyes that would meet her gaze. One hand subconsciously fiddled with the drawstring of her blue hoodie, clearly wanting to hide beneath the hood but not wanting to detract from the moment.

   She smiled, slightly, when Lilith murmured something soft to her. “It has been multiple millennia since our last godhood was formed,” Lilith went back to her speech, “So this is a monumental moment for us all, but that does not mean we should pressure her with her new role. As gods, it is our duty to welcome our newest with care and ease them into their new godhood with tact, and Luz, as a mortal, needs this more than any other. It is vital, for her sake and the mortal’s, that we aid her should she need it until she has grown accustomed to her role. You swore you would obey this in your oath; to break it is to break the trust given to you by our ancestors. She is mortal, yes; not only are you sworn to aid her godhood, but you are sworn to protect her. Treat her as highly as you would any other, species and bias aside. She is our kin, now and forevermore.

   “When the First Titan created the First God, they fueled their emotions into their power and created something wonderful, the beginning of what we have today. Though we are but a fraction of their strength, together, we can do exactly that - but, as the First Titan who begun us, we create our godhoods not with just our magic, but the bonds we create and the feelings we possess that tie us to our mortal wards. It is with those that we may continue this cycle, further our legacy, and develop all of existence forevermore. And it is for that reason that I respectfully call to the stage the closest of Luz’s loved ones, friends and family, gods and demons, to provide those feelings and bless her with the power she deserves. Please rise: Amity Blight of Amity, her beloved; Willow Park of Life and Augustus “Gus” Porter of Ephialtes, her closest friends; Edalyn Clawthorne of Day, her mentor and ally; and King Clawthorne, her brother in spirit if not in blood.”

   Five new faces walked up to the stage, in the order they’d been called, faster and less anxious then Luz herself, some not by much - the small titan had an extra wobble to his step - some especially so - Edalyn’s swagger was nothing if not confident. They arrived at Luz’s side one by one, each making their own little gesture or words of encouragement before making way for the next. They formed something of a circle around her, not too tight but not so loose that Lilith had to move away whatsoever.

   “Amity Blight of Amity, bound to Luz Noceda by love and promises,” Lilith began, “Speak.”

   Amity nodded dutifully at Lilith, then turned back to Luz, her amber eyes softening and a sweet, small smile taking over the stoicness.

    “Batata,” Amity’s voice was low but smooth and genuine, “When I met you, I… I wasn’t happy. I had pushed away my heart and silenced my laughter, and to you, I was as cold as any other. Rude, petty, violent even. But you saw through me- no. You saw me through the facade. And you never gave up, you- you never stopped trying to be my friend, even when you failed or I shoved you away. A-And, now, because of you, I’ve got my best friend back, my family is free, and I have the sweetest, coolest fiance in the entire world. So, um. Y-Yeah, I, uh, authorise giving you a godhood, or whatever.”

   Luz giggled at the slightly-crying Amity and hopped over for a tight embrace and a brief kiss. When they broke apart, Amity raised her palm, and soft, lilac light the colour of her hair swirled up and created a small ball above them. Lilith nodded at it with satisfaction.

   “Willow Park of Life, bound to Luz Noceda by companionship and empathy. Speak.”

   Willow smiled at Lilith and shut her eyes.

   “When we first met, Luz, I thought I had finally gone mad, or that a god was playing a trick on me. You were just so… so kind, so naive and yet so curious, you were everything a mortal should be and yet nothing like we were told. Where was the violence? The misunderstanding? The lashing out? But you weren’t. You weren’t any of those things, and you weren’t a trick.” Willow opened her eyes and turned to Luz. “You changed my life, Luz. You helped me stand up to my fears, develop my strengths, pursue my goals, things I know I wouldn’t have been able to do. And then, instead of turning on the cause with anger and vengeance, you turned, conscripted it into our friend group, and put a ring on it,” she laughed, shaking her head, “Who does that?! You. You do, Luz. And I love you for that. I’m honoured to help give you a godhood.”

   Luz, one hand entangled with Amity’s, grinned and laughed as Willow went on, then with more wholesomeness as she finished. Willow’s hand raised, too, and a green the shade of her eyes joined Amity’s lilac in the ball.

   “Augustus “Gus” Porter of Ephialtes, bound to Luz Noceda by companionship and inspiration. Speak.”

   “Y’know I’m not as close to you as those two, Luz,” Augustus, stretching his arms, tried to appear lax and mostly succeeded, “Willow’s your bestie and Amity’s some kind of sappy girl that follows you around and begs for kisses.” He winked at the god in question, who rolled her eyes with a smile. “But us? I mean, Willow was the first, Vee’s effectively your sister, and you worked hard for Amity, so it’s easy to feel like I’m just the straggler, the extra piece, the minor DLC. But, heh, you don’t let me feel that way. Whenever I’m down, you pick me up. Whenever I’m lagging behind, you join me. Then you tolerate me when I pester you about mortal stuff! I thought I knew what I was about, but you make me feel like so much more. So thanks for that, dude. You deserve this.”

   A blue stream, the same shade as his tunic, joined the conglomeration.

   “Edaly-” Lilith began, but was sharply interrupted by a joyous hoot of, “Ah, zip it, Lily! These goobers know who I am.”

   Edalyn cracked her neck and went to crack her fists, before blinking down at her golden hook in surprise and snickering.

   “Listen, Luz,” she began with a considerably softer tone, “I know I’m not exactly the most emotional person in the world - years of bein’ stuck down under does that to a gal. But, uh, I gotta say… when a scrawny, excitable mortal showed up on my doorstep, I wasn’t exactly expecting much, maybe a laugh or two before they disappeared forever. And, well, that’s not what happened. Between then and now, you’ve really found a place in this old fart’s heart, kiddo! Heh, and as Day, you better prepare, cuz I’ll be teaching you all the tools of the trade once you’re Light! If you thought learning glyphs was bad, you ain’t seen nothing yet!”

   With that… unceremonious ending, Edalyn snapped her fingers, and a bolt of gold shot up and into the ball. Lilith lowered her eyes to the realms, muttered something, and sighed.

   “King Clawthorne,” she tried to muster up the same professionalism as before, “Bound to Luz Noceda by play and trust. Speak.”

   King froze, and the air seemed to still in pension, but with a small, reassuring nudge from Eda, he cleared his throat - unnecessarily, titans communicated telepathically - and started to speak.

   “I, uh. I don’t… really know how to describe it. Luz, you… you’re not like anyone else. People looked at me and saw an annoying, proud demon that leeched onto the power of the Owl Lady, and… they weren’t really wrong. Eda was the only one who really liked having me around… and then you came along, and you loved me. Not as a mother, but as a curious human, a good friend, a caring sister. You didn’t know who I was any more than I did, and y-you cared for me anyway, even after we learned... I… know I’m going to have to do this again later, b-but… I…”

   Luz rushed over to wrap the crying demon in her arms, picking him up and pressing her face to him in comfort. Eda grabbed the two of them and held them just as tightly. They weren’t concise with it, none of them let up until King’s sobs were little more than sniffles, but Luz still didn’t place him down until she’d kissed the top of his skull tenderly and given him a final squeeze.

   “I think that speaks louder than any words,” Lilith, looking touched, smiled at the trio, “King, if you would?”

   King nodded, then fell to all fours and barked a sharp, loud “WEH!” that exploded into a wave of orange light, ringing the ears of all nearby for a few moments. With but the slightest contact, the ball shimmered and expanded greatly, the slightest touch of a titan’s power amplifying its strength tenfold.

   “Though the emotions of these five undoubtedly run strongest,” Lilith continued, “And will assuredly form the core of Luz Noceda’s new power, she has affected the lives of more than just one person, and if you feel your emotions can contribute to her power in any way, do not be afraid to speak them now.”

   As always, when asked for audience participation, there was a fragment, a brief millisecond of absolute quiet, as the words were processed, mulled over, before finally-

   A pink-haired girl with three eyes cried, “You helped me stop being such a douche!”

   “Busted me outta detention!” a boy near her added.

   A loud, happy bark.

   “You saved the school, despite the, ah… complications.”

   “Helped us through thick and thin, from saving the world to public… speaking...”

   “You said hello to me that one time! Hoot! ”

   “Gave mittens someone to smooch!”

   “Helped our family get closer, Ed! ”

   More than once; “Defended us from Grom!”

   “Y-You were a good sport, even when we were threatening you…”

   A chuff.

   “You were a new face to meet! Hoot! ”

   “Ye were tha best lass I ev’r ferried!”

   “You, ah, opposed Odalia where I should have.”

   “Got me off that horrible scam, dear!”

   “Like, totally destroyed that dragon, made mah girl Amity so happy.”

   “Saved palismen from thief, and brought another into world.”

   “Sporadic and utterly insufferable, but a dear friend and considerable help regardless. Most of us would not be here without you, Luz.”

   “You were a heck of an opponent, bucko! Let’s go again some time!”

   “You didn’t tell me off for eating that bug! Hoot! ”

   “Taught me the error of my ways, darling! Didn’t save my godhood, but it’s the thought that counts! Now are you sure you won’t model for me?”

   “You brought my sister back to me,” Lilith smiled honestly, eyes wet but not quite crying, temporarily drowning out the roar of a thousand thankful souls, even from those who didn’t know her personally, “Thank you, Luz.”

   Steadily, the crowd filtered into an overall thrum of “Thank you, Luz!” with the occasional animalistic equivalent from the demons with no voicebox. Then, of course, someone (Augustus) yelled over it all, “Luz of Light! Luz of Light!” and the audience switched to that, clapping rhythmically in unison.

   Luz was starstruck. Eyes bulged in wonder, far from the first one to cry, taking in… everything happening around her like it was the most wonderful thing she had ever seen. Which it very plausible was; godkind rarely joined together so absolutely like this, and all of it, every chant, every clap, every stamp of the foot was for her , and no-one else. Even when in a ball of hugs and smiles and laughter, as had been created, she couldn’t peel her eyes away from the massive display of affection.

   After all, there were few higher honours.

   Eventually, as all things did, the voices and the cheers and the smacks of hands, all of it faded into nothingness. Once that was so, Lilith, who’d mostly been observing Luz the whole time, raised her hands and gestured to the crowd,

   “Then put your magic where your mouth is!” Edalyn ordered, interrupting Lilith once again, “Ain’t a godhood without the gods, after all!”

   Most of the audience seemed to understand her words, and those that didn’t soon realised. All of a sudden, beams of light, energy balls and fire blasts and projectiles of every kind, colour, shape and severity burst from every degree, all striking the conglomerate in the centre and building it ever wider, ever wider, until by the end it almost eclipsed the huge centre stage itself. Lilith lifted it up with a smooth wave of vantablack darkness, which slid inside once it was satisfactorily high.

   “There,” she awed, going slightly off-script, “That is a mix of most, if not all, the magicks and godhoods of godkind. An amalgamation of every godhood older than it and every good thing anyone has ever thought about Luz Noceda. I doubt a single one of us here is even remotely surprised at its size - she has done innumerable good, and made many of our lives or non-lives happier. She is most deserving of this width.

   “But, no matter our will, there are some things that cannot be changed, some laws that cannot be broken. The First Titan wrought Fate by their own hand, to decide the path of the things they built, and formed Time soon after to reverse their mistakes. Then, Death followed third, providing an end to the otherwise immortal structures and beings they had formed. They are our Core Gods, the strongest, the highest, and the closest in tune to the titans that birthed us. It is with their power, ultimately, that may create our godhoods.

   “The first of the Cores was Fate, and in that, the first of our kind, the one that freed our species from the tyrannical rule of an unfit heir. It is they who dictate the road every thing must follow, be it happiness or sorrow, prosperity or defeat. At some point millennia ago, before the felling of the last titan, they split their body and their godhood into a hundred thousand fragments, each and every one a being wielding a scrap of their power. The archivists cooperated with the titans and godkind only briefly, before uniting in a stand to break free and explore the void beyond our reach. However, some would return, seeking to destroy the titans that threatened their immense strength. One, amongst the youngest of their kind, was imprisoned for the crimes he was mistakenly thought to have committed - but now, they are released, and have received not only compensation and apologies for the err, but the godhood of Fate as well. Rise, Collector of Fate.”

   Instead of walking up like everyone else, there was a flash of smoke and blue light, and a child, his appearance especially child-like, laughed, spinning his floating form in the air leisurely.

   “Hii, everyone!” they whooped, “Fate has arrived!”

   Lilith cleared her throat pointedly, and the Collector’s head whipped around, glowing red irises widening with excitement as he recognised her.

   “Aunt Lilith!” they cheered, swooping over to her.

   “Hello, Collector,” Lilith greeted awkwardly, “Are you, ah, going to follow the ceremonial procedure?”

   “Hmm…” he frowned, placing a hand on their chin and drifting slightly away in thought, “Oh, that’s right! The godhood thing! We were gonna give Luz those light powers!”

   “Yes, that’s… correct. Were you… not informed?”

   “Nah, I just forgot!” he giggled as if it was no big deal, “Whaddya want me to do?”

   “Well… it is common courtesy to address Luz, perhaps say a few words about your relationship to her, then provide some of your fate magic to the forming of the godhood,” she gestured with a finger to the ball of light above them. The Collector scrunched up their face, considering it, then smiled and rotated to face Luz.

   “Hi Luz! Hi King! Hi Mama Eda!” he waved, “Also, hi, other people I don’t know as well! Does that count as addression, Aunt Lil?”

   “I suppose-”

   “Sweet!” they clapped, “Um… what to say, what to say… oh! Luz, you taught me all about kindness, and how you postmortal guys make friends and feel and stuff! I always thought Boolos being weird and creepy was just how you guys acted, since I was kiiiinda stuck with him for a while, but you taught me that you guys are usually awesome! And only some of you are weird and creepy, like that gooey guy in the basement! Thanks to you, I didn’t ruin the Titan, and I have a bunch of god-friends now! So you totally deserve this! Also, I can see the futures, and most of the time you rock at this job, if you get it!”

   The Collector spread his arms wide, and a gush of pinkish-purple mist spread out, encoating the ball of light in a translucent blanket. As he did, Lilith began to say something - probably to comment on the illegality of that last statement - then thought better of it and merely covered her mouth with her fist for a moment.

   “I… guess that works,” Lilith sighed in dismay, the formal moment effectively ruined, then cleared her throat again and began, “The second of the Cores was Time-”

    “KING!” the Collecter cried excitedly.

   Lilith shut her eyes and took a deep breath, giving Luz an appreciative look as the mortal moved to the Collector and whispered something in their ear. He listened attentively for a moment, then nodded and mimed zipping their lips.

   “A- hem . The second of the Cores was Time, sharing the powers of the titans themselves and perishing to save one. It is they who allow the entirety of existence to proceed, to evolve, or force it to regress. Unbeknownst to all, the last titan, the one whose body we built our cities on, had a son, that hatched after their death. They were found in their nursery by Edalyn Clawthorne, and took them away from what she thought to be a monster. From there, he was raised like a typical demon, clueless to his heritage and yet flaunting royalty all the same. Then, roughly two hundred and fifty years ago, his true heritage was revealed, as the last titan, heir to the throne of the God-king, and the due receiver of the godhood of Time. For the second time, rise, King of Time.”

   King nodded.

   “I… I think I can do this,” he said with a stronger voice than before, facing Luz a little braver this time, “Luz. No offence to anyone here, but when we learned… I was a titan, you were the only one who helped at first. You gave me a hug, smiled, and said everything would be alright, because… y-you weren’t looking at me like I was someone else. Lilith, Eda, Hooty, they all treated me differently, not badly, just… I don’t know. I-I didn’t want anything to change; I wanted to be King! Just King, not King the titan or King the God-king. I wanted to go back, before everything went bad, when it was just you and me and Eda in the Underworld. And now… I can. I… I’m not going to lie. I thought about it, I… almost did. But… you, and a ride in a motorcycle, convinced me not to. And now? Everything’s better. Everyone’s happy, except the bad guys. It’s… we got the good ending, and I didn’t need to use my time magic! And… that’s all because of you, Luz. I’m… so happy you were my big sister.”

   He fixated on the ball, but instead of roaring, raised his clawed palms to it. Twin streams of pale blue magic curved around one-another as they rose and mixed with the pink, thickening and solidifying, though the interior was still visible.

   Lilith nodded to the titan, then gulped, visibly anxious for the first time. Across the stage were similar reactions, straightening of backs or shoulders - everyone knew what came next. It was what everyone had been waiting for, consciously or not.

   “The third of the Cores was Death,” he voice quivered, slightly, at the name, “Who served to clean up the leftover works of their kin, to erase their mistakes, eventually, to extract anything that existed for longer than it should. He served under Belos as the orphaned son of Caleb Wittebane and Evelyn Clawthorne after their unfortunate deaths, but his name, his face, anything of him other than his position is an enigma to even his coworkers. Most do not even know any more than his preferred title - the Golden Grim - and the rumours that describe him, for better or for worse. However, for the first time in over two millennia, Death shall grace our presence here, today. Rise, Death.”

   And then everything froze. If the silence before was thick, the silence now was bone-chilling . Where would he come from? Would he even come at all? There were stories, tales of a teen prodigy that took the Underworld by storm, a monster amongst gods in combat and smarter than gods ten times his age. Tales that depicted him as bloodthirsty or benevolent or cruel or calm, a sadistic beast and a mournful child. Very few learned the truth, and fewer still returned to shed some light amidst the confused, anxious blackness. The question of ‘would he come?’ plagued the mind of all. Why would he bother? Then, why did he accept? Was the representative lying? Had he changed his mind? Was he too busy? What did he do with Belos gone? Was he happy or vengeful? Had he been allied with Belos? To what end? Why? Questions about the most secretive of all godkind were everywhere, most of all right now, at the zenith of anticipation.

   A second passed.

   Another.

   Another.

   Another.

   Another.

   Anoth

   A wave of chill spread over the audience.

   From the darkness, he walked out. Not like the others, not with pride or nervousness or joy or confidence. His stride was determined, stoic, resolute . He did not falter under the stare of godkind, he did not freeze under their held breath. They did not matter to him; his goal was the stage.

   He walked up the steps, and took in the expressions of his fellows as he passed. Augustus’ eyes were wide and his mouth was agape, in some mix of awe, fear, surprise, and… spite? Amity wasn’t so visibly shocked, but the surprise and the hate were both there, much more focused. Edalyn, as if she’d been expecting him, just gave him a wholesome grin, like they were old friends and not enemies. King shied away, eyes flickering from the ground to his mask in uncertainty, like he didn’t know whether to be fearful or respectful. The Collector seemed unfazed, but seemed to understand the seriousness of the situation, not that that stopped him from fiddling with their fingers. Lilith seemed too stunned to comment, frozen as the audience was, notably lacking the angered envy from when they’d last met. Luz had a similar reaction, with an added sparkle to her eyes, of hope or of happiness the Grim was uncertain.

   He couldn’t look at Willow.

   He took a position at the centre of the stage, and turned around, taking the enormity of his audience. This wasn’t just his company or his country, as mortals tended to sort - this was his kin. Every member of his species , mostly.

   He swallowed, feeling a twinge of panic.

   He couldn't… he couldn't do this. He could appear, but- speaking? To the ones that sentenced him and his forefathers to the abyss? To the ones that would judge and condemn his every err? No, he- he couldn't- it was too hard.

   But maybe that was okay. Just being here today… it was a start.

   He stopped his rotation at Luz, facing her, fixating on her. This was his enemy, the most problematic and persistent opponent he'd ever faced. He had slaughtered her thousands of times, tens of thousands, and she’d gotten her fair share of hits in return, yet here he was, promoting her to a position equal to his own, and here she was, looking at him like he’d impressed a parent. Not a shred of hate? Not a single glare for the agony he’d caused her? She just looked like…

   …She was glad he was alive.

   He approached her, not sure what to say. Did he congratulate her escape, or her slaying of Belos, or her promotion? Was he as grudging as he’d been, or did he treat her like the equal she would soon be? Was he kind, pleasant, sarcastic, petty? Did he act on what he knew, or try to start anew? Did he bring up their battles or ignore them, apologise or forgive? Did… he want to be friends?

   “...Thanks,” he murmured, softly, “For… getting rid of him.”

   Did she brighten even more at that?

   His hand flew out of his cloak, and - ignoring the way both Amity and Augustus flinched - he held it high, a bolt of white-black lightning striking the ball ferociously. The gas ignited, and the ball became a vibrant fireball that lit up the entire colosseum. Luz stepped closer, and held out her palms. Immediately, the fire slithered through the air, wrapping itself around her arms and sliding in through the skin, until all of it had disappeared. Luz, who’d subconsciously closed her eyes, opened them, and behind the brown was a new shade, an undertone of gold and brightness and light.

    “One of us!” the audience chanted.

   “One of us!” the gods in the centre cheered.

   “One of us, kiddo!” Eda hooted, wrapping an arm around her shoulder.

   “One of them! You're a god now!” the Collector clapped.

   “One of us,” Lilith’s smile was uncharacteristically full, “Everyone- our new God of Light! ”

   Whooping, and cheering, and clapping, so loud and overwhelming and everywhere , and the gods were bundling up, creating a ball of hugs for their new kin, laughing and crying and all of them smiling like never before. Augustus’ magic was sparkling and Eda’s magic was blazing and Amity and Luz were kissing, and-

   Nobody noticed the Grim slip away into shadow.

---

   “Hey.”

   The Grim slowed, and stopped. After a beat, he pivoted, and half-faced the new God of Light. Without the professional mannerisms, she was shorter, hands tucked in pockets and eyes narrower, sharper. Her aura, of creativity and fun and limitless potential, was explosive and wide like a child’s, though even they would have more control over their aura than the ex-mortal before him.

   “Mortal,” he greeted stoically, then corrected, “...I mean, Light.”

   “Nah,” she waved off, “‘Mortal’ has a better ring to it. Or ya could just call me my name, y’know.”

   He said nothing, posture fixed and slightly impatient. The large, black sigil thrummed by his side, ready to take its master back to the cavern from whence he came, occasional lashes of darkness striking out as the stability slowly crumbled.

   “...Okie dokie then,” she smacked her lips, “Mortal it is. So- long time no see, Gold. How ya been?”

   “What do you want, mortal?” he groaned, frustrated but not as aggressive as he once was. Luz held up both hands in defence.

   “Woah, hey! I’m just wondering! Y’know… we didn’t exactly split on the best of terms. And… I heard you got into some trouble, disappeared for a while. Didn’t even know you were alive until Darius started poking for a new Life. Makes a girl worried!”

   He rolled his eyes and turned away. “I’m intact, thanks to you. There; you set me free from a punishment wrought by my own failure, and likely countless others. I owe you. Satisfied?”

   She didn’t immediately answer, but he didn’t find himself moving into the sigil yet either. Whether he wanted to or not, he was waiting for her to continue.

   “I…” she sighed, “Also… wanted to talk to you about something. Um, and, well, I thought, since you’re here and I don’t really have a way into the Underworld, I could… do that now. If you wanna? I get you’re Death, and you’re busy - heck, Will’s busy, and you do most of the work down there - but, I feel like it’s kinda important? Especially since, y’know, you don’t really talk to… anyone? And I just sorta feel like-”

   He slammed the blunt edge of his scythe into the ground, sending out a sharp wave of metallic sound that cut her off. His scythe trembled in his hands, black energy still crackling, and there was a moment of silence.

   “...Fine. Let’s talk, mortal.”

   “Oh. Whoo, okay,” she sucked in a breath, “So… Willow. You two know each other, right?”

   “...Yes,” he responded, his voice lower and more respectful, in a way more befitting of a colleague - though he still did not face her, nor did he hide his weapon, “She was appointed by Darius to be the new life, as you likely know. We are coworkers.”

   “Okay. And, uh- she told me she told you me and her were friends. You remember that, right? Just so there’s no confusion?”

   “Yes.”

   “Neat. Well, um. She told me about. Your argument. Not the details!” she added hastily when his scythe began to spark, “But… she did mention the ending. And then you didn’t, uh, show up to work. For a little while. So… you must’ve been pretty upset, huh.”

   Silence.

   “...Um. And, well, I figured, since the whole fight was about the stuff Boolos didn’t tell you, I was kind of wondering… if you wanted the truth. Or, my truth, anyway. There’s a lot to go over.”

   He straightened. The mortal’s truth… something he’d wondered about, for days on end. Yet, surprisingly, he’d forsaken that interest for another, somewhere down the line;

   “...Does this involve Willow? Or her part of the story? It, uh… she hasn’t been especially forthcoming in that regard.”

   Luz inhaled, shakily. “...Yeah. It does. She was going to tell you herself, but you haven’t really… talked to her. Recently. So I’ll do the big stuff, and she can add the details later, ‘kay?”

   He nodded. That was actually preferable; it was a nice balance between satiating his curiosity and respecting her boundaries. And she had been going to tell him, so the transfer of information was going to happen anyway… surely she wouldn’t get upset? He wasn’t really sure whether she was angry with him or not - ‘worried’, Darius had called her. Belos had been ‘worried’, too, when he was attacked by a phantom and missing in the Underworld for a few hours.

   “Alright then. Ahem! ” she cleared her throat, “Story time! Oh, I love a good backstory!- focus , Luz! Ugh. You probably don’t remember, but it was a few months into my escapes. You were… um, chasing me, and one of your blasts set a tree on fire. I hid in the smoke until you left.”

   The Grim nodded again. He remembered that run; it was the first time she’d eluded him, the gap between the desperate dodger she’d once been and the adept fighter that had been the first to achieve the impossible.

   “Well, before Willow was Life, she was the God of Willows, but before that she was the God of Smoke. Yeah, I know, totally didn’t suit her, but whatever. And during one of her practice sessions, she felt that smoke - partially because it was a plant burning - and decided to see what it was. She saw me, and we started to talk, because she was totally awesome and I was totally weird! Of course, I had to go eventually, and you got me literally like ten seconds later or something, but the next run over I decided to see if I could talk to her again. I set another tree on fire, and we talked a bit more! It became a thing, and whenever I got to the Owl House Eda would help me contact her. She introduced me to Gus and Amity and a few others, though they weren’t on the best of terms at the time - yada yada yada details. Point is, we were friends, we helped each other out. And, um, well… they started to… help me, a bit. There were some spots in the Underworld where their magic reached, and… they… sent me fractions of their power. Um,” she faltered, but the Grim was hardly listening.

   Willow… gave Luz aid. Willow, Augustus, and Amity were the three gods that had broken their oaths, the ageless laws of the Underworld, risked their lives and their godhoods and their freedom to help a mortal wrongly sentenced. Traitors. Criminals. There were so few rules for gods to follow, yet those three had broken them anyway.

   And, he thought bitterly, it was also their blessings that had burned him and cut him a hundred thousand times, albeit at the hands of another.

   What… was he supposed to do now? Did Darius know? The Grim wanted to believe not, yet… he was associated with Edalyn, and Lilith, two of the most infamous lawbreakers around, and even if they’d been ultimately justified, entering Belos’ mind nonconsensually was as much a crime as any. Was that okay? Was breaking the rules for the ‘greater good’ correct? The First Titan had designed those rules, and though they’d been edited with time the core structure was the same, not even Belos could change that - by breaking them, were they not also defying the First Titan’s will? Or would it be their will to ignore them if they so deemed it necessary? Did they have that right?

   By breaking the rules… was Willow a bad person?

   “D-Don’t get mad!” Luz was stammering at his quiet, “W-We were younger then, and going through a lot - like, a lot , trust me, and we haven’t broken any… Underworld rules since! Besides, Darius already punished us, so it’s not like we got off scot-free, and it wasn’t a nice punishment either! It stank! Literally - part of it was cleaning up Grom’s poo! For a decade! So…” she trailed off at the Grim’s raised hand (when had his scythe disappeared?).

   He almost chuckled. Why, of all times to obey his command, was it when he wasn’t threatening her with death? Why did she only comply when there was no real consequence for defiance? Luz’s mind worked in absurd ways; he doubted he would ever come to understand it.

   “Your story,” he urged, concisely, “Continue.” He wanted to hear the end. If she kept pausing, his thoughts would keep spiralling, and that could only take him to bad places.

   He didn’t want to go to bad places. He wanted to go to places he could be friends with Willow again.

   “...Gotcha,” she swallowed, “That’s where I got the glyphs from, they taught them to me so I would always have magic. Eventually, um, after a… eventually, they decided they wanted to help me escape more than just giving me magic, since you were beating me anyway and I was still super far away from the exit. Willow was the God of Willows at this point, but she had some Smoke powers left and used them to warp into the Underworld, and Gus cloaked them so nobody would be able to find them. Then… they waited at the rendezvous, and I showed up a little while later with you right behind me, and Gus made the illusion of a warp, and… to you, it looked like I was gone.”

   It… it made sense . He hated that it made sense. A mortal could never break free from the Underworld, but they could trick. They could deceive. And that’s exactly what she did. She… cheated, in a sense. Mortals spoke oft of cheating death, and she was the one who did. Though, technically speaking, since she was under there by accidental circumstances it wasn’t against the rules to leave, merely his job to stop any escapees, so why did she look so-

    Oh. A chill like never before overcame his body. Of course.

   “...So you were there, then,” he clarified icily, “Invisible. You… saw the aftermath.”

   She gulped, and nodded that awful, dreaded confirmation. She saw, and by extension, Willow saw.

   “...Y-Yep,” she trembled, “A-And, I just… hated him, so much. I-I-I thought you were dead, Gold, a-and, heh, you were the one keeping me out but you were also the only one that cared , y’know? Kiki was a bitch, Lilith was cold, Belass was Belass, and nobody else really gave a shit, e-except you. You… kinda kept me sane. Y-You never treated me like an object, or a freak, I-I was just… I was a person , to you. Heck, when I wasn’t running away, you weren’t even half bad! A bit cranky, sure, but considering how much stuff you had to deal with I don’t blame you! You listened to me ramble, and talked to me, and…” she shook her head, exhaling with a smile, “Even if I was dying, no matter how painfully, you kept me going, because every time I would go back to that dumb castle, you would be there to greet me. You even congratulated me when I did well! Like- you were hurting me, and later I was hurting you, but you were always… nice. In your own way. You turned the bloodiest game of tag into a friendly competition, and I loved you for that. You made that place bearable!

   “So… when that monster grabbed you with his magic and- and dragged you, buried you, I-I- I was so angry , y-you have no idea. It was like… he just murdered you. You- you were coming out of your shell, and I was kind of hoping we could be friends, since… you seemed so sad. Gotta say, you hid it hella well, but… anyway. Um, I thought you were dead, and I was just rearing to leap out and blast him out of the sky ,” she snarled, “But… I didn’t. We returned to the Titan, and everything got messy, dealing with the Day of Unity and then the Collector and also my feelings for Amity… but I never really forgot you. Heh, you should’ve seen how I went at Darius, I thought he’d let you die, but he had no idea, said intentionally killing gods was a major offence, and… that’s where that started. I, um. Might have cried a little when I heard you were alive.”

   He was still. She… did?

   “...Why?”

   She started, then huffed, “Cuz of the reasons I just listed, dummy! This was a tender moment; were you even listening?”

   “Why?” he repeated, “Why would you… care, like that? I… hurt you. Killed you. And didn’t feel bad about it. Your friends, during the creation, their speeches were obviously from the heart - I didn’t even give one. And you never needed to see me again, after that. There was no reason for you to care, once you left.”

   She gave him a soft, somewhat concerned look. “That’s not what caring is, Gold. Ugh, Willow mentioned you struggled with this, how do I… okay. You’re right, I didn’t need to see you again. You know who else I didn’t need to see? Willow, and Gus and Amity and Vee and a bunch of others! I met them and chose to continue seeing them. And I did that cuz I liked them. Willow’s empathetic and strong and Gus’ chill and cool and Amity’s sweet and a dork! Just like I chose to keep seeing you.”

   “No,” he frowned, “You didn’t. Our encounters were spawned from our interwoven goals, you never had an option.”

   “Dude,” she grinned, “Didja really think I needed to follow you around all the time? Breaking outta the castle wasn’t difficult; I could’ve been spamming attempts every second of every day!”

   “Well… I…”

   “But I didn’t,” she shrugged, “And maybe that’s a bit cuz it’d get super dull, but also because… I liked talking to you. The real you, not the persona you put on outside. I didn’t wanna get in the way of your work, either, cuz then your schedule would be filled up and you’d probably get punished by Belos ,” she sneered the name correctly this time.

   “But… if I was preoccupied, that was your chance to-”

   “Dude, escaping means nothing if I feel bad doing it! Oh, whippee, some random mortal broke out of the Underground, it only cost the God of Death his job and his life and his godhood and fuck knows what else! That’s what caring is, Gold. Wanting them to… succeed, and be happy, and not get hurt. I mean, I know I hit you a few times, but you’re a god , those were probably bruises to you, right?”

   “...Yeah,” he muttered, quietly, “Well then, is that all?”

   He tried not to react at her wounded look. She’d glared at him, roared at him in anger before, and screamed in pain because of him - appearing a little offended shouldn’t mean anything to him. It shouldn’t.

   “Gold… yeah,” she took a step back, ducked her head, and averted her gaze, “That’s all I wanted to say. You can go, if you want.”

   He did. That’s what he wanted to do. It’s what she wanted him to do, even if she didn’t know it, because, well, he didn’t care for her, did he? He’d locked her out of her goal thousands of times, stamped on her joy and cut her open. Success, happiness, wellbeing? He’d detracted from all three of those things. It should’ve been liberating, to know that he didn’t care, it should’ve been an elating sensation that bubbled in his chest, and he should’ve spun right round and told her exactly that, that she didn’t need to care because he didn’t.

   He should’ve. He should’ve. He should’ve.

   He should’ve been nicer to Willow, too.

   But he was developing an ugly trend of not doing what was logically correct.

   “Fuck,” he snarled suddenly, making her jump, and he tossed her a small, silver orb with ornate, specific engravings that she barely caught and almost dropped with how the dark electricity zapped her naked hands.

   “What is…?” she faintly asked, turning the orb over in her hands. He whirled around and stepped into the sigil, pausing right as the magic flared to life, requiring only his command to activate. Reluctantly, he glanced back at her.

   “There’s a lot of fire in the Underworld,” he told her, “Plenty of light, ironically, for a place with no sun. If you ever… want somewhere else to practise your magic… that’ll take you down until you learn how to warp. It skips the legal process, and you won’t need to ride with someone else. Use it, or don’t. Not like you don’t know your way around,” he added gruffly.

   It took her a second, then her eyes widened and her smile beamed and her aura was shimmering so hard it stung. He winced, pushing back with his aura, and she giggled.

   “Sorry, sorry… b-but I, I’m just… so…” He could see her eyes watering and sense another heart-to-heart(? Did he have a heart?) on its way, so he cleared his throat to interrupt both.

   “I have work to do, mortal,” he declared, more at his normal volume than this entire conversation, “Not that you would know much of work. You have distracted me long enough. Congratulations on your promotion, and if we meet again.”

   The sigil sparked, and energy clouded his vision, but before the heat of the Underworld fully enveloped his body, he heard a sniffle and a wet response of,

   “ Until we meet again, Gold. And see ya.”

   Then she was gone, and he was in his warping room, wisps of magic zapping the floor and making a few more scorch marks on the already-blackened floor. He didn’t move for a few moments.

   Alright. So that’d happened. Luz… didn't hate him. Maybe she even wanted to see him again. And he hadn’t entirely screwed up their first meeting in two-hundred years. Not that he’d imagined their reintroduction, but that went a lot better than he’d been expecting. Alright.

   He opened the door to the room and stepped out, shutting it neatly behind him. . Alright! That was most of his visit’s goals accomplished! He’d helped create the godhood, not killed anyone, and talked to luz again! Unfortunately… that left the hardest one for last.

   Departing his tower, he made his way to Willow’s room. Understandably, she hadn’t returned yet; likely catching up with her friends, possibly participating in a post-creation party. He’d been impatient to get this over and done with, but thinking about it now, he actually preferred this outcome. He pushed open the door to her portal, and summoned a plain envelope and a piece of paper. With a spell, black ink wrote across the paper;

    I want to talk. I’ll be in the archive if you feel similarly.
  -Lord

   He folded it into the envelope, signed it Captain and placed it by the entrance, obvious and blatant. He straightened his back, swallowed, and left.

   …Welp. He was committed. Success or disaster, this was happening.

   No turning back.

---

   …Or maybe it wasn’t happening.

   It’d been at least a few hours since he left the note, and while he wasn’t sure if she’d even seen it, a few hours was a long time to stay after a party. Granted, she was one of the recipient’s best friends, but in his experience even they never lingered longer than two at the most. Yet, he’d been sieving through the infinite pages in the archives for around twice that amount with no sign of her. Perhaps she was staying on the Titan? Maybe she had an unknown partner she was… spending time with? That felt like the kind of thing she’d mention, but it was a possibility.

   He shook his head. If he wanted her to be honest with him, he’d need to be open to that honesty. If he doubted her every word, she wouldn’t bother to tell him anything. Besides, why did he care if she had a partner or not? If she wanted to spend her life with someone, that was fine - though how she would manage to balance her love life and her work in the Underworld was beyond him.

   Ugh. Why was he thinking so much about this?

   Perhaps it was spurred by boredom. He’d sieved through the archive before, but looking over the files of every mortal to ever exist was an immensely tedious, and just immense, task, more so even than his reaping. Kikimora had been good at what she did, the sorting process was easy enough to figure out, but manually deciding whether or not each and every soul to ever die deserved to be trapped in the Underworld was exhausting, especially with how complicated the ethics were. Was a noble warrior who slaughtered hundreds bad, for killing so many, or good, for defending others? What about a primate with little to no sense of sentience? What about a child stealing food for their family? It was one of the few jobs he’d ever had to do that was based on opinion, rather than having a definitive answer. He did form a basic, flexible system for determining the good from the evil and the neutral, and found himself deeming most of them unfit for the torture of the Underworld. A few million souls into the sorting of the landmass currently known as ‘Afghanistan’, the first on the list, he realised he didn’t actually have anywhere to put these souls. Willow had mentioned an alternative way of reaping, but hadn’t elaborated. So, he’d put that chore on hold, and begun a search for a hint. It was hidden extremely well - Belos’ mustn’t have wanted him finding it accidentally - but he located it eventually.

   Pulling the piece of parchment out, he uncurled the truly ancient paper - the last recorded edit was over a thousand years ago, the day before his birthday, but it was far older - and scanned the dried ink words, in handwriting far less neat than his own.

    Log 277/1205

   Active Death: Caleb Wittebane
  Active Management: Hamara Porter

   Spared: 92049 (low)
  Sentenced: 423 (high)
  Total: 92472 (low)

   M/C Cause of Death: U/S Transferable Diseases (normal)
  M/C Place of Death: U/S 大金 [Great Jin] (fluid)

   Other Notes: Unusually low death count. Possible god interference. Will investigate.

   Then it went on to list the individual mortals, their cause of death among other tidbits - age, sex, etc. - and whether they were ‘spared’ or ‘sentenced’. The information was nice, but the file decided not to elaborate on what it meant to be ‘spared’. Obviously they were still dying, but where were they going? It was possible they were just being deleted, destroyed, but that was very uncharacteristic of Death. Godkind liked to call Death an eraser, destroyer, the one who cleaned up the messes, but in reality they were more of an archivist than even the species. Nigh-every important thing a Death had ever done could be found on a page or in a book somewhere, and likewise, everything they did was more storage than destruction. So for them to just… dispose of the extra souls, was weird. Even dead gods and titans could be found, in a very secure place he would not dare to even imagine, its secrecy was so vital. But then the question still stood: where were they going?

   He grumbled. Ironically, there was no ‘big list of dead people’, just lists of specifics, ‘souls in the Underworld’ and the like, or if there was, it wasn’t in the archive. As soon as he had that thought, he took a double-take. Wait a minute… it wasn’t in the archive . Meaning if there was a list such as this one that did exist, someone must have pulled it out. But that was supposed to be impossible - the archive was stronger than any god. No amount of power could have authorised that, meaning it must have been stolen, and furthermore, it must have been stolen by someone with permission to move files around.

   Only so many people had that power, and even less had access to Class-A files, which said list would undoubtedly be. In fact, there were so few, there were only two in the castle with that access: himself, and Kikimora.

   However, before he could chase that line of interesting thought, there was a knock on the wooden door frame that echoed across the large, dark emptiness towards him. He jumped, and turned, seeing a silhouette shuffle slowly into the dark room.

   “Hello?” Willow called, “Grim…? I got your note, are you… still here?”

   “H-Here,” he answered without thinking, and used his magic to light the room up so she could see him. His eyes hurt a bit with the sudden adjustment, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, the way her eyes went from concerned to surprised to happy yet sad as those incomparable emerald eyes found him.

   “Grim,” she breathed, like he’d just lifted a boulder off her chest, “You’re… I… I’m so sorry! ”

   He felt himself seize up as she began to cry, knees trembling. Why was she apologising?

   “I- I- I pushed you away,” she quivered, “I’m sorry, it’s… I didn’t mean to- I just wanted you to k-know the truth, you deserved to know, b-but I just made everything worse, and now you- they think you’re- I’m sorry. ”

   “Captain, hold on,” he dashed over to her in a flash of yellow, and her eyes widened - right, she’d never seen that spell, “Slow down. What… happened?”

   She stared at him. “I… I told you about the other way to reap souls, and you… You don’t remember?”

   “Of course I remember that,” he told her softly, “What are you apologising for, I mean? Did someone… get angry at you?”

   “N-No,” she shook her head slightly, “But I… I made you panic , Grim, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again, I’m sor-”

   “Captain,” he interrupted sharply, “I… I’m sorry.”

   She gaped at him, speechless. “Captain, you… you’re so good to me, you’ve been so good, even when I pester you for the truth, and then as soon as you try to give it, I just… snap, and start yelling at you?! You don’t deserve that. Then I run away, and leave Underworld management to you? I’m… you’re amazing, and I’m just treating you like… like shit! ”

   “No,” she tried, but he wasn’t done.

   “Don’t try to deny it! What’s one good thing I’ve done for you? Oh, I make you cooler? You know what else can do that? A fucking air conditioner! You don’t need my help with directions, I kill your plants, I attack your friend, I distract you from your work, I help the man that was going to slaughter everyone , what else?! Inadvertently getting you in trouble for helping the mortal, does that count? I’ve made your life harder over and over again, and what the hell have you gotten out of it? A fancier job and a statue!?”

   “I got you!! ” she cried, and silence befell them. It was now that he focused not on her words, but her appearance. Her eyes were fixed on where his own would be, always emerald, always beautiful, and now strong and determined. This was the Willow Park that got what she wanted, the one that didn’t let anything get in her way, the Willow Park he admired. Her jaw was set and her stance was nailed and, whatever she wanted out of this conversation, he had a feeling she was going to pin him there until she got it.

   “I got you , Grim,” she repeated, milder this time, and a lot of her stiffness vanished, “Don’t you dare act like that isn’t worth anything. And none of those things you said were bad! I’m the one who memorised the map layout. Your aura is part of who you are, you can’t blame yourself for that. You were only hunting Luz because… of what Belos would do to you if you didn’t, right?”

   He winced, and her eyes softened in sympathy.

   “So she did tell you,” she murmured, “I’m… sorry. You must hate us now, especially me. I’m the one-”

    “Never,” he insisted, “I… could never hate you, Captain.”

   She smiled, sadly, at that. “None of the things you said were your fault. Grim, if anything, I’m the one doing bad, you’re working every hour of every day and I’m taking a break every fortnight to play with my friends. Don’t , argue that,” she added hurriedly before he could interject, “Grim… you’re one of the kindest people I know. You… I just barged in here one day, with basically no warning, and set up shop in your house, and what did you do? You gave me a tour and cleaned my room and made me laugh. You… you saw a young boy dying in the sand and told him you would help. You met a woman on her deathbed and comforted her. You,” she half-laughed, “You talked to a mortal you’d been fighting for years and gave her a way to visit you! You’re… just so… fantastic , Grim. If I had to endure the consequence for breaking into the Underground every day to see you, I would.

   “So… please, don’t say you’re sorry. You didn’t make anything worse. You didn’t say anything wrong. Believe it or not, you mean the world to us. To me. Heh, as soon as we were off the platform, Luz asked if there was any particular reason I was wearing your cloak. It’s… I can’t imagine a world without you. So if I’m not to blame for your panic, then you’re not to blame for any of this, alright?”

   “I… Captain, I…” He didn’t know what to say.

   She seemed to understand. “Grim… I expected to come here and get yelled at. I expected you to kick me out of the castle and never want to see me again. A-And I know it’s awful to even consider you doing that, I’m sorry, but I did. But…” she was crying, why was she crying?, yet she was smiling, too, “Thinking about it now, I… can’t believe I thought that was an option. You’re perfect, you’re so, so perfect, and I just wanted to say that… that I… um… Grim, I…”

   He didn’t know where he got the impulse from. It was one of the ones he had specifically taught himself not to do from a young age, and he’d done it flawlessly for a thousand years. Never once had he slipped up, never once had the notion crossed his mind so fiercely and suddenly his body acted according to its will instead of his own. It wasn’t like it was familiar to him; in fact, it was the opposite. He shouldn’t even know how to do it, let alone want to.

   But the next thing he knew, he was stepping forwards and wrapping her in his arms.

   She fell into him easily, like she’d done this a thousand times, for of course she probably had. Her head tucked into his chest, he shut his eyes, her aura actually blazing onto his skin and into his bones. If being beside her felt good, embracing her was a sensation so indescribably outstanding he immediately knew he would miss it every second it was gone. He just felt so… whole. Happy. Fulfilled. He felt as close to being alive than ever before, and it was wonderful.

   Of course, his impulses weren’t quite done.

   “...Hunter,” he corrected in a whisper.

   She turned her head to look up at him, though he couldn’t quite meet her gaze from his position.

   “You… when we met,” he continued, flustered, “Y-You asked me… w-what my name was. U-Uh. Belos… said my p-parents called me… Hunter. So. Um. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”

   “Hunter,” she purred, and he shivered. It felt so… foreign, to hear it spoken from any voice other than Belos’. Yet… he liked hearing her say it. She always said ‘Grim’ with an undertone of… amusement? Teasing? Something else? It always felt like a nickname instead of a name, which it technically was, but. There was none of that when she recited his name, replaced with curiosity, as if experimenting with the word.

   “Hunter,” she said again, and this time he could tell she was smiling, “Lord Hunter of Death. I was right; it does still sound cool. Guess Gus owes me his firstborn. Kidding!” she added, laughing, as Hunter choked, “...Hunter. Hunter.”

   “It’s… good?” Why did he need to know so badly?

   “It’s yours,” she answered simply. She pushed herself away from him - still attached, just with a bit of space - and asked, now that they had eye contact again, “So… Hunter, can we… finish off the trio?”

   He tilted his head at her. “What do you mean?”

   “Well,” she hummed, “When we met, you let me know three major things about you, more or less: your name was a secret, and you killed anyone you looked at or touched. I was wondering… if we debunked two of those, can we also deal with the third?”

   He blinked at the hope in her voice, and.

   If he had a heart, it would’ve stopped.

   After all, he.

   And her.

   Were hugging.

   Hugging.

   As in a physical embrace.

   Physical.

    Touching.

   He peered down, inspected the way their arms were around each other, even if the sensations he felt were a dead giveaway. There was no doubt- they were touching. And she wasn’t dead. She. She wasn’t dead. Oh titan, she wasn’t dead.

   “You’re… not dead…” he commented faintly.

   “Only when you called me an angel,” she winked.

   “You’re not dead. You’re not dead!” he found his voice rising in excitement, and his fingers squeezed experimentally, because yep, that was flesh he was feeling! And not the cold, lifeless flesh of the dead, no, this was a person who was alive and warm and ALIVE!

   “Did you hug me without knowing this?” Willow checked, smiling affectionately, and his smile fell at once. He released her and dashed backwards, leaving her blinking and surprised.

   “Oh my titan I’m so sorry captain,” he apologised intensely, “I-I-I just risked your life on a gamble, oh, I, I didn’t-”

   “Hunter,” she interrupted sweetly, and something about the use of his name made him stop, settle, calm, “You didn’t risk anything. Besides, I… never really believed you had that deathtouch stuff in the first place.”

   “But…” he pointed out despite himself, “My parents… the others… timelines…”

   Her gaze flickered away for an instant, and when it came back her expression was sadder. “Hunter, we… watched it happen, in Belos’ mind. Now’s not really the time to tell you, but… you didn’t kill them.” She approached, slowly. “They… they did die. But it wasn’t you. Never. We saw him go back, try to change the outcome over and over, and you never, ever, hurt anybody. It… it was something else.”

   He wanted to believe her. He did. This was a moment of honesty, of confessions, because there was nothing much to hide any more. He knew how she tied into the greater story, and she knew more about him than anybody else. She almost knew as much as Belos. They were there, together, to talk about their pasts, the present, and what (or who) they wanted in their future. This was supposed to be the climax, the scene that would define their relationship for an eternity onwards, and he was supposed to believe her. He wanted to believe her.

   Yet.

   A nick on his finger. You fool! You idiotic brat! You almost touched her!

   A notch beneath his eye. You do not take your mask off, Hunter. Ever. Do you understand me?

   A tear in his thigh. I ask so little of you, Hunter. I worked so hard for you, Hunter. And this is how you repay me?

   A burn on his back. You are a god, Hunter. Not even mortals make these mistakes. So why are you?

   A slash on his jaw. Imbecile! You damnable disgrace! You had one job! One! Do. Not. Let. Her. Escape. AND WHAT DID YOU DO?

   …Was the voice correct?

   He inhaled a shaky breath, placing his hands on her forearms as she did to his waist. For a moment, she looked excited, flustered, and delighted, but the moment he began speaking again, it returned to the more tender look.

   “...You swear it?”

   “Yes,” she nodded without hesitation, “I swear it on… everything. On the titan, on my godhood, on my friends and family. On my palisman. On our bond. On my life itself. I swear, Hunter, you did not kill your parents.”

   He swallowed. If she was certain… if she was sure… but he didn’t know that. It was implied, but she hadn’t said it. And this was no small deal.

   “...Are you sure you want this? Death is… always a possibility.”

   “Everything’s a possibility, Hunter,” she murmured, “And I know… at least, I feel like you need this. If taking this off,” she traced her finger across the mask’s rim, “Makes you half as happy as it did to touch… then it’s worth whatever risk you throw at me. Especially if the face beneath is as attractive as your voice,” she added, smirking, and flustered by the comment as he was, he couldn’t help but smile.

   Not only did she want this for him, she wanted it for herself. Compassion and desire. How could he say no?

   “Not as attractive as yours,” he hummed back without thinking, and when she was pink, exposed, recovering, he sucked up the courage to whisper, softly, “I… I don’t think I can do this… by myself. I-I barely even know how to, and, I-”

   He was cut off when she detached her hands and fixed them on each side of his face, fingers gentle on the edge of the golden metal. She was focused, now, happier, a bit more lustful even. His blush increased at that last part, but he dismissed the notion, because A) she couldn’t be into him that way, and B) if now wasn’t the time to tell him what happened to his parents, it was not the time for those kinds of thoughts.

   “You don’t need to explain,” she soothed, “I… was kinda hoping you’d ask. I know, I know, it’s a tender moment and totally personal and kind of selfish, I just-”

   “It’s not selfish,” he assured quietly. She trailed off, and he didn’t begin again. They were silent; they didn’t have much else to say. At least, he didn’t. Hunter wasn’t sure about Willow; he was too busy watching her, feeling the still-surreal sensation of her fingers on his person, observing how her eyes looked to him for consent and the way they brightened when he nodded, just slightly. She felt her fingers begin to pull away, and he tensed, feeling the mask pull further and further away until-

   Her hands lowered, and the mask went with it.

   The first thing he noticed was how his vision changed. Though only the outer edges of his eyesight were obscured by the mask, it felt infinitely more clear, colour stretching from one end of his eye to the other unmarked by black. Speaking of the colour, wow. He’d spent so long with his eyes in the shade, losing it felt… amazing. Everything was so much brighter, vibrant, glorious, especially the girl before him, who was blinding compared to the Willow he’d been seeing. Of course, the new light also stung his eyes, and he winced, refusing to blink even as his brain commanded it and settling for a kind of squint.

   His ears were fine, though.

   “There you are,” she breathed. One hand returned to his face, brushing the side of his jaw with the scar, and he automatically flinched. If being touched through the clothing was elating, this was… indescribable. There was no barrier, he wasn’t feeling the press of something against his clothes, he felt skin. Not only that, but every atom of her being was electrically charged with the Life Magic he relished, and it… was almost too much. Life and Death, connected as intimately as this, was a force so powerful and overwhelming he could hardly stand it.

   But he didn’t need to, because as soon as he flinched, she recoiled, her finger jerking back. He blinked in surprise, still comprehending the brief touch as she gave him a guilty, apologetic look.

   “Sorry, I… got ahead of myself,” she mumbled, “I was, uh… heh, r-right about the face-voice thing. Um. Sorry.”

   “It’s alright,” he forgave her, voice unfamiliar even to his ears. It was… lighter. Lower. Less like the voice of a warrior and more of the voice of… a man his age. His mind must’ve subconsciously made the change, and it wasn’t bad; instead of sharper and prouder, it was quieter, smooth like velvet and more pleasant on the ears.

   Willow certainly noticed the change, her ear flicking and her eyes widening. “Oh. Wow.” Then she seemed to register what she’d said and blushed bright pink, ducking her head and averting her eyes. “Um. I… just said that aloud, didn’t I.”

   And that was it. From the tension in the air to the feelings in his chest to the way she flushed and the words she said, the tenderness of the moment replaced with something else entirely, it was too much. A snort broke free, then a chuckle, and by the end of it he was laughing. Not a small laugh, no, a full-on guffaw, loud and true and perhaps the most genuine laugh of his entire unlife.

   “H-Hey! Don’t… laugh at me!” Willow tried to be indignant, vainly, as soon she was laughing too, and the pair of them broke down, giddy with relief, excitement, and joy. Elation from forgiveness and pleasure to be past their fight had them going for quite a while, at least three or four minutes, another new record for Hunter. At some point they fell into each other, at some point they were holding each other, and at some point they were looking at each other with something a lot different than friendship.

   Hunter hadn’t been paying much attention. He was just happy to have his partner back.

---

   “This sucks royal ass. Why did we have to come? Can we go back?”

   Willow giggled, and Hunter’s crossed arms immediately untensed, his bad mood weakening to the sound of her laughter.

   “Luz would destroy us for skipping,” she warned cheekily, “And then tease us for being alone together.” She laughed properly when he grumbled. “Besides, people are excited to meet you. The elusive, mysterious, powerful and sexy God of Death, Hunter Wittebane, King of the Underworld! It’s not every day you get to meet a celebrity.”

   “People are not saying that about me,” he scoffed, and she raised both eyebrows at him. He raised his eyebrows right back, then huffed as that damnable tuft of hair fell down from its precarious balance. Willow giggled at his expression, and leaned in to fix the strand. He could probably use magic to fix it, but he liked having her close and didn’t like asking for touches without a purpose, even if she’d assured him he could ask for as many as he wanted. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

   “No problem. Remember, Luz asked you here specifically, it’d be rude to leave now.”

   “Only because Amity asked you to be Maid of Honour before she could. I’m the backup plan.”

   “And who do you think Amity would’ve asked, if Luz had taken me?”

   “...Boscha?” he tried, then sighed as Willow gave him a look, “Yeah, I know, stop with the self-depreciation. It’s just… there are so many people better than me.”

   “Nope, that counts, minus one point,” Willow scolded, tapping him on the head, and he spluttered.

   “What? How?!”

   “Hunter, you’re one of the best people I know,” she stated, not for the first time and, based on his current streak, not the last either, “You know that. And that’s not just my opinion, either; I’ve heard people saying ‘Best Man’ is a fitting title for you. I’ve heard Darius say that. In a year, you’ve made a better impression than Luz has in over two hundred. There are not ‘many people better than you’. Obviously don’t go flaunting that, but also don’t undersell yourself.”

   “I’m not!”

   “Hunter, you give up your spot in line to everyone. Fourteen hours to buy groceries is a little suspicious, you know.”

   He tried to summon some kind of argument, and deflated when nothing came to mind. She smiled, and took his hand, continuing, “I know it’s hard. Just… keep it in mind? Please?”

   He pressed his shoulder to hers and gave her a faint smile. “I’ll try. Sorry, captain. What score are we at now?”

   “Thirty-seven.”

   He grimaced, then frowned, because his maths and the actual number failed to match up. Unless…

   “I thought you said you weren’t going to deduct points for last week!”

   “I just said that so you’d feel better,” she admitted, smirking slyly at him as if in challenge. He groaned, and put his head in his hands. Of course. Of course she would. Willow was sweet and kind, but he’d be damned if she wasn’t the toughest judge in the world. He loved that toughness, he wouldn’t change it for the world, but titan was it difficult to climb the ranks.

   “You’re mean,” he grumbled, turning her pull on his arm into an affectionate hug.

   “The worst,” she agreed.

   “I was so close to the halfway mark.”

   “You were.”

   “Ugh… stupid breakdowns…”

   “Hey, if it makes you feel better,” she pulled away, resting her hand on his cheek and giving him a smile, “It was five months since your last one. That was almost a record.”

   “It’d be nice not to have them at all,” he sagged.

   “It’s better than bottling your feelings up,” she reminded softly, and he winced. Yeah, that… hadn’t gone well, the last time he’d tried. The two weeks post learning about Caleb and Phillip had been the worst of his what-Willow-insisted-was-still-a-life, the climax had been miserable, and he was still dealing with the aftermath, even after all this time.

   “Can we… talk about something else?” he asked quietly, and her expression turned sympathetic.

   “Sure. How was Luz’s bachelorette party?” Immediately, he soured, and she snorted. “That bad?”

   “Worse,” he gagged just by thinking about it, “Everything was… eugh. Luz, Eda and Gus thought it was the best thing ever. I’m pretty sure Raine and Vee were traumatised. I know I was. You don’t want to know,” he added sharply, when she opened her mouth.

   She snickered. “Something Luz, Eda and Gus would love, that you, Raine and Vee would hate… hmm… how much of it was penis-shaped?”

    “All of it,” he stressed, and she shook her head, grinning.

   “Of course she would. I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

   “You don’t look sorry,” he poked her shoulder unhappily, and her grin grew.

   “Amity’s was… not that,” she informed rather than elaborating, “It was a lot sweeter. I had fun, though… it would’ve been nice to have you there.”

   “I would have killed to be there,” he proclaimed, and she snorted.

   “And abandon your sister like that? I bet you were Vee’s sole source of sanity.”

   “Oh for the love of- not this again!” he cried, and she laughed, “ We are not siblings! Why does everyone keep calling us that?! We don’t even have the same parents! Luz and Vee are cousins, and I’m not part of that triangle at all!”

   “I’m not so sure,” Willow hummed innocently, “Darius is basically your dad, and if Aladarius happens you’d be Luz’s brother-in-law. Though I’m pretty sure she’s already conscripted you into her family anyway. Also, you forget, you’re their second cousin, remember?”

   “Ah… right,” he fumbled, because yes, he had forgotten. Phillip had kept Evelyn’s true identity from him, so learning he was the first cousin once removed of a woman he’d done battle with, as well as another woman he technically stole a job from, was… a surprise, to put it lightly. They’d been accepting of him, Lilith even apologising for her past rudeness - they’d known for a lot longer than he had, and gotten over the shock in their own time - but he’d never quite gotten used to that idea, that he had relatives besides… well, besides nobody, with Phillip dead.

   “B-But, uh,” he attempted to continue, “Darius is not my dad. We discussed the idea of guardianship, but agreed that I am an adult who can defend himself.”

   “Also he abandoned you for two centuries,” she added spitefully under her breath, and he flustered. She hadn’t been thrilled to learn that particular detail, and although he didn’t hold it against the man, watching Willow get so annoyed on his behalf was… it felt good. Maybe he’d prefer it if his coworker and his not-dad got along, but that was up to Willow, not him.

   “Well, yes. That. So we are not siblings!” he got back to the point, and she blinked, probably having gotten as side-tracked as he had, “At best, we are second cousins! And second cousins that only recently made up, at that!”

   Not that he deserved her forgiveness. The basilisk experiments had been one of his darkest moments, and if Vee had chosen to hate him forever for it, he would have understood perfectly. It was a miracle they were on speaking terms, let alone comfortable enough to call each other family.

   “I know,” Willow, defeated, let out a forlorn sigh, “I guess… it’d just be nice to have Luz as a technical sister, is all. I just like the idea; I know you’re not really siblings.”

   He sucked in a breath, then frowned, the inaccuracy in her words striking him as odd, considering how good she was with her language.

   “What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head, “How would me being Luz’s brother make you her sister?”

    A beat, then Willow turned bright pink and rushed forwards, squeaking a hasty, “Nothing don’t worry about it!”

   “Wait- what-” he reached for her wrist and took it, stopping her in her tracks. He twisted her around to face him, holding both her hands in his own, their mutual code for ‘slow down, we’re having a serious conversation now’. Concerned, he murmured, “Captain, what… did you mean?”

   “Nothing, I promise!” she insisted, “I-It was just a slip of the tongue, an idea I had, don’t worry about it!”

   “Captain. Please.”

   “Hunter, seriously, it’s nothing. Not even worth talking about! I just- it doesn’t mean anything.”

    “Willow,” he urged, and she recoiled but didn’t let go. Her panicked, forcibly-happy expression fell into something more honest, and she sighed.

   “...Not yet.”

   “What-”

   “I’ll tell you later. Even if I don’t want to, I… I know I will, eventually.” She took a deep breath, and gave him a real smile, finally meeting his eyes. “It’ll be hard, and I hate it, and I hate that I’m still just as cowardly as I was, but… I know. Someday, I’ll tell you. You deserve to hear it, and… I won’t be able to live with myself, keeping it quiet. So… and I know this is awful to ask of you… could you be patient? Wait for me, please?”

   He blinked. Whatever this was, it was a lot more serious than just the slip of the tongue he’d been expecting. This was something she’d probably had on her chest for a while. And, although he knew firsthand what bottling things up did… she was looking at him like that. She was pleading. And how could he say no?

   “...I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he agreed, soothingly, and brought her in for the tighter hug he felt she needed. She sniffled in his neck, but reciprocated the gesture. They were like that for a while, though not especially longer than any other of their hugs, until she mumbled something into his neck his brain couldn’t comprehend.

   “What was that?”

   “Nothing,” she lifted her head slightly to respond.

   “Something else to wait for?”

   She laughed, quietly, and they separated, hanging off each other for a moment before splitting everything except one each of their hands. She was teary-eyed, but smiling, which he was almost certain was a good sign.

   “We’re here, by the way,” she pointed to the silvery-white double-doors in front of them, same as all the other doors they’d passed. He didn’t doubt her sense of direction, but he couldn’t help but notice just how unhelpfully unlabelled everything in this place was, compared to the castle he’d spent millennia in. Perhaps something to bring up to Raine, next time he saw the surrogate-God-King (God-Suzerain? Was God-King gender-neutral?).

   “Oh. Do I look okay?” he found himself suddenly fretting, “All complaints aside, I’ve heard that this event is third in importance only to promotions and the creation of godhoods and considering I didn’t do anything special for her godhood ceremony, I figured I could at least change my outfit somewhat but I also worry the white cape is too little a change? Or too much of one? Is it too comparable to my work outfit, and will that remind Luz of-”

   “Ssh,” she shushed, pressing a finger to his lips, “You look great. I’m the one who should be worried, I’m wearing the same thing I wore to her godhood ceremony.”

   “But you look beautiful,” he stated, and she blushed.

   “Then you look amazing,” she grinned, and it was his turn to change colour. He coughed, clearing his throat, and moved to the door, raising a palm to push it open when he hesitated and looked back at her.

   “Uhm…”

   “What?”

   “You see…” he considered his choice of words very carefully, like he was walking through a field of landmines, which he essentially was, “Our, uh… hands,” He raised the link in question, “It recently came to my attention that… ah… doing that, in public, is a sign of… um, romantic involvement.”

   “Well, yeah,” she smiled like nothing was wrong, “Why do you think Luz teases us all the time?”

   “So, ah…” he continued, because she evidently wasn’t understanding, “If we enter… looking like this… won’t there be assumptions that we are, um. Romantically involved?”

   She blinked, then stiffened, and opened her mouth to say something, then paused and thought about it. He let her think, patiently; Willow knew more about social norms than he did, after all. If she thought this was acceptable, he would follow her lead. Phillip had frowned upon romantic displays in the castle, but his visits to the Titan had shown a distinct difference in typical etiquette, so for all he knew, engaging in sexual intercourse on the streets might be perfectly normal. He hadn’t seen such a display yet, tending to avoid public areas in general, but anything was possible.

   He watched her step forward and place her hand on the other door, but instead of pushing it open, she simply smirked and placed her eyes on him. If he had a heart, it would’ve jumped, because the emotion he saw in her face was a rare one, one he hadn’t seen in a long, long time. Her smirk, her ‘casual’ gaze, they weren’t sly or mischievous or happy - they were anxious. She was nervous about this.

   “I don’t have a problem with that,” her lax tone was forced, adding to his suspicions, “Do you?”

   He saw her swallow when he didn’t answer instantly. Was she nervous about… his response? His answer to this question? That had him wondering if this was a question she’d had in her mind for a while, but of course that was impossible, there was no way she could predict this exact scenario. So then what was a similar question; or what were the undertones? Well… he supposed the undertones were-

   Wait. Was she… implying… what he thought she was implying?

   …No. Surely not. Surely not him. He was Death! Nobody felt that way about Death! No, that wasn’t minus points, Death had been relegated to the Underworld for a reason! And she was Willow! Beautiful, strong, perfect Willow! Surely she had a hundred suitors to choose from since day one, there was no way she was available like that!

   …And yet. Here she was, asking. Nervous, like she cared about his answer. Like his answer was important to her, like giving her the response she wanted would make her happy beyond anything else.

   And he couldn’t help but hope a little bit.

    Hope is for the weak, the foolish. You do not hope for things, you take them. You aspire, and you act. You create a goal and you work for it. If you can’t do that, you cannot do anything. Watch them, Hunter, see how they burn. They did not dream. They hoped and prayed that their silly little wishes would be given to them, as if it is their right simply because they asked for it. You want to make me proud? Fight for me, kill for me, prove yourself as someone worth my pride. Do not waste effort on hope.

   …The voice was right. Even after all this time, it was still right. No matter how hard he tried, he… would always go back. The things he’d been taught, the way he’d been raised, they weren’t gone. For the voice would always be there, at the corner of his mind, reminding him and persuading him. No amount of therapy sessions could change that, not any time soon at least. He wasn’t reformed, he wasn’t some other person Willow had replaced the Golden Grim with. And he didn’t pretend like he was, because he was the Golden Grim. He did not hope to be someone new, someone different, someone deserving of her… friendship. Hope was for the weak.

   If he wanted to be better, he would work to become that.

   If he wanted her, if he wanted whatever this was to become something more… it wasn’t the time for prayers and wishes.

   It was the time for action.

   He gave her the best, not-at-all-terrified-he-was-looking-at-this-wrong smile, squeezed her hand, and responded as not-panicked as he could,

   “Not really. We take the teasing, then?”

   Her eyes sparkled like they reflected a chest of gold, and her smirk deepened into something that was overjoyed and pretending to be smug to hide it. She squeezed his hand back.

   “We take the teasing,” she agreed.

   In unison, they pushed the doors open, and Life and Death walked in, hand in hand.