Gods are timeless. They’ve existed since the dawn of man, Death and Life the longest alongside Time, and to keep track of every day would drive them insane from sheer monotony; all they must know are the major days of celebration. So, keeping this in mind,

  Death has been dreadfully aware of the two days it has been since her favorite spoke a prayer for her. During that time she’s done nothing but sit in her chamber, shifting through the ever flowing line of dead souls, eyes utterly closed. Where is she. Where is her voice? It has been two days, where is she? Where are her kind words, where are her pleas for Death, for her? Where is she? Has she abandoned me? Where is she?

  Surely she hadn’t died herself-? No, impossible, she’d recognize the soul. Maybe she forgot to pray? Not likely, she’d been hearing her voice for so long, she was a true devout, she wouldn’t stop praying unless something happened to her. Maybe she was in danger? Should she send for her spawn to try and find her? Shadows could likely find her, for he was anywhere where life cast its long shade. Maybe she should-

  No, that’d be…Mortifyingly embarrassing.

  Why was she this upset? She’s had people pray to her before. There is nothing new about any of this. This woman means nothing to her until she is dead, and at that point the only meaning is assigned to sorting her out into the lifestream. Nothing about her matters.

  So of course when Death finally hears the voice of this insignificant human that she has designated as totally irrelevant, the force of her standing up from her seat almost knocks it over. Her eyes, closed so far in contemption, ripped open and the bright light from within shone through as she pierced the veil. Where is she. Where is she. Where is she.

  Reality warps. She stares beyond the veil and into the world so antithetical to her existence, and she stares down from the sky and right at her.

  I’ve found you.

  The relief that washes over her is downright cataclysmic. Souls floating around in her pace shiver, heroes and vilins found too noble or vile to return to the cycle all moaning in anguish. The very fabric of reality shifts for a moment before returning to normal, blips in the very ws of nature that correct themselves oh-so-quickly,

  all over this one woman. She crashes back down onto her throne with a hefty sigh, pale white eyes fully open as she takes in the surroundings. She seems to be heading for the Sawbone Range. Towards the capital, then? She has a protector. Mountain of a man. Red hues all over his body. War’s child? No, War’s children are all dead. Only distant seeds remain. How’s she come across this one? Maybe she has supernatural luck.

  Mmm. That’s good, though. She doesn't have to send anyone to watch over the little thing. It’d be inconvenient, especially if her brother found out. That sort of jeering and leering would drive her insane. It’s not like she starts making fun of him when he finds a new mortal pything to-

  not that this woman is a pything.… Ugh.

  Now that she’s found her again, she can keep a watching eye over her while she works. People die all over the world at an astounding rate, but as long as no tragedies such as the great fire come to pass her focus can be kept unwaveringly on the worshipper. She doesn’t even know her name. Just her voice. Sweet as honey. Quiet yet refined, carrying a practiced humility that’d make pious churchmen decre themselves unholy.

  “Shadows,”

  her voice speaks out, and the very next instant the shadows cast by the light of her bright white eyes all form together in front of her, already kneeling. A being of pure darkness, only vaguely humanlike in features. No face, no expression, merely two gleaming lights as eyes, voice ringing out into her ear. A gentlemanly voice.

  It always changes.Shadows are cast by all, after all. Each and every living being has a shadow. The living manifestation must sound like all and none.

  “My dy.”

  *Mother* is what some would say. Life and his cadre of spawn were all like a big, happy family. Yet while Death and her spawn recognized their direct retions, they were professional. A group. A council, maybe. After all, no sexual retions or actual birth was involved in the spawning of most gods. They merely split from the source one day, a concept that has become too grand to fit within the umbrel term beforehand.

  Sometimes the spawning is more based on mere “vibes.” Shadows and Death aren’t really connected- in fact, one could argue that far more living beings cast shadow rather than death- yet Shadows are associated with her. Maybe because of the negative connotation.

  “I need you to perform a duty for me.”

  It was embarrassing, but she understood- she’d lose her again the moment her focus slipped. Her new favorite- erhg. Her loyal worshipper was going to be heading somewhere where she couldn’t reach, somewhere where she couldn’t speak prayers regurly. If a tragedy struck and Death had to refocus away…

  “Share in my sight. Feel my focus. Revel in my attention. Find the one I am thinking of, and keep an eye on them. Leave one of your ilk hiding within the shadow. Do not disturb her. You need not even protect her; merely watch.”

  She could tell that her spawn found the request odd: they had no face to express with, no mouth to grunt in surprise with, yet just through their connection she could tell that a sense of uncertainty vaguely bristled within their very core. Death rarely paid attention to mortals, and when she did, they were about to die a great and fantastic death,

  “... Very well, my dy.”

  The knelt figure straightened up, legs already sunk into the floor like they could go ft and disappear from sight at any moment.

  “What of the man with her? Should I tag him as well? He is a godsblood… What if War has taken an interest in the girl? Getting into conflict with one of your other spawn isn’t in my interest.”

  The thought had passed her mind, but what interest would War have in a simple worshipper of Death? He could always find faithful on the battlefields. It was more likely that their encounter was coincidental. War barely cared for his wild oats to begin with. Her head eventually shaked, hand fpping in the air in a crude, dismissive motion.

  “War will come to me if he finds insult in the matter. I suspect he is too busy to care.”

  Very few dared to speak of him so openly. War was a ball of nerves, a boiling pot of anger and rage and hatred for everything that one could find- until he was not. Times of war and peace alternated wildly, and when the time of peace came he was like a noble knight, a stern father, a loving sergeant. Perhaps it was due to there being no god of Peace- he had to pull double duty as the whole cycle.

  As it turns out, violence and blood and gore was far easier to worship than the universal concept of peace. Humans were such peculiar creatures in what they chose to venerate.

  “Leave the mountain of a man alone. Whether he has ill intent for the girl or if they’re merely traveling together will make itself clear with time.”

  And if he did have pns for her, she could reach beyond the veil and- mm. No, no. She shouldn’t be touching upon taboos set by herself. She has never induced death in another- not intentionally. She would not kill the man, but she would figure out something to protect her. Perhaps a ward.

  “Understood, my dy. I’ll be sending one of my shadelings… It’ll watch over her until you decree it unnecessary.” As they spoke they casually pinched onto their right arm with the left, slowly dragging and tearing until a part of their body tears off to wriggle in their grip. The hole created reforms instantly, but the wriggling glob remains.

  And then, with the force of a thousand suns, Shadows throws the glob right onto the floor. Instead of sticking there or spttering it hits the surface and instantly melds into it, tearing a hole in the very fabric of reality as it burrows through the many webways connecting the realm of the gods and the realm of men.

  “It’ll be by her side by tonight, my dy. It’ll stick to her shadow, hear what she hears, see what she sees… If anything of importance crosses its ears, I shall know.”

  Their voice is full of obedience, but Death knows her spawn. There’s more underneath the echoing voice that comes from within her own head. Doubt and uncertainty as to her intentions. The number of mortals Death has shown interest in over the eons of their retionship can be counted with the fingers of a single hand.

  Death does not care for the living.

  “if I may… Comedy wishes to see you ter.”

  Ah. Maybe it was this instead. Doubt and uncertainty as to her reaction to *this.* The god of Comedy was perhaps one of the most unpleasant gods out there. A jingling jester for sure, but harmless-or rather, he had been. Something has changed over the years. No new jokes. Nothing’s funny anymore. That’s what he keeps saying and muttering to himself amidst his tired and cruel japes. There’s nothing funny in this world anymore.

  “Did he finally get bored of bothering my other spawn? I’ve no interest in his grave japes.”The pun escapes her.It does not escape Shadows, who merely nods and starts melding into the floor, their st words echoing in her mind as they do.“I’ll be sure to tell him that.”

  And so, Shadows melds into the darkness of the chamber and leaves her be. Death sighs and stares into the distance, beyond the veil, eyes nailed on the woman. Just what is it about her…

  The Sawbone Range would be a treacherous thing to cross even with the aid of War’s spawn. Mountains occupied by harpies and chimeras and who knows what else, not to speak of the bandit vilges and the mountain women… But she’d be fine, certainly. Even if the spawn of War died, even if the mountains themselves rotted away, even if the many threats felt the flesh singe off their bones,

  the beloved of Death would be fine.Thus she had decreed, and thus it shall be.

  And thus the twin glowing eyes closed, subsuming her chambers in total darkness once more. She needed to ruminate and to count the souls of the dead once more. Two months and some score ‘till the Rebirth.