Grall
Grall lay on the hard ground, voices drifting around him like echoes from far away. His body throbbed, his neck felt stiff, and every breath came with a dull ache.
That was strange.
He didn't think the dead were supposed to get stiff necks.
Maybe… maybe if he just closed his eyes for a moment, the spinning would stop—
"Grall, wake up!" a bellowing voice thundered.
Grall jolted upright, heart pounding. Adrian and Grodak stood over him, wide-eyed, as if they weren't sure whether to hug him or pin him down.
"What… what happened?" Grall muttered, clutching his head as the world tilted. "Wasn't I dead?"
"In a way, you were," a calm, familiar voice answered from behind him. "But only until someone pulled the sword out of your body."
Grall turned, slowly, and found Tyril standing with his hands folded behind his back, smiling warmly.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Tyril said.
Grall exhaled, a long, tired breath. He didn't want this… not really. Not after seeing Leah's face again. Not after finally feeling peace. But even as he sat in the grass, surrounded by shadows of battle and the scent of blood, he knew why he was still alive.
Because he had unfinished work. Because his people still needed him.
Because Adrian and Grodak were still breathing.
"Tyril," Grall said as he stood, his expression turning tight and focused, "we need to speak. In private."
Tyril's smile faded instantly. "Of course. Where would you like to go?"
"Anywhere," Grall said, casting a glance around at the others nearby. "Somewhere no one can hear us."
Tyril nodded. He placed a hand on Grall's shoulder—and the world folded inward.
A heartbeat later, they stood on the deck of an airship drifting through open sky, clouds rolling beneath them like waves. The wind was steady, the deck empty. No voices. No ears.
"Will this do?" Tyril asked gently.
Grall let his gaze sweep across the polished wood, the silent masts, the endless sky.
"Yes," he said. "This is perfect."
Tyril conjured a chair with a flick of his hand and sat down, brows furrowed. "Tell me, my friend. What burdens you?"
Grall leaned against the railing, eyes distant.
"When I killed the God of Death," he began slowly, the words heavy on his tongue, "I felt something… enter me."
Tyril's expression sharpened. "Enter you? What do you mean?"
Grall's fingers curled around the railing. The truth sat in his chest like a stone.
"…I became the God of Death," he said.
His voice didn't tremble. It was steady. Final.
Tyril froze, the wind dying around them as if holding its breath.
Grall stared out at the sky, feeling its endlessness press against him.
And for the first time since waking… he felt the weight of what he had brought back from the void.