She dreamed of bells.
Not the distant toll that marked funerals, but bells ringing closer and closer until the sound pressed against her skull like fingers tapping from inside.
She woke up with a sharp breath.
The chamber was unchanged. Dark stone. Pale lights drifting above. Silence so complete it felt deliberate.
But she was not alone.
She sensed it before she saw it. The weight of attention, cold and numerous, settling on her skin like frost.
Slowly, she sat up.
Shadows lined the far side of the chamber.
Not solid figures. Not quite spirits. They hovered in uneven shapes, outlines flickering like dying flames, eyes glowing faintly within formless darkness.
Watching it made her heart pounded.
"Death?" she called.
The shadows stirred.
A whisper rippled through them, many voices overlapping into one sound; curious, resentful, sharp.
She breathes.
She lives.
Why is she here?
Cold fear slid down her spine.
"I did not summon you," she said, forcing calm into her voice. "Leave."
The shadows laughed.
A thin, brittle sound.
One stepped forward, its shape sharpening into something more defined a woman's form, tall and severe, hair bound in an ancient style. Her eyes burned a cold blue brighter than the others.
"You speak boldly," the figure said. "For a mortal trespassing in eternity."
Before she could respond, the temperature dropped sharply.
The shadows recoiled.
The woman stiffened.
Death emerged from the darkness behind her.
He moved without haste, but the moment he appeared, the entire chamber bowed. Shadows sinking lower, lights dimming in reverence.
His gaze swept over the figures, then settled briefly on her.
"Who allowed you to enter my consort's chamber?" he asked.
The word consort struck her like a shock.
The shadow-woman lifted her chin. "You did."
Silence for a moment.
Death's eyes narrowed.
"I granted no such permission."
"You brought a living soul into our realm," she said coldly. "You disrupted balance. That alone summons judgement."
Others whispered in agreement with their judgement.
The word carried weight here ancient, immutable.
She stood slowly, ignoring the way her knees trembled.
"I did not ask to be here," she said. "If there is blame, place it on me."
Death's head snapped toward her.
"No."
The single word rang like a command.
He moved to stand in front of her, placing himself between her and the shadows.
"You will not speak against yourself," he said quietly.
The shadow-woman's eyes flickered to his protective stance, to the way his body angled subtly toward hers.
Understanding dawned.
So did something darker.
"Ah," she said softly. "It is true, then."
"What is?" Death asked.
"You are attached."
A murmur spread through the chamber.
Attached.
The accusation felt heavier than treason.
Death did not deny it.
"She is bound to me," he said. "By law older than this realm."
The woman's gaze sharpened. "A soul-bond with the living violates the First Decree."
"I did not write the decree," Death replied. "I enforce it."
"And yet," she said, "you bend it."
She felt his presence tighten behind her; not anger, but restraint wound too tightly.
"Speak your purpose," Death said.
The woman inclined her head slightly. "The Council has convened."
Her breath caught.
"Council!"
She did not know what it meant, but the reaction around her told her enough.
Even Death went still.
"You move quickly," he said.
"We must," the woman replied. "The balance trembles. The dead are restless. Souls hesitate at the threshold."
She glanced pointedly at the living woman standing behind him.
"Because of her."
A wave of cold hostility washed over her.
Death's hand came down on her shoulder.
Not forceful. Anchoring.
"She will remain," he said.
The shadows hissed.
The woman smiled thinly. "For now."
She lifted her hand.
The air shimmered, and a projection bloomed above her palm, an image of the mortal world.
A city shrouded in fog.
A funeral procession winding through narrow streets.
Her funeral.
Her heart stopped.
"Your death has not been finalised," the woman said. "Your body still breathes. Your soul lingers here."
The image shifted.
Her family stood around an empty bridal bed.
Her mother wept.
Her father stared at the door, as if expecting her to return.
Something inside her cracked.
"If the living discover you yet draw breath," the woman continued, "panic will spread. Faith will fracture."
Death's grip tightened slightly.
"And if she dies?" he asked.
The woman's eyes gleamed. "Balance is restored."
Her pulse thundered.
"No….," Death said.
The word carried raw and absolute power.
"You would deny the realm for one mortal?" the woman asked.
"For my wife."
Silence fell like a blade.
Wife.
The shadows recoiled.
The woman stared at him in disbelief.
"You claim her openly?"
"Yes."
The admission vibrated through the chamber, through her bones, through the chain at her wrist, which flared with warmth.
The woman laughed bitterly.
"Then you doom us both," she said. "Because the Council will not tolerate this."
She turned her gaze to the living woman.
"Enjoy his protection while it lasts."
The shadows dissolved into darkness.
The chamber warmed slightly, though the silence remained tense.
She exhaled shakily.
Death did not move his hand from her shoulder.
Slowly, she turned to face him.
"You called me your wife," she said.
His gaze was steady. "It was necessary."
"Was it true?"
The faintest hesitation.
Then, "Yes."
Her heart raced.
"You never asked."
"I could not."
"Why?"
"Because," he said quietly, "I feared you would say no."
The honesty stunned her.
Before she could respond, pain lanced through her wrist.
She cried out, clutching it as the chain burned bright silver.
Death swore softly, and pulled her into his arms.
The world tilted.
She clung to him instinctively as her vision blurred.
"What is happening?" she gasped.
"They are testing the bond," he said tightly. "Trying to see how far it stretches."
Her chest tightened. "Make it stop."
"I am."
The pain surged, then it abruptly vanished.
She sagged against him, breathless.
For a moment, he held her without restraint.
One arm wrapped around her back. The other cradled her wrist, thumb brushing gently over the glowing chain as if soothing a wound.
She could feel his control fraying.
"You should not have to endure this," he murmured.
She looked up at him.
His silver eyes burned. Not with cold, but with something fierce and dangerous.
"If I am the threat they fear," she said softly, "then let me face them."
"No," he said immediately.
"I will not hide behind you forever."
He leaned down, his forehead touching hers.
"You do not understand," he said, with his voice low and strained. "If they force judgement"
"you will have to choose," she finished.
He went still.
"Yes."
Her heart ached.
"Between me and your realm."
"Yes."
She swallowed.
"Then I will make it easy for you."
Fear flashed in his eyes.
She lifted her hand, resting it against his chest where she knew his heart beat.
"If they demand my death," she said, "you must let me go."
He caught her wrist.
"No."
"Promise me."
His grip tightened. "I will not promise that."
"Death," she whispered.
His jaw clenched.
"I will destroy this realm before I let them take you."
The words were not a threat.
They were a vow.
Her breath caught.
Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang.
Once.
Twice.
This time, it did not stop at thirteen.
And she knew that the Death Realm had noticed her.
And it would not look away again.