The Passing Hour

Chapter 2

          I watched the boy with scrutiny throughout the whole day. I could sense his presence from a continent over, so I flew all last night to get here before the massive funeral for this ..town. I know the humans call it a city but, compared to how things used to be, it's honestly more of a large town. I haven't felt a presence like this in a very long time, which is why I took a physical form and started searching the mortal realm. I could feel a few different ones from through the veil of the realms, but when I came through, this one overpowered the others by far. It absolutely made it impossible to start my search anywhere else. To my surprise, however, instead of seeing a man as I expected, I see.. a boy. A very scrawny one at that. Although surprising, the young age could work to my advantage. It is far easier to mold a young mind rather than to coerce an older, already firmly welded one. I stayed in my owl form for most of the day, not caring if anyone noticed. With any luck, someone might take it as a bad omen. Perhaps another witch hunt would ensue, although I feel that might be too much to hope for. Ah, humans. They really are such fickle things. One can never tell what they will do next.

          He seemed like a regular snot-nosed kid, especially when he showed up last out of everyone in his building. He got elbowed when he settled into the line, but no one took notice, or they didn't care. Typical. I watched him closely to see how he reacted to this whole ordeal. It was highly uncommon, almost unheard of, for a boy of his age to have the bond with death it seems he has. The more I watched him watch the march, the more sure I was that I had found the right one. He seemed like he actually cared about each and every one that passed. Empathy isn't a requirement of reapers, but it is definitely a quality noted in most of the more powerful and merciful ones in the past. Oh yes, this boy was shaping up to be the perfect putty for the years to come. I have needed another reaper for centuries since the last one died of.. natural causes. The boy did not seem to cry, but when I looked at his aura, I could see the unmistakable shade of strong sadness, but the most unnatural shade I have ever seen. 

          Centuries ago, my kind was massacred in the most mysterious way imaginable. The archives, which hold our kinds historical records and family trees, is locked to anyone who does not have the original genes from the Reaper King. Reapers, as a rule, usually don't die. We are a very hardy species. But if we do happen to succumb to what we do best, we will eventually regenerate. But there is no telling how long that could take. According to grandma, who once had the privilige to read some of the archived material before the last one who could unlock it died, told me that some would take as long as a thousand years to return. It usually wasn't that long, but it is still a possibility that most of the reapers still will not fully return for another couple hundred years, at the very least. That is why things are the way they are. no one can die at the proper time because I am dead-lifting everything behind the scenes. I am the only one physically capable of carrying out the bare minimum, but I have honestly felt over-run for the past decade. It also does not help that, when reapers DO come back, they are wiped clean. They do not have access to their past lives memories until after they officially leave their mortal body again.

          It will be good to bring home at least someone I can begin to train, so I don't have to do everything my damn self. My grandmother at least will be pleased with the company. She has been so lonely, having only me for company. I don't count the vermin that she lets into the house, faeries and such. Disgusting creatures. I don't know why she chooses to associate our family with such filth, let alone let them into our family home. The only good thing about that is, their auras are auras of life, which means the light they put off while flying also gives life energy to anything it shines on. If they happen to pass over some plants, those plants will perk up and fill with color, no matter how dead and dry they are. She also lets other little things roam around our lands, so she has things to converse with on her daily walks. They converse with her even though she had been physically corrupted from reading from the archives. If anyone without the gene read anything from the archives, even with permission, they began to undergo physical changes. The severity of the changes depended on how often they would read those forbidden texts. And for some reason, she was given access to a rather large portion. She has made it clear time and time again that it is impossible for anyone or anything in any life time to read everything the archive has to offer, but that still does nothing to indicate how much she actually learned. She has managed to keep most of the knowledge to herself, hardly sharing even now, with only me in charge of all things death. That has been leaving a metal taste in my mouth.