Fugitive of Death

17

 The darkness was stifling. I couldn't see a thing no matter how many times I blinked to force my eyes to adjust. It was as if I'd gone blind. Between that and the pain of my gaping wound, it felt as if there wasn't enough air to breathe.

I wasn't sure how big of a room I'd stepped into, or if there were any hallways or corridors. I stretched my arms out to feel but didn't so much as brush against anything solid. If it weren't for the ground beneath my feet I would have believed I'd been sent straight to Oblivion.

"Uh, hello?" I called out. I wasn't sure who I expected to respond. The other cadets? Some temple-dwelling shaman? Or worse, the owner of that deep, chest-rattling voice.

"I had to be hasty," I said, "but I'm sort of bleeding over here and I'd like to get back to camp now. Could we get this over with?"

Somehow, I felt the darkness stiffen as if I'd offended it.

You are an impertinent one, the voice rumbled.

I froze in my tracks. "Who's hiding in here with me?"

Impertinent, the voice continued, and yet incredibly ignorant.

"Ignorant?" I asked, too outraged to think better of the fact that I was talking to a void. "How dare you call me as such?"

Silence, the voice commanded and my body seized up. Something about the way it spoke caused my blood to turn to ice in my veins.

It seems that the Heir to Byssia is as spoiled as they say.

My heart dropped. "Who are you? How do you know who I am!"

Firstly, the voice boomed, do not make demands of me, mortal. The darkness began to shift, as if alive. Secondly, I will answer your questions as soon as you thank me for saving your life.

Holy Divines.

My knees buckled. "You're real."

Somehow, the darkness seemed even more offended. Of course, I am real! Who do you think killed those heretics outside of my temple? It certainly wasn't you.

My entire body shook. The forest falling silent. The shadows. Yiani, Phoebe, and Aeson dying. This temple...

"You're Death."

The words hardly seemed real coming from my mouth. All those stories, the legends my father had scrubbed from the public mind—the Horrors were real.

Mortals are certainly slower than I remembered, Death said, but it has been some time since I had last spoken to one.

"So when the Lysidorian cadets visit this temple during the Culling," I began, "you actually kill them?"

Yes, Death said plainly, such as those three you were fighting. The one with the blade claimed to be a better judge than I, so I killed him. You are quite dull for someone so educated.

This wasn't real. I was hallucinating. I hit my head. Or the river water was full of sickness. That made more sense than the ancient, all-knowing embodiment of death itself.

"Do you normally speak with the cadets and kill their enemies?" I squeaked out.

Death paused for a moment. No, not often. It has been some time since I'd last spoken to a mortal. How long has it been since the Binding?

"Five hundred and thirty-seven years to be exact," I said.

Well, sometime in the last few centuries then.