💙Daira💙

Daira was a Human who accompanied Death on his mission to prove War innocent and ressurect Humanity. Prior to the apocalypse, Daira was an anthropologist who had uncovered pages from the Book of the Dead. When the apocalypse began, Daira's fate became intertwined with the power of the uncovered pages. Driven initially by a thirst for knowledge, Daira found herself reborn during her journey across the realms. With knowledge comes power and with great power, Daira realized, came dreadful consequences...

💙Scylacagetis💙

The Book of the Dead is a modern name used to describe an ancient grimoire called The Eleusis. The Eleusis was crafted by the first ruler of the Kingdom of the Dead, Scylacagetis.  Scylacagetis was an Eidolon, a race of nymphs predating the Kingdom of the Dead. She was known throughout the universe as one of the greatest sorceresses to have existed. She is often spoken of as the ‘Mother of Necromancy’ for her deep understanding of the energies that denote life and death. Because of this, Scylacagetis never considered herself ‘ruler’ of the Kingdom of the Dead. She was its keeper, considering her station a responsibility bestowed upon her by the Creator themself. As such, she was a part of the Charred Council for an extended period of time.

The Kingdom had flourished underneath Scylacagetis’s watchful eye. Unlike the barren purgatory it is now, The Kingdom of the Dead was once filled with life. Rivers of tealish hue cut through plots of land populated by hundreds of flowers and trees, dancing in circles as it slithered around places of power Scylacagetis erupted in honor of the Creator. Along the shores of these rivers, other Eidolons would rest. They would guide restless and lost undead toward the City of the Dead where, by decree of Scylacagetis and her Three Dead Judges, they would receive one of three judgments. If you lived a virtuous life, you’d be allowed to stay in the City and experience endless bliss. If you lived an ‘unremarkable life’, you’d be ushered into the Well of Souls for reincarnation. If you lived a ‘horrid’ life, you’d be the flowers and trees that dot the Kingdom. Scylacagetis, similar to the Lord of Hollows, saw that the Council’s devotion to balance was becoming fragile. But unlike her companion, Scylacagetis sought to investigate it, using the prophetic magicks of her ‘sisters’ in Ysilik to poke and prod at the Council’s future plans. Eventually the Council found out about Scylacagetis’s investigations but, as to not sully their own name, carefully inspired mutiny within the Dead Court.....

She smiled.

Death groaned, shifting his gaze away from Daira. 

It’ll be the death of her, Death realized, all the staring and the spacing out. It was a dangerous habit, one that the rider knew would sooner kill her in a daze of delirium rather than an actual fight. She wouldn’t even see it coming, the blade or the claw. It’ll be like blowing out a candleㅡa small, stumpy candle whose wick was years past use.

Why had he even brought her? Why deal with the baggage of another person, let alone a human, Death wondered. Had he truly grown old? Had the years finally begun to chip away at his brain? A human riding alongside Death itself was something drunken bards with gnarled voices would sing in the dark. It was a joke, a form of ridicule, and a spit in the face of history so soaked in blood, it’d make even demons weep. 

And yet, Death kept the company. 

“I wanna try heels.”

Death blinked.

“Heels?”

“Yeah! Like those pointy shoes? The ones thatㅡ.”

“I know what heels are, child.”

Daira hummed.

“Well, I want to try them. Just once. Then I’ll go back to these.” The short blonde wiggled her dangling legs, bringing to attention the worn-out pair of boots clinging to her feet. Metal plates, each more discolored and mishappened than the last, had been fastened to the front and sides with small runic markings lining the corners, “Maybe. I bet they’d look cool though, huh?”

“They’re impractical.”

“So’s having no shirt.”

Death gave the human a sharp glare yet, as she began to chuckle at her own joke, the horseman couldn’t help the smile desperately trying to appear on his face. He could feel the muscles in his face and neck contort and tense, fighting against the emotions bubbling inside his heart and stomach in order to maintain his corpse-like facade.

She’s going to die soon, Death reminded himself as he watched Daira laugh, and she’ll never see it coming. It’ll be quick. Painless. Forgetful, like killing a fly. 

“You should try one when I try my heels. That way we can both check something off our bucket lists.”

“I’ve done more things than a mere bucket can hold, Daira. You forget. Constantly.”

Daira snickered. Her lips stretched, pulling themselves back to release the ugliest, most nerve-splitting laugh in the realms. It rang through Death’s ears like a gunshot, the bullet bouncing back and forth between his skull and brain until burrowing itself deep into his throat. 

“Can’t you just play along? For me?”

Forgetful. Her death would a breeze. An eventual exhale. 

“No.” Death pushed himself off his spot on the wall. He looked to the horizon, watching as the sun began to sink, “tomorrow we set out for Baneswood. You need all the rest you can get.”

“Come on, Death. Aren’t we friends?”

Forgotten. Her grave would be marked by a simple flower. And when that flower died, it’ll be as though nothing was there. 

No screaming or rushed questions. No laughing or smiling. No dull promises or crudely kept secrets. Daira would be but a whisper on the windㅡa faint tinge in the chest, but nothing more.

Nothing, Death thought. She was nothing.

She was…

Death couldn’t hold back the chuckle festering in his throat. 

“Never.”

“What was that?”