I opened my eyes and here I am again. I was standing under a starry sky, surrounded by the ruins of burnt houses and ashes falling like flakes around me. This scene could almost seem like a fairy tale if you only looked at it. Nevertheless, the smell of death and burnt flesh brought back the fact that it was not a dream, but in reality "this nightmare".

The same nightmare, the same desolation around me, the same heat irritating my skin, the same suit that formed a snow-like layer under my feet, the same hatred that boiled within me at the sight of the ruins of its dwellings, the same tingling that I felt through my eyes at the sight of the bodies of the villagers that littered the streets, which I knew by heart, and the same pain at the death of my loved ones.

These details were not foreign to me, all but not foreign. These ruins and desolation I knew and relived every night for years. It had been a long time since I had stopped counting the number of times I had had this nightmare. This torment is Mardrich, my village, where I have lived from my earliest childhood until now.

But the village, which I knew, was not a place of destruction like this one. It was a place overflowing with life, where at times the joys mingled with the sorrows... It was a garden of humanity and not of death.

I continued to walk among these ruins, which were for me both foreign and familiar, at a slow and decadent pace. I moved with heavy steps, lifting ashes from underneath me. Memories of this street, even the day before, came back to my mind, reminding me that within reality it was alive and had an influx of various kinds of travellers from the nearest to the farthest away places, some of them to take advantage of the resources of the surroundings. Their stay allowed them to mingle with the villagers and enjoy with them the happiness that was life.

A tear discreetly came out of my right eye, but I didn't know if it was due to the soot irritating my eyes, or to the hidden fear that this nightmare would become reality, which made me squirt this crystalline drop. The water pearl touched the ground under a slight noise that disturbed the silence of this ghost village.

At the same time, bluish flames burst from the orbits of the dead villagers I had passed by. These flames seemed to come from the underworld with their depths and abyssal hues. And little by little, their bodies began to move in a disorganized way and then with great difficulty rose up and moved towards me. These villagers were no more than empty shells without souls, they were beings at the intersection of the world of the living and the world of the dead, that is to say, the undead.

I had been used to this scene for a long time already, so it didn't disturb me. I then continued to walk along the funeral street while the death procession following me only increased in size, to the point where it became a horde of dead behind me like a flock of sheep following their shepherd.

Around me, I could make out the butcher's shop where I usually sold my prey, the old tree on which I hung the disturbing children in the village, and finally the one and only tavern in the village where most of the problems and fights took place, now completely destroyed.

Then after a moment's walk, I stopped in front of a house that had been completely burnt down and the only visible signs of its existence were the rock foundations and some wood debris. I crouched down and searched with my hands for an object among the piles of ashes present. I ended up pulling out a wooden slab that had miraculously survived the murderous fire.

I took a piece of my clothing and carelessly wiped the wooden slab away while a herd of undead just approached behind me. After it was erased, characters became visible on its surface: "Hunter's Inn".

This plaque was the sign of my parents' inn, the one that had been inherited for generations within my family and in which I was asleep that very evening.

Suddenly, I was traversed by an icy, ghostly cold passing through my lower limbs and then up to my neck through my spine. I felt cold, stiff hands grasping my legs and stopping me without being able to react.

Having no other way out, I redirected my gaze towards the ground to see the faces of my attackers. These assailants were none other than my parents, or rather their mutilated corpses that had become undead. And even dead, I could not hit them, let alone kill them again.

As every time I saw them in this hell, at the sight of their faces, my heart tightened, I could hardly breathe normally, and I repressed my tears, while keeping in mind that all this was false, it was only a nightmare and that when I woke up everything would disappear.

The horde that had been following me for a while finally caught up with me, and the dead villagers who had formed it began to pounce on me one by one. Very quickly I was buried under a mountain of bodies. Now all around me, I saw nothing but darkness, darkness and death. I felt lonely.

Then I heard a crystalline voice with a timbre as soft as the song of a nightingale resonating in this dark space:

"Little reaper, the sight of these bodies seems unpleasant to you, what is it, Lloyd? The unknown voice asked me in a tone that was falsely concerned. By now you should have been used to this performance by now.

— The death of no one, whom I don't appreciate, will not trouble me, but you, you are only making me suffer a personal torment, consisting of the bodies of my loved ones and the destruction of my village, why have you been doing this to me for the last four years? I begged.

— It is by living with Death that one learns to really live Lloyd. She explained to me on a mysterious note.

— But who are you really?" I asked her totally lost on the meaning of her words.

Then a figure appeared before me, suspended in the void as if held there by invisible threads. She was dressed in a cape and a hood as black as night, covering her whole body and held a long reaper's scythe in her hands. Apart from the fact that her face was not covered, it seemed to me to be a dark abyss without contours. It was then that the figure began to laugh.

"You should have guessed who I was a long time ago. She said.

— It is not possible! I stammered.

— Yes, it is. She answered me, then she let go dryly. I am Death. »

On this answer she turned her scythe and with a sharp, surgical slice made my head spin in the air, thus reaping my life in the land of dreams.