"Hey there little one."
Those were the first words spoken in centuries, yet they would lead to change in a being once thought to be unchanging.
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Since time immemorial, this being had carried on his duty of watching the souls of the departed. He would be there in people's last moments, there to guide them towards the afterlife where their soul would be cleansed and returned back to the void. It did not matter whether they were sinners or saints, for it was not in his juristriction to judge, merely to reap. There had been a few who he had met, those who left an impression on this being, yet that was all it was, an impression. None of them were able to move his heart, to make him care enough to learn more about them. To the others of his race, he was merely a cog, one that ensured the continuation of this world. To the mortals below, he was the reaper of the departed, he was Death.
Death had a duty, he would guide souls to the afterlife, and to the ones who resisted, the ones who thought they were above him, they would be met with the end of his scythe. He could not remember who had bestowed upon him this duty, as it was far far too long ago. His memories of that being were vague, mere fragments of a greater picture he was unable to see. Yet he did not mind this, it did not matter to him whether he could remember as it did not hinder him from his duty.
Death had traveled far across the lands, covering every corner inhabited by living beings, be they humans, plants, animals or even the divine. This duty had brought him through the world, yet not once had he paid mind to the scenic views, nor those who inhabited these lands. It was not that he was unable to, merely a disinterest in them that was deemed unnecessary. He would carry out his duty, till the final life gave out. That was all that mattered.
Though that wasn't to say he wouldn't interact with objects or people of interest to him, perhaps if they got past the initial hurdle of seeing him, he would spare them a glance, maybe some of his time to share a conversation. It didn't matter anyways, as it was only those on the verge of their demise that could even see him, and even then it was only a very selected view.
Death had thought that his existence would carry on this way, that he would carry on his duty till even time dies. He would perhaps occasionally share conversation with those that could perceive him, then carry on and journey throughout the lands only with his duty in mind. Yet unbeknownst to him, a fateful meeting would await him, one that would change him forever, from a mere cog keeping the world spinning, to his own being that would feel and grow, not from a power perspective, but from his own understanding of emotions and what makes him, him.
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Iris was a little girl born in the countryside. For as long as she could remember, she lived in the orphanage in a small village as her parents had long passed. She could not remember any details of the parents, barely able to recall glimpses of their face. It saddened her to no end, yet the kids in the orphanage would keep her company. They too were like her, lost and alone in this empty world. Perhaps it was this that gave her a sense of belonging, she was amongst those who experienced the same trauma as her. Yet that slight warmth that she felt was soon to be trampled upon, her kindle of hope soon to be snuffed out by the cruel mechanisms of fate.
It was the day of her 5th birthday, or rather the day she was found and adopted into the orphanage. She decided to head into the woods nearby. If she was lucky, mayhaps she would find some berries or other small snacks provided by nature for her to share with the kids in the orphanage. Yet on her way back, she could slowly start to feel it in her body. The smell of ash and smoke, voices she couldn't recognize, the sounds of blades clashing and most importantly, the wicked feeling of mana used in a way that only ended up in destruction. Her small legs that brought her to the edge of her home, were begging for her to run. Yet all her mind could process were the images of the bandits pillaging and murdering the villagers, the old granny that would occasionally treat her to homemade bread, the young couple that had recently gotten married and were expecting, the village chief that was stern with her, yet always held warmth in his eyes, the caretaker of the orphanage that would wake her up, feed her, educate her. Even the ones who she had grown a bond with, the children who she saw as her siblings, none of them could escape the hands of the bandits. Her once small yet peaceful home, burnt to the ground, with rivers of blood flowing past.
Her whole body tembled, anguish and regret poured out, and yet her mind was soon consumed by rage and anguish. The next few minutes were all but a blur to her, as magic and spells started to flood out. Those who had dared to trampled her small haven realised what was happening, that a little girl barely at the height of their waist was displaying mights of magic unheard of before, yet before their minds could process what was happening, their pitiful existence was ended in cold blood, with fear plastered all throughout their face.