“Two-hundred? You expect me to go down to the mortals and take two-hundred souls? I’ve served Sol a millennia and not once has he asked this much of me.” Song tossed down his ceremonial dagger. “I want answers. We want answers.”

Reaper Song was of a noble breed, much like Ash or Detritus, whose sheer voice commanded the attention of all the reapers in the Concourse. He had beady eyes and a windswept style, always traversing the realms and never combing his hair or scruffy beard.

He shouted, “Answers!”

“Answers?” Time’s head shook hard enough for her dark ponytail to slap the violin’s butt. “Jobs change all the time. I’ve always considered you an adapter, Song, but Sol had his doubts. I thought you’d relish a new challenge.”

“A new challenge?” Song started to unbuckle his suit. “He didn’t care about my adaptability when he named some young buck Grand Reaper. He chose Conquest? Really?”

Time pivoted, hunkering down into a defensive position.

On the sidelines, Detritus tugged at his gloves. All reapers that ascended after primordia choose their weapon, but he only ever asked for gloves to cover what he cringingly called ‘the ultimate bombs.’ "A sane reaper would never fight with Time. Something wicked must be going down in his head."

“A sane reaper would never be asked to harvest two-hundred souls.” Ash noted his friend’s nervous glove-tugging and unsheathed the maul strapped at his hip; a maul forged from the same obsidian as Time’s violin.

The reapers were so consumed in defending their boss that neither considered how easily she took care of the problem. Well placed fingers along the fingerboard and a single, slow drag of the obsidian bow across diamond strings sent Song in reverse. He pantomimed buckling his suit and reversed the tossing motion of his dagger, although the blade remained on the floor.

When the bow lifted, and the soberly sweet note faded, Song nearly collapsed.

“Let’s try this again.” Time kept the bow raised, as a sign of goodwill. “We may speak at my estate.”

A malicious glint caught Song’s dark, small eye. He rolled forward, snatched the dagger, and let out a howl when the violin sent him rolling backward.

“Last chance, reaper.” Time moved down the stoop that divided them, bow resting comfortably along the strings now. “One more hostile move and we’ll have an issue. I’m willing to--”

“Balance. We used to hold a balance.” Song dropped to his knees. The dagger clattered away. To watch a reaper cry was a painful scene and yet Song sobbed for all the Concourse.

Ash had to agree with Song. Balance was everything. Time had taught every new reaper this as if it was gospel. Death only mattered if life did, too. Life was the source of a reaper’s existence, just as Time was the source of life.

But something was wrong. Ever so quietly, ever so slightly, the bow sawed away at Time’s violin, and the musician wore a vile grimace.

Song was locked where he knelt, petrified by the violin’s sudden switch to pizzicato.

A hot, blinding light cast over the congregation. Sol, the God, had arrived. He transcended the material plain, moving through walls as if an atom’s ghost.

In order to fit, Sol shrunk to the size of a discus at Time’s side.

To the mortal plain, the sun was ever massive and scorching. Among reapers, it was hot to the touch but palletable like a dry, hot breeze.

“Sol, my God, our Song has an issue,” Time said. The violin shrieked.

Across the promenade, Ash still only wanted to release his harvest. It was ingrained in his being to ignore the ramblings of his fellow reapers. But the heat in Time’s eyes, and the agony in Song’s, forced his hand.

“Lordess Time,” Ash called, breaking from Detritus. He hated his next words, as he often despised mentorships. Let alone the mentorship of a qualified reaper. “May I take Song under a dark wing? He’s not in his right mind. He could stand for recalibration.”

Time craned around, and in the same motion Sol cast heat where her gaze landed. The burst jostled Ash’s butchered hair and tidy beard. It gave glimpses of the firm jaw hidden beneath. Without so much natty hair, perhaps he looked younger. And maybe this glimpse made him appear naive to his benefactors. Ash would never know why they ignored his offer.

Time turned her back on him. Sol swung wide and melted Song’s head.