Miles stared at her.

Cinder Grimm.

A literal, actual, real-life Grim Reaper.

A pink hoodie-wearing, rabbit-plush-carrying, clumsy, sweet-voiced Grim Reaper.

His first reaction wasn’t terror.

It was: “Okay. That’s awesome.”

Cinder blinked. “W-wait... what?”

“I mean, yeah, I’m dead, my body got pancaked by a locker, and there’s a decent chance I’m hallucinating all of this in a coma,” Miles rambled, “but if I am dead? And you’re Death? Then you’re, like, the cutest death ever.”

Cinder blushed—hard. “I-I’m not death, I’m just a reaper! A junior one!”

Miles grinned. “Right. You’re more like… death’s quirky intern. Death Jr.”

She covered her face with her sleeves. “Y-you’re not supposed to be making jokes about this! D-death is serious!”

He leaned over the railing again, gazing out at the dreamlike landscape below. “Okay, but in my defense, this is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. My coping mechanism is sarcasm.”

“You’re surprisingly calm for someone who’s technically... deceased,” she muttered, peeking at him through her fingers.

“I’ll probably scream later,” he said with a shrug. “Or cry. Or throw up. Maybe all three.”

Cinder giggled, and for a brief moment, the tension around her shoulders eased.

The dirigible coasted smoothly toward a towering black citadel rising from a hill of glimmering red stone.

Even from afar, Miles could tell it wasn’t just a building—it was a statement. Gothic arches wrapped around twisting towers, the entire structure crafted from black marble and inlaid with strips of glowing ruby and chunks of onyx that sparkled like embers. Purple and red ivy clung to its sides, and the surrounding courtyard was dotted with crimson and amber maple trees, their leaves twirling gently in a wind that didn't seem to blow.

It looked like a castle forged from autumn, shadow, and royal drama.

Miles let out a low whistle. “Okay… that’s a boss-level lair.”

Cinder didn’t respond.

She’d gone completely still.

Her face had gone pale—even for her already-grey complexion.

Miles turned—and saw why.

In the courtyard, waiting beneath a withered bone archway, stood two teens around her age.

One was a tall boy with messy black hair and piercing green eyes, his long black robe embroidered with silver flame designs. He held a scythe like it was a fashion accessory.

Beside him stood a girl with long, dark purple hair tied in twin tails, crimson eyes glowing faintly behind a sharp-boned mask perched on her head. Her robe was tighter-fitting, sleeveless, and bore the sigil of a skeletal moth on her belt.

They didn’t smile when they saw Cinder.

“Wow,” the boy drawled, folding his arms. “It lives.”

The girl smirked. “And still dressed like she fell into a cupcake store.”

Cinder flinched.

Miles glanced between them, frowning. “Friends of yours?”

“Rivals,” Cinder whispered, stepping back slightly. “That’s Draven and Nyx. They’re… advanced trainees.”

Draven sneered. “Honestly, it’s embarrassing you were even born into the Grimm family. You’re like a plush toy with legs.”

Nyx laughed coldly. “No wonder your dad never brings you to summits. Probably still hoping you’ll fade out of existence.”

“Or explode,” Draven added.

“Or trip into another portal again.” Nyx stepped closer. “You're not a Reaper. You're just a pink fluffy freak. You’d be better off working the death flower shop.”

Cinder lowered her gaze. Her fingers tightened around Bunny Bat, clutched close against her chest.

“Don’t listen to them,” Miles said softly. “They look like they’re in an edgy cosplay competition.”

Nyx heard that. She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s this? Your latest pet soul? Cute. Want to keep him in a cage until he rots?”

“He’s not—!” Cinder began, but Nyx cut her off with a sharp gesture.

“I challenge you,” she said coldly. “Formal rite of Reaper ranking. One-on-one.”

Draven snorted. “That’s not even a fight. She’ll faint if her shoelace comes undone.”

Cinder stepped back, eyes wide. “N-no! I decline! I don’t—I don’t want to fight you!”

Nyx smiled cruelly. “Too late. I declared it. That makes it binding.”

The courtyard fell silent as Cinder stood across from Nyx, the golden dusk burning overhead like an omen.

Miles stood at the edge, tense and unsure what to do. This was happening too fast. One moment they were in the air, talking about bosses and second chances. The next, they were here—thrust into a duel that Cinder had no choice but to accept.

Nyx stood poised, her fingers already crackling with black mist. “Ready to embarrass yourself in front of your little pet?”

Cinder didn’t answer. Her pink-gloved hand reached over her back—and with a shimmer of light, her scythe appeared.

It was nothing like Nyx’s deadly tools.

Cinder’s scythe had a silver pole trimmed with soft heart etchings, and the blade shimmered in pastel pink—deadly, but somehow sweet. A long crimson ribbon curled up the handle, its end fluttering in the breeze like it was dancing for her.

Nyx laughed. “Is that a toy?”

Then she struck.

Nyx moved like a storm—her style jagged and vicious. Her weapon, a dual-edged glasswing blade shaped like a stained moth’s wing, flashed in violent hues of red, purple, and emerald. She attacked with sharp, darting movements, slashing from above and below, each hit aimed to wound, not warn.

But Cinder—

Cinder moved like grace.

She spun on her toes, arcing her scythe in flowing, balletic strokes, deflecting with the handle and guiding each attack away with minimal force. Her movements had elegance, like she was dancing to music only she could hear. Not confident—but earnest, trying her hardest.

She even smiled, briefly.

Until—

Her foot caught on a loose stone.

She gasped.

Her ankle twisted.

And she fell.

Nyx’s blade hovered just above her neck.

The crowd of Reapers gasped.

Miles took a step forward. “Hey!”

Nyx’s eyes glinted. “Looks like I win.”

She raised her blade for a crushing blow—not to kill, but to ruin.

And that’s when it happened.

FLASH.

Miles didn’t remember choosing to move. His body just did. His feet barely touched the ground.

One blink—he was at Cinder’s side.

Another—and his body wasn’t there.

He looked down.

“...What.”

He was a floating, chubby ghost sprite. A tiny glowing orb with stubby arms, flickering like a game life icon. “What. WHAT.”

Cinder sat up slowly, eyes wide. “Miles…?”

Then a pulse of light surged from her chest.

She gasped.

The ribbon on her scythe unraveled—and wrapped around her wrist—glowing brighter than before.

Her wounds vanished in a second.

Power danced around her like pink starlight.

She stood.

And when Nyx struck again, Cinder caught her blade mid-swing—with two fingers—and threw her back ten feet.

The crowd exploded with gasps.

Nyx skidded across the courtyard in a flurry of moth wings and curses. “You CHEATED! You used a soul-link!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Cinder yelped. “I—I don’t even know how!”

Draven stepped in, placing a firm hand on Nyx’s shoulder before she could strike again. “That’s enough.”

“Let me GO!”

“You lost,” he said coolly. “Grimm wins.”

He pulled her back.

Nyx hissed at Cinder as she was dragged away. “This isn’t over, freak.”

Then they were gone.

Silence returned.

And then—

“WAAAAHHH!” cried a high-pitched voice.

Cinder turned to find Miles—still in ghost sprite form—floating in circles, bawling cartoonishly. “I’M A GLOWY BALL WITH NO HANDS! I LOOK LIKE I’D LOSE A FIGHT TO A SOAP BUBBLE!”

She knelt beside him, eyes wide. “Oh my gosh—I have no idea what to do! This shouldn’t have happened! I didn’t even try to soul-link, I just—touched—oh no, oh no, I turned you into a blinking firefly—”

Miles sniffled. “Do I still get to eat food? Like ghost pizza?”

She whimpered. “I don't know! I've never turned a mortal into a soul sprite before!”

The two of them stared at each other—panic meeting panic.

Then, slowly…

They both started laughing.

Because somehow, this was better than being dead.

Even if Miles was now a magic marshmallow.