As the wind in the Soul Tree’s courtyard grew still, a soft creak came from behind them.

A robed figure stepped into view from a shaded archway.

She was tall and willowy, her face mostly hidden behind a delicate, half-moon mask adorned with feathers. Her robes shimmered like silk woven from shadows, and her purple hair was tied in a loose bun held with a bone-carved pin.

She stopped when she saw them.

“…Miss Grimm?”

Cinder looked up and smiled sheepishly. “Hi, Rowena.”

The woman’s graceful gait faltered. “You're back already? I wasn’t expecting you for at least another week.”

Cinder stood quickly, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt. “It’s… complicated.”

Rowena eyed her with a mix of concern and curiosity. “Does this have something to do with the dueling arena rumor I just heard? Something about an unauthorized soul-link in the middle of a fight?”

Cinder flinched. “Uhhh… yes?”

Miles, still floating beside her like a mystified game mascot, raised a stubby hand. “Hi. That’s probably me. Sorry—I’m new here. Also possibly dead. Not sure yet.”

Rowena tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she looked him over. “You’re the mortal involved? I’ve never seen someone take that form before.”

“Yeah,” Miles said proudly, “I’m travel-sized for convenience.”

That made Rowena laugh—a soft, lilting sound like the chime of distant bells. “Well, I must say, it suits you.”

“Thanks,” Miles beamed. “I’ve always wanted to be an emotional support ping-pong ball.”

Cinder groaned. “Please don’t encourage him.”

But before Rowena could reply, the massive doors at the far end of the corridor slammed open.

A powerful gust of wind rushed down the hall like a storm unleashed, scattering petals and parchment. The Soul Tree’s ribbons quivered.

And then—a voice.

Booming. Low. Commanding.

“CINDER. GRIMM.”

Rowena and Miles both flinched.

Even the tree lights seemed to dim slightly.

Cinder simply sighed, rubbing her temple like she had a headache. “Daddy’s being dramatic again.”

Miles spun in a slow, horrified circle. “That was your dad?! Does he breathe in capital letters?!”

“He’s just upset,” Cinder muttered, smoothing her ribbon. “He hates surprise soul-links.”

“I feel like I’ve just been grounded by a thunder god.”

“I am technically grounded. For eternity. Several times.”

Rowena gave her a pitying look. “You should probably go see him before he starts shouting in Old Reaperic again. Last time, he cracked the moon pool tiles.”

Cinder offered an awkward curtsy, took a deep breath, and started toward the corridor of doom.

Miles floated behind her nervously. “Sooo… does he like jokes? Or small glowing balls of anxiety?”

“Nope,” Cinder said brightly. “But he does like people who don’t explode his office.”

Miles gulped. “Good to know.”

The throne room of the Citadel was vast—too vast, Miles thought, for any one being to ever need. The ceiling stretched into black shadow, supported by towering pillars carved with weeping angels and chained constellations. Fireless lanterns floated in the air, casting cold, silvery light over the assembled reapers gathered along both walls.

They were silent.

Dozens of them.

Each one cloaked in various shades of darkness, scythes resting at their sides, skull masks betraying no emotion.

And at the far end…

On a throne forged from obsidian and polished bone, sat the Grim Reaper.

His presence hit like gravity.

He was tall—unreasonably tall—his shoulders draped in an ornate black robe that shifted like smoke. Beneath it gleamed ceremonial armor etched with runes, the metal catching the light with veins of silver and blood-red rubies. His mask was a thing of legend: shaped like a dragon skull, with twin crimson gems glowing in the eye sockets and a line of sharp teeth across the bottom.

He didn’t move.

But the whole room felt like he was watching.

Cinder stepped forward and bowed deeply.

Miles tried to hide behind her, which was difficult given that he was now a floating chibi orb with tiny arms and big googly eyes.

The Reaper King’s voice echoed, low and thunderous.

“Cinder Grimm. You soul-linked with a mortal in a public duel. You endangered yourself, exposed our magic, and created an unstable fusion. Do you understand the magnitude of your actions?”

“Yes, Father,” Cinder said softly, eyes lowered.

“And do you have any idea what it looks like when my own daughter accidentally revives a mortal as a spirit sprite in front of thirty council-bound witnesses?”

“No, Father…”

“It looks like favoritism. It looks like chaos. It looks like I’ve lost control of my own bloodline.”

Cinder flinched but remained bowed.

Miles made a little “eep” noise.

Then, without another word, the Reaper King rose.

“Come with me.”

He strode down from the throne, every footstep echoing like a bell of doom. Cinder followed. Miles trailed after them, floating nervously, whispering to himself, “Okay. It’s fine. Just casually hovering behind the Angel of Death’s angry dad. No big deal. Totally normal Thursday.”

They entered a side chamber—smaller, dimly lit by red-crystal sconces and lined with shelves of old tomes and black glass alchemical bottles.

As soon as the doors shut, the Reaper King sighed and reached up.

He removed his mask.

The figure beneath it wasn’t the polished legend carved into soulstone or whispered about in training halls. His face was stern, yes—but also real. Weathered. His grey skin was rougher up close, like stone worn by centuries of wind. Long, scruffy black hair hung loose around his shoulders, unkempt and uneven. A faint five o’clock shadow framed his jaw, and a thin moustache ghosted above his lip, just messy enough to suggest he hadn’t bothered shaving in days.

But it was his eyes that stood out most—deep red, like blood behind glass, rimmed with exhaustion. They didn’t glow. They didn’t blaze.

They ached.

“…You scared me, Cinder,” he said quietly, his voice no longer thunder, but something human beneath the myth.

She looked up in surprise. “I did?”

“I thought we lost you.”

She blinked. “I was fine! Miles helped, and—”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he said, gently but firmly. “He shouldn’t have been able to. Soul-links are forbidden, Cinder. For a reason.”

“But I didn’t mean to!”

“I know,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I believe you. That’s why I’m not punishing you. But you need to understand: this complicates everything. Your training. Your position. And now… his existence.”

He looked to Miles, who tried to wave.

“Hi. Still confused. Still mostly harmless.”

The Reaper King cracked the smallest, tiniest smirk—barely there.

Then turned, scanning the shelves.

“I need to consult an older codex. Stay here. Don’t touch anything.”

He left through another door, robes trailing behind like a stormcloud.

The silence that followed felt like an exhale.

Miles drifted closer to Cinder, who let out a long, dramatic plop onto a velvet-cushioned bench.

“Well,” she sighed, “that could’ve gone worse.”

“He didn’t vaporize me,” Miles said brightly. “So I’m calling that a win.”

Cinder giggled, then nudged his floating form. “I’m sorry you got caught in this.”

“Hey,” Miles said, spinning in a slow loop. “I was the one who touched you. If anything, I should be apologizing. Or at least offering to carry your books.”

“Wouldn’t work,” she teased. “No arms.”

They both laughed.

Then Cinder looked around the room and asked, “So… what is it you do? When you’re not getting squashed by lockers and turning into a soul-light?”

“Oh, right!” Miles said proudly. “I’m a gamer. Like, a wannabe streamer. You know—video games. Fast, flashy, filled with boss fights and loot.”

Cinder tilted her head. “That sounds like… tiny battles inside a glowing rectangle?”

“…Kinda.”

“Can I try sometime?”

Miles blinked. “You—you wanna game?”

“I mean, I’m not good at fighting. But I’m great at puzzles. And pink weapons. And if it’s anything like flying bunny dragons through glitter volcanoes, I’m in.”

Miles laughed so hard he did a loop in mid-air.

“Okay,” he grinned. “Deal. You’ll be a natural.”

“What about you?” she asked, swinging her legs idly. “You know what I do for a living. What do you want to be?”

Miles was quiet for a moment.

Then shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never… stuck with anything. I bounce. Between hobbies. Ideas. I don’t have patience.”

Cinder smiled. “Then maybe you’d like gardening.”

Miles stared. “I’m sorry, what?”

“It teaches patience,” she said softly. “And alchemy. You can’t rush a potion. Or a bloom. You have to wait. Listen. Care.”

He blinked. “That… actually sounds kinda wholesome.”

“It is,” she said. “I’d show you the greenhouse, but Daddy filled it with skull roses again.”

“…I have no idea what those are but I want twelve.”

They both laughed again.

And for a moment, in the quiet alchemical chamber of the world’s most powerful death mage, a soul-light and a pink reaper shared a moment that felt like life.