It was a reaper who stepped out from the swirling black vortex.

Seeing the god of death before him forced Luther to acknowledge once more that he was, without doubt, dead.

"Strange," he muttered to himself.

Before the reaper appeared, he sensed that the souls of the dead would, by their nature, drift into the Flow of Destiny the instant they left their bodies.

Even at this moment, he could still feel the faint but constant, never-ending pull coming from the Infinite Surge.

"Are you. Here. To. Take me?" he stammered, struggling with each word.

It had been years since Luther had spoken to people. In truth, ever since he was born, he had never talked to anyone other than his grandfather. For him, holding a conversation felt like the most unfamiliar and difficult thing.

The cloaked figure did not stir in the slightest. It seemed as though he was still lost in the sight before him.

It was only after Luther voiced his hesitant question that the reaper turned, deliberate and unhurried. He answered in the Agares ancient tongue:

"At first, I thought so too."

His voice was hoarse and rough, the voice of someone who had screamed far too much that their throat was ruined. Mixed into that voice was a sound of grinding metal, which sent shivers crawling down Luther’s spine.

"I used to wonder what had caused the Will of the Great Flow to ask me to collect an ordinary soul in person. It turns out that there is a mortal who dared to perform Moon Ascension." His gaze shifted toward the boy. "A fourteen-year-old kid."

"Moon. Ascension?"

It was not until this moment that Luther discovered the name of the ritual he had just performed.

"It is one of the oldest, most sacred, most solemn, and most important awakening rituals of the Abyss," the reaper explained.

"Awakening. What?"

"The Ascended Moon.”

"Huh?"

The answer only made Luther even more confused, his mind spinning with more questions.

Ignoring his puzzled look, the reaper continued speaking:

“Setting aside how a mortal like you could even hope to gather all those materials, what’s stranger still is that you came so close to completing the ritual in full. Almost all living beings would die at the first step. After all, Aamon’s candles are not something easy to light."

"And yet you, a mere normal human, almost managed to finish Moon Ascension, and only failed at the final step because you bled to death. Oh, the Flow, is this some kind of joke?"

His voice lifted a little at the end.

"Almost completed … almost completed …" he repeated the phrase again and again, as if he had just realized something. "No, it can’t be! Even if your blood can light Aamon’s candles and soak the ashes of the Exiled King, only a true reaper can pass the third step. Revealing the Cloak of Ambiguity before receiving the final embrace of the Flow is a step that cannot be skipped."

The Cloak of Ambiguity? So that was what that thing was called, Luther thought.

"There is no shortcut. No one can cheat. Not even Major Beings can bypass that step. That is a law set down by the Flow itself to prevent anyone who is not a reaper from completing Moon Ascension."

Looking at the black crow-feather cloak on the boy’s shoulders, the reaper asked in a voice that sounded more like a statement:

"So, you are a living reaper, isn’t that right?"

A living reaper? A reaper? Living?

Luther sank into silence. His mind was in turmoil due to the information he had received.

"When was the last time a similar being appeared? It must have been back in the Era of Enlightenment. Who, in the end, stands at the root of your bloodline?" the reaper asked.

Luther stared at him with a vacant face, frozen in place, which made the reaper sigh and say:

"It seems that you don’t know a single bit of truth about yourself either. Let me see what kind of secret is hidden in your bloodline."

He raised his scythe and touched its blade to a drop of blood that had not yet dried on the ground, making it shine with a brilliant amber light.

The countless spirals carved on the scythe’s blade began to rotate in the opposite direction. A multitude of tormented souls reverted back into their original forms before continuing their never-ending cycle of suffering.

The reaper then pulled back the legendary weapon and said:

"So that’s how it is. That damned old man! Even the fact that I would come here had already been arranged by him in advance."

Luther could tell that the reaper had just discovered something important. He pleaded in desperation:

"What does. All of this. Mean? Please."

"It is not the right time for you to know yet, boy. The one thing you need to understand now is that you have a very ..."

The word “good” lingered right on his lips, but he stopped himself from saying it. Luther’s past flashed through his mind.

"… formidable ancestor. Next, I will assist you in completing the ritual. In return, my reward will be that item," he said.

The blade of his scythe pointed toward a ring inside a glass cabinet.

Half of it was made from a strange, golden-colored metal that carried a faint, reddish tint, while the other half was a yellow gemstone of an unknown type, covered in carvings of nameless symbols.

It was one of the two heirlooms that remained after the ritual. The last item was a marble statue of a crow.

"This reward has already been written in the contract carved into the bloodline of the Ravensborn family by your ancestor. But now you are the one who decides, because these items have already become yours, not his," the reaper said.

"Fine," Luther answered.

As if he had any better choice.

"Very good!"

After receiving the confirmation, the reaper extended his right arm from beneath his cloak. It was unusually long with jet-black skin. The fingers were also elongated and lacked nails altogether. Scattered across his skin were scales that resembled those of a serpent. For some reason, Luther felt that those scales looked familiar.

The reaper used his scythe to slice a line across the center of his palm, just like the one Luther had.

A glowing golden liquid began to pour out, and he pressed his hand against the boy’s hand, which was resting on the ground.

Drop by drop, the reaper’s ichor fell into Luther’s palm and then seeped into the earth. It replaced the boy’s own blood as the fuel and caused the flames to burn brighter than ever before.

"You know," the reaper spoke. "Even if you had another ten liters of blood, you would never have been able to finish this ritual."

"Why?" Luther clenched his hand.

"Because you do not have even the smallest trace of divine power, or even magic. Truly fascinating. Truly extraordinary," the reaper said with a raspy laugh.

The Amber Moon behind his head began to rotate with a quiet grace, making its aura grow brighter.

As the moonlight shone down on Luther’s body, a few small fragments of faint blue light drifted out from his flesh.

"At this stage, a reaper usually has to condense all of their divine power into their Ascended Moon. Nine out of ten would fail. But you do not need to worry, because that one even left behind a portion of his power within your bloodline."

The fragments of light dissolved into the pale blue glow that enveloped Luther, causing it to become dazzling and darken.

His lifeless body began to rise into the air while his soul was pulled downward.

The aura surrounding him condensed into a deep shade of blue, so dark it bordered on black, forming a … crescent moon behind his head. It had the same color as his eyes, which opened as he woke up after the suffocating ritual had been completed.

…

The Seventh Layer of Hell.

The sky here was shrouded in an endless night, with no moon or stars visible.

The vast, endless land was blood-red, covered with white bones and decaying flesh, all divided into eight great circles.

Cutting across this entire layer was a river of boiling blood and fire, the Phlegethon. Souls of all kinds floated and sank in the water, being burned alive. They thrashed, and their agonized screams formed the eternal music of this place.

Aside from those who were being tortured, the Seventh Layer was also the dwelling place of innumerable sinful creatures, unending kingdoms of death, and ancient entities of the Underworld.

High above, the Great Flow meandered in the skies. It poured down from the Sixth Layer, winding through the sky of the Seventh Layer, casting a gentle pale blue light over everything before disappearing into the entrance of the Eighth Layer.

Many souls drifting within the Flow were expelled like a drizzle of rain falling into the Phlegethon. The violent ones endured their painful torment, while the others continued to drift toward the next judgment.

At this very moment, every single creature of the layer, whether on the ground or suffering in the river of blood and fire, whether they were a tormented soul or a Primal Demon, all at the same time, stopped whatever they were doing.

They raised their heads and looked up at the sky, united for a single moment in a shared feeling of astonishment.

For nine millennia, nothing but the Flow of Destiny had graced the sky of the Seventh Layer. Yet now, a deep blue crescent moon rose with solemn grace, illuminating side by side with the Ever-Waving Tide, casting its light into the depths of the Abyss.