The sun had already fallen behind the royal walls, bleeding the sky into soft amber when Kyle stepped through the marble archway and into the palace gardens.
The place was too calm. Too perfect.
Rows of roses and pale-blue luminis blossoms lined the cobblestone path, glowing faintly in the dusk. The air was heavy with that royal kind of peace — the kind that made him want a drink and a dark corner.
He ran a hand through his hair, muttering under his breath, "Royal quarters, huh? Guess that's one way of sayin'—'we don't trust you to leave.'"
The pouch of platinum coins clinked against his belt — a clean, solid hundred. Enough to make any sane adventurer sell his soul twice.
Problem was, he already had.
His boots crunched lightly over gravel as he walked past the stone fountain at the garden's heart. The water shimmered in the moonlight, untouched by dirt or age. Everything here looked too alive, too damn radiant.
That faint ripple in the air again — soft, like the brush of wind across a meadow. He felt it deep in his chest, that hum that shouldn't be there.
The elf.
Her aura had lingered on him since the arena, faint but clear. The same signature he'd only ever felt once — the pure, life-woven warmth of her.
The goddess.
He tilted his head back, staring up at the fading light through the leaves. "So she's got a champion walkin' around now… huh."
It wasn't fear. Wasn't even anger. It was something stranger — like an old ache resurfacing after centuries of silence.
The goddess of life and the reaper of souls. Two sides of the same damn coin.
He smirked faintly. "Guess it was bound to happen. Balance and all that poetic shit."
Further down the path, he stopped near a small bridge, leaning on the railing as fireflies drifted across the stream below. The palace behind him glowed faint gold — laughter and music starting to spill faintly through the open windows. The nobles were already gathering for their post-ceremony feast.
An after party for the chosen.
He snorted. "Yeah, 'cause nothing says 'let's celebrate' like draggin' Death himself to dinner."
He glanced at his reflection in the water. The black coat. The tired eyes. The faint pulse of energy around his form that never truly left.
He'd lived through empires burning, gods falling, and kingdoms rising from ashes. And yet… every time humanity summoned another "hero," it was the same story.
They came bright-eyed, full of hope and borrowed divinity — and they always ended up meeting him.
"Hope this one lasts longer than the last three," he muttered, pushing off the railing.
The laughter from the ballroom grew louder as he neared the entrance again — the muffled chatter of nobles, the clinking of glasses, the polished music that made his teeth itch.
He straightened his coat, cracked his neck, and sighed.
"Alright, Kyle… time to go play pretend with the living again."
But as he stepped through the gilded doorway, that same warmth brushed faintly against his senses once more — a whisper, familiar and maddening.
She's here.
He smiled, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"Well… guess I'll be seein' you soon, Life."
Later-
The grand hall was glowing.
Chandeliers spilled gold light across marble floors, laughter echoed between walls carved with emblems older than empires, and polished boots clicked to the rhythm of a string quartet in the corner.
Kyle stood among the crowd like a shadow that accidentally wandered into daylight.
Nobles in silks and jewels floated past, bowing to each other, raising glasses, gossiping about politics and monsters and miracles. The newly chosen heroes sat at the long table near the dais — the human boy, still smiling like he hadn't yet seen what real death looked like; the elven swordswoman, calm and radiant, her every breath humming with that same divine warmth he'd felt earlier.
Even here, even in this sea of luxury, Kyle's presence made the air bend slightly colder. The nearby servants hurried a bit too quickly past him. The chatter softened whenever he came close. He didn't mind. He preferred it that way.
He was polite, even smiled sometimes — but that smile never quite reached his eyes.
The king stood then, old but sharp-eyed, his voice carrying over the music.
"Tonight," the king declared, lifting his chalice, "we celebrate the chosen who will rise to face the Demon King. A new dawn for the continent — for all our races!"
The nobles erupted in applause, glasses raised. The hero, the elves, the dwarven envoys — all grinning in the light of what they thought was destiny.
Kyle raised his glass halfway, just enough not to stand out, and muttered under his breath,"A new dawn, huh? Let's see how long this one lasts."
He took a sip, tasted nothing but bitterness, and set the glass down.
The warmth of the hall was suffocating. He needed air.
The balcony outside was quiet.
Moonlight painted the marble floor silver, the gardens below shimmering like a dream. He leaned against the railing, eyes half-closed, letting the night wind cool the edges of his thoughts.
He'd been through too many nights like this — too many kingdoms promising light after darkness, too many "heroes" toasted before their fall.
Behind him, soft footsteps.
Too light for armored guards. Too steady for a noblewoman.
Then a voice — calm, melodic, cutting through the quiet.
"You are not a human, are you?"
Kyle froze mid-breath, one brow lifting as he turned halfway.
There she was — the elven swordswoman, her golden hair cascading down her shoulder, her pale eyes reflecting the moonlight with an almost sacred glow. She didn't wear her armor now, just a simple white gown that made her look even more out of place among mortals.
Kyle blinked once, then let out a low chuckle.
"Well, that's one hell of an icebreaker."
She tilted her head slightly, expression calm but unreadable.
"You carry the scent of the end. It clings to you."
He smirked, taking another sip from his glass.
"Lady, you got a poetic way of tellin' someone they smell bad."
That almost earned him a smile — almost.
"You hide it well," she said softly, stepping closer. "But no disguise can mask what I feel. I've seen many auras in my time, but yours…"
Kyle leaned his elbows against the railing, gazing out at the garden.
"...A bit too gloomy for your taste?"
"It's not gloom," she said. "It's... silence. The kind that comes when everything else stops."
Her words hung there for a moment. The sound of music and laughter behind them blurred into a dull echo.
He didn't answer. Just watched the wind play with the flowers below.
"You've been here a long time," she continued, quieter now. "Your eyes move like someone who's seen more winters than this world can count."
He snorted softly. "You talk like you've lived long yourself."
"Three centuries," she replied. "Barely adulthood by elven measure. But even I know the weight of presence. You're not some wandering adventurer."
He turned then, the faintest grin tugging at his lips.
"And you're not just some swordswoman, are ya?"
"I was blessed," she said simply. "By Her."
That warmth flickered through the air again — life's divine pulse. It was faint, but to him, it was unmistakable.
Kyle's voice was low, almost thoughtful. "Figures. Life's champion, huh?"
She studied him, eyes narrowing slightly.
"And you… you bear the other side."
He didn't reply.
"They called you many names, didn't they?" she whispered. "In old hymns, in forbidden stories. The Pale Walker. The End Made Flesh. The one who ferries all things back to silence…"
He sighed. "You've been readin' too much ancient poetry."
"No," she said, her voice steady. "You're him. The Grim Reaper. Death itself."
The wind stilled for a heartbeat.Even the faint hum of the party inside seemed to fall away.
Kyle exhaled slowly, tipping his glass toward her with a crooked smile.
"If I said you're wrong, would you believe me?"
"No."
He chuckled softly, eyes glinting faintly under the moon.
"Didn't think so."
Her expression didn't change — calm, but her hand had unconsciously rested over her heart, as though the air around him had turned colder.
"So it's true… Death walks among us."
He shrugged lightly, finishing his drink.
"Walks, drinks, gets annoyed, and occasionally helps idiots not die, yeah. I'm versatile like that."
"Why are you here?" she asked.
"Same reason everyone else is," he said, setting his glass down. "Got roped into a job I didn't ask for."
Her gaze softened, just a little.
"And yet… you still walk among us, pretending to be one of us."
He gave her a lazy half-smile. "Gotta blend in somehow. The robe and scythe look went outta style a few centuries ago."
She looked like she wanted to say more, but he turned toward the door.
"Nice talk, sunshine," he said over his shoulder, voice low but not unkind. "Let's keep that little revelation between us, yeah? People get nervous when they realize dinner guests include the afterlife."
And with that, Kyle slipped back into the glow of the hall, leaving the goddess-blessed swordswoman alone under the moonlight — staring at the door he disappeared through, her pulse still trembling with the quiet weight of what she'd just confirmed.