The campfire crackled like it knew how screwed they were.
Kyle leaned back on a wooden crate, eyes half-open, watching Evan bounce around like a hyperactive squirrel. The kid was way too excited for someone about to walk into a warlord's tent.
Why do I always end up around idiots with hero complexes?
although its true that he is a hero, fucking diabolical.....sigh.
"Cheer up, old man," Evan said, grinning as he checked his sword. "We'll just talk, maybe shake some hands, no big deal."
Kyle gave him a long stare. "Right. Because walking into a death cult's camp sounds like a fun picnic."
Seraphina crossed her arms, trying to act composed. "It's not a cult, it's a northern kingdom."
Kyle tilted his head. "A kingdom that worships the concept of dying gloriously in battle. Yeah, totally normal."
Silence. The fire popped.
Lyra finally spoke, her tone dry as sand. "He's got a point."
Evan sighed, scratching his cheek. "You people really need more optimism."
Kyle chuckled under his breath. Optimism? The last time he tried that, he ended up buried under a pile of corpses and paperwork.
He stood up, brushing off his coat. "Alright, sunshine. Lead the way. If we die (i know i can't) , I'm haunting your ass first."
What Kyle didn't knew was that his luck was running out, as he ignored that fact something sudden happened.
The world went quiet.
Like someone just hit mute on existence itself.
One blink, and the camp, the tents, the soldiers—all gone.
Just… white. Endless, Blinding white.
Kyle looked around, jaw clenching. "...Oh, hell no. Not this again."
The air shimmered, soft warmth rolling in like spring wind. Green vines sprouted from the nothingness, curling under his boots, blooming into flowers that shouldn't even exist anymore. And then, of course, that voice—gentle, melodic, and way too familiar.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Death?"
Kyle exhaled through his nose, eyes half-lidded. "Three hundred years and you still don't know how to not scare someone to death"
"Look who's talking" She smirked with a playful grin.
From the growing greenery stepped the Goddess of Life herself—barefoot, golden eyes calm as ever, that faint glow making everything feel painfully alive. She looked at him like she always did—like a mother staring at a stubborn kid who keeps doing dumb things.
"You've changed," she said softly, tilting her head. "You look… human."
Kyle groaned. "Don't start that."
Her lips curved into a knowing smile. "Your clothes, your hair… oh my, is that fashion I see?"
He rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Alright, stop it. Don't make it sound like I'm some noble bastard with some skill issues. I'm just trying to blend in."
Author- (Skill issues T^T).
She laughed quietly. "You never could, Kyle."
"Yeah, well, I'm still trying." He crossed his arms, staring into that endless fake sky. "So what's this about? You usually don't drag me into your flower garden unless the world's falling apart."
Her tone shifted—still calm, but heavier now. "It might, if you're not careful. The cult has returned."
His eyes narrowed.
"The followers of Death," she continued. "Or… as they now call themselves, the Kingdom of Maegor. They've grown far bolder this time. If they recognize you, they'll wage war in your name again."
Kyle clicked his tongue, looking away. " You'd think i can't just command them to stop like i did 2 centuries ago? They will stop"
She sighed. "They won't. You know that better than anyone."
A silence settled between them. The kind that carried weight—memories neither of them wanted to touch.
Then she spoke again, quieter. "You never told me what truly happened back then… why you left."
His expression stiffened. "Don't."
"Hundreds died that day, Kyle. She—"
"I said don't." His voice dropped, a low growl laced with something sharp. "I remember. I don't need the reminder."
The goddess fell silent. For a moment, the greenery dimmed—the flowers bowing their heads like they could feel the tension.
After a while, she nodded softly. "As you wish."
Kyle took a slow breath, the edge fading. "...So what now?"
"Be careful," she said. "Avoid revealing yourself. Your presence alone can shift the balance. And if they truly believe their 'Lord' has returned, you know what that means."
He gave a half-hearted smirk. "Yeah. More idiots chanting my name and stabbing each other for fun."
Her faint laughter returned—gentle, bittersweet.
He tilted his head then, eyes narrowing a bit. "One more thing."
"Oh?"
"That elf girl. The one in the hero party."
"Lyra Aethren," the goddess said with a small smile. "She's my chosen. My champion."
Kyle blinked. "Your what."
"I entrusted her with part of my blessing. Why?"
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because having your champion next to me is like putting a matchstick in a gas tank."
The goddess giggled softly. "You worry too much."
"I live too much," he muttered. "And it's always the same kind of trouble."
Her smile lingered. "Still… I'm glad you're alive, Kyle. Even if you pretend you're not."
Author-(Why won't he be alive....)
He looked at her, face unreadable. "...Yeah. Me too, I guess."
And then, just like that, the light began to fade—the vines retracting, the air turning cold again.
"Be careful, Death," she said, her voice fading like mist. "The world hasn't forgotten you. Even if you've forgotten yourself."
Kyle scoffed under his breath. "Yeah, yeah…"
The white void shattered—reality snapping back.
The campfires, the soldiers, the noise—it all returned like nothing happened.
He blinked once, muttered to himself, "...Could've at least said goodbye properly," and started walking toward the war tent.