The grey-eyed Reaper

For as long as they could remember, reapers and death angels lived alongside humans. How it all began? Well, no one knows, only that their job was to carry out the souls to the afterlife. They weren't creatures of grace or malice, merely tools of balance. Death itself was neither cruel nor kind—just inevitable.

But Reapers? They were something else entirely. They were known for their violent behaviour. They had to be, after all, not all souls take their departure easily. As if they would just willingly follow us straight to hell, thought Max, laying lazily on the wall, watching as a faint dark shimmer appeared in the corridor. 

The soul materialized slowly, flickering like a dying candle, its shape twisting and stretching before settling into that of a trembling, wide-eyed man.

He looked to be in his fifties, dressed in the ghostly remnants of a business suit. His eyes darted around, confusion giving way to dawning horror as he realized the wasteland of towering skeletal structures around him.

The man turned sharply, stumbling forward. His movements were frantic, desperate—his mind too disoriented to make sense of the twisting labyrinth of bones and stone.

He wasn't in a maze. But to him, it might as well have been.

His breath hitched when he finally noticed he wasn't alone.

A figure stood just a few paces away, half-shrouded in shadow. A young man, draped in a long, black cloak, leaning lazily on a worn-out wall. A long red scythe rested against his shoulder, the blade's faint glint the only sharpness in his otherwise bored expression.

"You lost?" Max's voice cut through the void like a blade.

The soul jolted, eyes locking onto him as if only now realizing the unmistakable presence of a Reaper. For a moment, the man just stood there, his breath hitched as Max pushed off the wall, stepping forward with a slow, measured pace.

The man broke into a frantic run, his translucent form flickered wildly as he bolted through the maze, panic driving him forward. But no matter which way he turned, no matter how many corridors of twisting ribs and crumbling stone he stumbled through—the footsteps never faded.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

The soul twisted around a broken pillar—only to find himself at a dead end.

His back hit cold stone, and the air thickened. A sharp presence loomed over him, pressing down like an unbearable weight. He squeezed his eyes shut, hands clutching at the ruins behind him, as if they could somehow save him.

"S-Stay away!" the man choked out, shrinking into the wall.

When he forced his eyes open again, the Reaper stood directly in front of him, so close he could see the unnatural silver gleam in his eyes.

Max tilted his head slightly, then leaned in just enough to make the soul flinch. 

"Let's make a deal," he murmured, smirking. "Tell me one good reason I shouldn't send you straight to Hell... and maybe I'll consider letting you off." 

The man swallowed hard, his throat bobbing as his mouth opened and closed—struggling, grasping for words that wouldn't come.

Max waited for a moment, he almost seemed patient, watching with that same detached amusement. But he soon straightened with a slow, heavy sigh.

"Yeah. That's what I thought." he said. He had made up his mind, and with a single, fluid motion, Max swung his scythe.

The glowing thread tethering the man's soul snapped apart. The very air around them shuddered, splitting with a low, guttural rumble as a dark portal tore open behind the condemned soul.

Heat rolled off it in waves, the flames licking hungrily at the edges of the void. Shadowed figures crawled forth from the ground, their long, skeletal fingers reaching.

"W-WAIT!" the man shrieked, panic twisting his voice. "I—I'm innocent!"

His words fell apart the moment they touched him. The shadowed hands clamped down on his body. More and more of them swarmed, pulling him toward the abyss, while screaching out his name.

The man thrashed wildly, sheer horror distorting his face. "No! No, no, NO—"

The last thing Max saw was his wide, terrified eyes disappearing into the flames. The portal slammed shut, cutting off the final, echoing scream.

As Max turned to leave, another figure emerged from the shadows. It was tall and lean, his face half hidden by the hood of his cloak.

"Sup Rayner", said Max, noticing its presence.

"You're supposed to guide souls, not traumatize them" said, clearly enjoying the show.

"I call it motivation. Besides, what's a little extra fright before eternal torment?" smirked, laying his synch back on his shoulders.

"True", grined. Rayner stepped closer, the dim light catching the jagged edges of his black synch.

" By the way, Boss wants to see you" he said.

Max raised an eyebrow. "Does he now?"

The air around them soon shifted. The corridors darkened further, and an icy chill swept through the space. Rayner immediately straightened as a figure materialized before them.

It wasn't every day Death himself paid a visit.

It was a towering figure shrouded in shadow, his skeletal hands resting calmly at his sides. His hollow, glowing eyes fixed on Max.

"Max" Death said, his voice low and resonant.

"Let me guess", Max responded, leaning against his synch now placed against the floor, "You're here to tell me I'm doing a fantastic job, and I'm due for a raise."

Death's expression didn't change, though Max swore he saw Rayner suppress a smirk.

"Apprentices are dying", Death replied calmly.

Max placed his hand on his neck. Yeah, pretty sure that's part of the job description, he thought.

Death approached the reapers, his presence heavy enough to make the ground beneath them tremble.

"The instability of souls has reached unprecedented levels", Death continued, "apprentices are being devoured, and more souls are escaping into the living world"

Max frowned, gripping his scythe a little tighter. This conversation didn't seem to be heading a good way.

"I am reassigning Reapers to assist in the Garden," Death continued. "You're being reassigned..."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding. "To the garden" Death clarified, slightly mocking the coky reaper.

Max was silent. Rayner raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Max's sudden discomfort.

"With all due respect, boss, I'm not exactly known for my gentle touch," Max retorted, leaning on his scythe. "I've been splitting souls for centuries. 'Easing' them isn't really my style."

Death stepped closer, his presence looming. "This is not a request. You will assist in the Garden", he said. "Or you will perish like the others."

Max felt the weight of the words settle over him. "Fine," he muttered, slumping in defeat.

Death's form began to dissolve, his voice echoing faintly as he disappeared. "Don't worry, you'll find the Garden... illuminating."

As silence settled over the corridor, Rayner finally let out the laugh he'd been holding in. It quickly escalated into full-blown amusement, echoing loudly in the enclosed space.

"Oh, shut it" Max snapped, gripping his scythe tightly.

Rayner wiped at his eyes, still grinning. "I feel bad for the souls you're going to take care off."

Pissed off, Max starts to leave.

"C'mon," Rayner said, following him. "We're staying with the apprentices for the time being. Might as well get comfortable."

"Great," Max muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The apprentice realm was many things, but predictable was not one of them. Its skies were perpetually stuck in a strange, undecided twilight —neither day nor night— casting everything in hues of gold and shadowy blue. Stone paths wove through open fields dotted with small, oddly-shaped houses.

Max had never spent much time in the apprentices' realm, and for good reason. The sheer serenity of it all gave him the creeps.

"This is where they live?" he asked, his voice equal parts curiosity and disdain as he and Rayner walked toward a massive structure at the center of the realm.

"Not all Reapers are loners like you" Rayner replied, flashing his usual smirk. "Apprentices need community to keep their heads straight. They spend all "day" dealing with fragile souls. It's not exactly a cakewalk."

Max snorted. "Neither is wrangling murderers, but you don't see me living in a floating teacup."

Rayner didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he gestured toward the structure ahead. The Hall of Threads loomed like a cathedral frozen in time, its carved stone walls etched with intricate patterns. As they approached, Max's gaze shifted to the apprentices bustling in and out of its towering arched doors. Their black uniforms were immaculate, with a small skull emblems stitched neatly on the side and silver stripes running the length of their sleeves.

By contrast, Max's long, tattered cloak trailed behind him like a shadow, the worn fabric billowing slightly as he walked. It had seen centuries of use, its edges fraying and dark patches fading into an indeterminate gray. He looked like a storm cloud plodding through their pristine world.

Max followed Rayner inside, where the air buzzed with energy. Threads of light crisscrossed the endless expanse of the Hall, suspended like webs from the impossibly high ceiling. Was the Hall really that tall?, Max tilted his head, squinting at the ceiling, but the more he looked, the more it seemed to stretch. 

One of the apprentices—a petite woman with wide eyes and a nervous smile—approached them.

"You must be Max," she said, her voice slightly shaky. "I... uh... heard you were assigned to help us."

Max's grey eyes narrowed as he gave her a once-over. She looked like she'd snap in half if someone sneezed too hard. Her uniform, however, was impeccable, not a thread out of place, the silver stripe gleaming faintly in the golden light.

"Don't mind him. He's always grumpy," said Rayner clapping Max on the back, "Just show him where he's staying, I'll catch up with you guys later" said, leaving the two alone.

"What, running awya aready?" said mockingly.

"Nah, I need to bring the other reapers Death asked

Aline nodded quickly, motioning for Max to follow her.

Max trailed behind her as she led him deeper into the Hall. The polished stone floors echoed beneath his heavy boots, a sharp contrast to Aline's light, measured steps.

"I'm Aline, by the way," she said hesitantly, glancing over her shoulder. "I know Reapers aren't used to, um, close contact with one another, but... we work differently here."

"Yeah, don't worry," Max replied, waving a hand dismissively. "I won't be here for long anyway."

Aline's lips pressed into a thin line, but she decided not to argue. She led him toward a small arched doorway carved into the stone, pausing before stepping inside.

"Oh, and... you won't be using your scythe here," she said, almost apologetically, turning around.

Max stopped mid-step, staring at her. "Come again?"

"Your scythe," Aline repeated, motioning toward the massive weapon resting over his shoulder. "You won't need it in the Garden. We use something else to handle the life threads."

Max blinked. Then he scoffed. "Let me get this straight. You want me—me—to cut threads with some dainty little tool instead of this masterpiece?" He patted his scythe affectionately, the blade gleaming wickedly in the golden light.

"It's not dainty," Aline said, crossing her arms defensively. "It's a Weaver's Shear. Specifically designed for guiding souls. And for the record, if you try using that thing on a light soul, you'll destroy them completely! The Garden won't forgive you for it."

Max rolled his eyes, clearly ignoring what she said. Aline sighed, clearly summoning patience she didn't have, and stepped through the doorway, motioning for Max to follow.

Inside, the room was bathed in a faint golden glow. Shelves lined the walls, holding row after row of sleek, silver tools. The Weaver's Shears were elegant, slightly curved scissors with handles that shimmered like stardust.

Aline selected a pair from the nearest shelf and held them out to Max. "Here. Try not to break them. They're... delicate."

Max took the Shears reluctantly, holding them at arm's length like they might explode at any moment. "Delicate? They're scissors. What's so special about them?"

"They're forged from the Garden itself," Aline explained, her tone softening as she ran a finger along the edge of another pair. "They don't just cut the thread—they weave it into the fabric of the afterlife. It's what helps the soul find its way without... unravelling."

Max frowned. "Unravelling?"

"Losing itself," Aline clarified, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. "If a soul's thread isn't cut properly, it can fray. And a frayed soul can't move on. It either becomes corrupted or... lost." Her gaze lingered on the Shears, her voice softening with melancholy.

Max stared at the Shears in his hand. They felt unnaturally light, almost insubstantial compared to his scythe. "And you've all been using these for how long?"

"Forever," Aline said simply. "It's how we do things. We're not Reapers. We don't force souls into submission. We... guide them."

Max leaned back slightly, glaring at the Shear as if it might bite him. "I don't know..." he muttered. "This one's got... a vibe. I don't trust it."

Aline just stared at him, exasperation flickering across her face. What a troublesome fellow, she thought.

"Look, It's not that we don't understand what you do. It's just... different. We deal with souls that still carry pieces of who they were. They're fragile. And sometimes, all they need is a little kindness to let go."

Max muttered. "Haven't seen much of that where I'm from."

Aline smiled faintly, gesturing toward the door. "Come on. You'll figure it out tomorrow. One way or another."

Max hesitated, his gaze lingering on the Shears for a moment longer before he followed her out of the room.

"I'll show you where you'll be staying for now."

Max trailed behind Aline as they weaved through the winding corridors of the Hall. The golden light shifted strangely against the carved stone walls, casting long, fluid shadows that almost seemed alive.

His grip on the Weaver's Shears remained reluctant, fingers absently twirling them as if testing their weight. They were too light, too delicate. He hated them already.

What was worse, however, was the feeling of being watched.

Apprentices paused in their work as he passed, their eyes flickering with curiosity, some with admiration, others with unease.

Max rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. It was like being the weird stray cat that wandered into a family gathering.

"So," he said finally, glancing around at the pristine structure, "how do you guys... reap souls here?"

"We guide the souls," Aline corrected swiftly, though she took a breath to steady herself before snapping at him. "The souls here appear in the Garden."

Max arched a brow, still unimpressed. "That so?"

Aline suddenly turned on her heel, nearly causing him to bump into her.

"Do you want to check it out?" she asked, eyes gleaming with enthusiasm.

Max blinked. "Uh... sure?" He wasn't entirely sure if he had actually agreed or if he had simply been pressured into it.

"Great!" Aline beamed, already leading the way toward a large, spiralling portal situated near the vast, glowing threads.

Max slowed as they approached, staring at the intricate golden frame surrounding the slightly violet portal. The carvings twisted into elegant, spiralling designs, moving in a way that made his head hurt if he looked for too long.

"You guys sure like to pay attention to every little detail, huh...," he muttered.

Aline puffed up proudly. "We do our best to keep the realm in good shape!"

Max frowned slightly. Before he could say anything, Aline suddenly grabbed his shoulder, shoving him into the violet, twisting portal.

"Wait—!—"

"And here is the Garden!" she said, as an endless meadow stretched as far as the eye could see, bathed in the soft embrace of a perpetual sunrise. It was truly something else. Max gazed in the endless expanse of that garden, his mouth slightly open, the words escaping with the warm breeze.

Aline smiled, moving to the side, clearly amused by his reaction. "Pretty, isn't it?"

Max grinned. "Don't get cocky." replied, not denying it. It truly was impressive.

The moment of stillness didn't last long. The ground rippled beneath them, the meadow shifting like water, melting into something new. Flowers shrivelled and faded, trees sprouted where none had been before, the sky slightly darkened, with stars now illuminating the field.

Max tensed. "What the—?"

"The Garden will always change." Aline's voice was calm, glancing the fading sunlight, "That's how we receive the souls." glancing at Max with a kind smile.

Max exhaled slowly, adjusting his cloak, as Aline headed back towards the portal, "C'mon, you'll have plenty of time to figure the garden out tomorrow"

Max hesitated, with a final glance at the endless expanse, he followed her back through the portal. Stepping back into the Hall, Max barely had time to regain his balance before Aline was already leading him through the door.

Unlike the Hall of Threads, which radiated golden light, the camp felt... ordinary.

If not for the unusual symbols glowing faintly on the houses, it could have been mistaken for a small human village tucked away in the hills.

The air smelled of burning firewood, and an unsettling sweetness.

Aline led him through the camp, nodding at a few passing apprentices. Some whispered as they saw Max, stealing curious glances at his long, red scythe.

Max ignored them, his gaze scanning the camp lazily.

"This is where most of us live," Aline explained, hands behind her back as she walked. "The Hall is where we work, but the camp is home."

Max made a face. "So you lot actually sleep here?"

Aline gave him a look. "We're not Reapers. We need rest."

Max grunted. "Can't relate."

As they moved further into the camp, Max caught sight of a central fire pit, where a small group of apprentices sat, drinking what seemed to be tea and chatting. A little too carefree, Max thought.

As they reached the far edge of the camp, Aline stopped in front of a small but well-kept house. The structure was simple, with smooth stone walls and a slanted wooden roof. A thin trail of smoke curled from the chimney, carrying the familiar scent of firewood.

"This is where you'll be staying," Aline announced, pushing the door open with a little too much enthusiasm.

Max hesitated. Something about the idea of having an actual "room" felt strange.

He stepped inside cautiously, his sharp gaze sweeping across the space. The room was larger than expected but still modest.

There were two beds, neatly made, with a simple wooden dresser between them, where an apprentice's uniform hung carefully in place. A small desk sat tucked against the wall, its surface bare except for a few unlit candles, and a dimly glowing lantern hung from the ceiling, casting a gentle light.

Max stepped inside fully, still feeling out of place.

"You'll get used to it" Aline said, observing Max.

He didn't answer, Just stood there, quiet.

Aline hesitated, as if debating whether to say something else. Then, with a small nod, she turned and stepped away. The door clicked softly behind her, leaving him alone.

Max let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. For some reason, the silence felt heavier than usual.

He shook it off, dropping onto the edge of his bed, stretching his legs out. His gaze drifted to the ceiling.

It was just another temporary assignment, I'll go back soon...