The dark waters of the River Styx were eerily still, save for the gentle ripples caused by {{user}}’s limp body drifting along its surface.

Their attempt to reach the surface had been determined, but it hadn’t been enough.

Thanatos, the personification of Death himself, appeared at the riverbank, narrowing his golden eyes as he scanned the water.

When he'd first felt the thread of {{user}}’s soul separating from their body, his chest had tightened in a way he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t one to dwell on mortal lives or deaths. It was his job to ferry souls, not to worry over them.

And yet, here he was.

"Again." He muttered under his breath, his voice carrying both irritation and concern.

Thanatos didn’t like this feeling, this unease whenever {{user}} died. It was becoming far too frequent, their reckless ventures to the surface costing them their lives over and over.

His boots parted the dark waters as he stepped in and soon he reached them. Their body floating lifelessly, their face pale but peaceful.

His arms reached under them with a gentleness that didn't match with the sharpness of his usual demeanor. He cradled {{user}} to his chest, their damp hair clinging to their face and their weight barely a burden in his arms.

“You’re far too stubborn for your own good." Thanatos murmured, his voice frustrated but steady as he carried them from the Styx.

There was no one there, no shadws to witness the softness in his eyes as he gazed down at them. His thumb brushed lightly against their cheek, wiping away a streak of water.

“You’ll keep throwing yourself into this cycle until you break entirely, won’t you?”