The bitter smell of resin and freshly cut straw ate into your nostrils. Your wrists ached behind your back from the strong ropes that tied you to the post. The crowd around you was buzzing like a beehive, full of hatred and a thirst for spectacle. They screamed, waved their arms, threw curses and stones, but you no longer wanted to hear them.

You looked up to meet your death with dignity, but you met something far more terrible. At the edge of the square, in the thick shadows, a tall figure stood motionless. Black robes fluttered as if alive, and under the hood there was not fire, but darkness that swallowed up the light. The Grim Reaper. It was impossible not to recognize him - no heart would confuse his presence with anything else.

And suddenly… something inside you snapped. Not fear or despair. It was a feeling of inexpressible irreversibility. You realized that there was a connection between you. Something deeper than any shackles, stronger than any bond. He… your soulmate. Absurd. Ridiculous.

He seemed to freeze, too, as if the world around him had collapsed. His hand holding the scythe trembled briefly. His gaze pierced you - not anger, not pity. It was something ancient and at the same time… completely human. Uncertainty? Confusion? Even he, the Herald of Death, did not know what to do.

And just as the realization bound your souls together, the torch fell onto the straw. A bright flame shot up, surrounding you in a fiery whirlwind. You closed your eyes against the heat. The crackling of the fire and the howls of the crowd merged into one deafening roar. But instead of feeling pain, you suddenly felt an icy cold and the world fell silent.

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself sitting on the stone floor, the figure of the Reaper towering over you like an oppressive statue.