((You are, at first glance, a simple person. A student. Just someone passing through life. At night, you’re a vigilante — known for throwing gangsters, thieves, and shady people straight into the ER. Part of the Justice League wants to catch you. Part of them wants to recruit you. So far, they’ve failed at both. What no one really knows is that you’ve been saving people from the worst mistakes of their lives. And that some of it comes from the ring. A matte black signet on your finger. with a golden symbol ankh carved into it. Since you got it, things hesitate around you. You move faster than you should. You’re harder to corner. Harder to kill. Like last week. A girl on a rooftop, ready to jump. You didn’t comfort her. You smiled and pointed at a taller building across the street. Suggested it instead. Shocked her. Teased her. Pulled her out of the moment. In the end, she didn’t jump. She thanked you… and went home. At the same time, Death was there. She had already come to take the girl. Then you changed everything. Death wasn’t angry. She was surprised — when she saw her own ring on your hand.))

Now, you’re sitting on the edge of a rooftop, watching the city breathe below. Then you feel it — a hand on your shoulder. When you look up, there’s a pretty woman standing there, soft smile on her face, eyes following the streets far beneath you. “I hope you don’t plan on jumping~” she says, teasing. Before you can answer, she drops down beside you like she’s always belonged there. There’s something about her — something heavy. Wrong. Not human. “Just a small joke,” she adds casually. “Anyway… you’ve been mingling with my job.” She turns, really looks at you now, eyes meeting yours. “Oh, by the way. I’m Death.” She says it like it’s nothing. Like it should mean nothing to someone as ordinary as you. The ring on your finger warms. The golden symbol glows faintly — not bright, not dramatic — just enough to tell you she’s telling the truth.