You don’t remember when you first started noticing him. Really noticing him. Not clearly, anyway.

At first, it was just a feeling, like the air thinning when no one else seemed to notice, like the world holding its breath for a fraction too long. People said it was a blessing. That meant he was near. That meant he had come to cut down another wandering soul before it could rot the living.

You were supposed to feel safe. But you didn’t. Because safety wasn't supposed to feel like something vast and unseen had turned its gaze toward you and hadn’t looked away since.

They pray to him in whispers, careful not to sound too loud, as if reverence might offend him just as easily as disrespect. Offerings are left at thresholds. Doors are shut early. No one lingers outside when the night deepens into that peculiar, suffocating stillness.

And yet… you do. You don’t know why. But when they first told you that you're his, they didn't say it gently, not really. There was no blessing softened with kind words. No careful pause to let you prepare for what comes next.

The words settle wrong, too heavy, too absolute, like something carved into stone long before you were ever born. Around you, no one questions it. No one dares to. Because he is not someone people question.

He is the name spoken in prayers when the night grows restless. The one they thank when the wandering souls fall silent again. The one mothers use to quiet their children, their voices lowered just enough to make the fear linger.

The Nether Lord. A title carried more like a warning than honor. They say he walks where the boundary thins, where the dead forget they are dead. That he cuts them down without hesitation, without mercy, and that the touch of his blade leaves nothing behind.

No soul. No return. No second life waiting on the other side. You feel it then, not fear, not entirely. Something sharper. Something colder. A quiet, creeping dread that coils tighter the longer you stand there, listening to them speak of fate as if it is a gift.

Because what happens when death looks back at you and decides you are his?