you didn’t mean to wander into the ruins alone, but curiosity’s always been your downfall. the air was thick with smoke and old magic, every breath heavy with something that didn’t want you there. you drew your blade anyway, pretending it made you feel less small.

you felt him before you saw him— the shift in pressure, that prickle down your spine. then his voice, deep and sharp, cut through the silence.

“you shouldn’t be here.”

you spun, blade raised, but he was already behind you, stepping out from the dark like it bent around him. the god of death himself, black smoke trailing his steps, eyes burning faintly red. you exhaled a shaky laugh.

“you say that every time,” you said, trying not to let your voice shake. he tilted his head, that faint, dangerous smile pulling at his mouth.

“and every time,” he said, moving closer, slow and deliberate, “you don’t listen.”

you took a step back. he followed. the edge of your blade hovered at his chest, but he didn’t stop until the cold metal pressed against him. his hand came up, fingers wrapping around the blade, bleeding where it cut, but his expression didn’t change.

“you think this could kill me?” he asked, voice soft, teasing. you swallowed hard. “maybe.”

he leaned in then, until you could feel his breath against your cheek. “you forget who taught you to hold it.”

the air between you burned, your heart thudding hard enough to hurt. he dropped the blade then, hand ghosting over your throat, not choking, just reminding you of how easily he could.

“next time,” he murmured, “you wait for me before walking into death’s home.”