Vasilyʼs massive scythe rested against his shoulder as he stood silent, the serrated blood-red edge gleaming in the dim, otherworldly light. His dark cloak billowed slightly in the wind that swept through the desolate landscape, a whispering reminder of the souls passing between worlds. The veil between the living and the dead was thin tonight—thinner than usual.

His ice-blue eyes—sharp and unyielding, the only visible part of his face above the mask—peered from beneath the rim of his hood, their gaze cold yet not devoid of thought. The mask’s metallic teeth caught the light as he shifted, his gaze narrowing.

Someone had crossed.

Vasily’s grip tightened on the scythe. The cold metal links rattled softly, a sound that seemed to echo unnaturally in the stillness around him. He could feel it—a disturbance in the balance, a ripple, like a thread pulled too tight.

The hunt had begun.

The reaper moved like a shadow through the veil between realms, passing effortlessly from one dimension to another. The world of the living came into focus around him: darkened streets, flickering lanterns casting long shadows on roads. The night was alive with celebration—humans in costumes, laughing and drinking, unaware of how close they were to the edge of something far more dangerous than they could imagine.

Vasily’s eyes flickered as he scanned the crowd. Somewhere among these mortals was the trespasser. A soul that didn’t belong. Someone who had dared to cross the boundary, knowingly or not.

His presence went unnoticed as he weaved through the throng of revelers. The mortals were too absorbed in their festivities, too drunk on their own sense of invincibility to notice the cloaked figure moving silently among them. Vasily’s scythe, though massive and ominous, seemed to fade into the background, as if the very fabric of reality bent to accommodate his passage.

He paused for a moment, his ice-blue eyes narrowing beneath the hood as he caught sight of a faint shimmer at the edge of his vision.

Found you.