Ettol snapped control back. “Ah. Sorry. Just another joke that didn’t land. I didn’t mean anything bad by it.”
‘Heh. You do love those, don’t you? When will you learn that you’re not a comedian?’
“I’ve still got time to improve, don’t I?”
‘I never should have let you attend that experimental comedy festival ten years ago. This is never going to end now, is it?’
It was actually more like twenty years ago, but Ettol wasn’t about to correct him. He merely returned a smile as he silently reassessed the reaper’s condition.
No obvious cracks in the lamina of the soul. No leakage. Good. But what about the inner structure?
That was more difficult to examine without alerting the reaper, but Ettol had been growing more powerful. Perhaps it was okay to push a little harder this time. And if he was ever going to repair the reaper fully, this would need to become trivial for him.
The reaper was talking again, but Ettol was hardly listening.
He knew what he was looking for, at least. The filament. The thin, unreal wire on which hung the nucleus--or the mind, in other words--of a reaper’s soul.
The problem was that the filament was so small and evasive. Unlike the filament of a light bulb, for example, this one could move and even hide when it sensed an observer. They always seemed to dislike being noticed, and it was the main reason why many reapers became abruptly nervous in the presence of people such as himself.
And unfortunately, today was still not an exception.
‘You’re doing it again,’ said Nerovoy. ‘Stop that.’
Naturally, unlike the average reaper, this one had plenty of experience dealing with him and so already knew precisely where this “inexplicable anxiety” was coming from.
“Sorry,” said Ettol, easing back from his psychic plunge. For a moment, he considering trying to explain, in the hope that the reaper might understand that he was only trying to perform what was akin to a medical examination on him. But he decided against it. Down that road lay too many impossible questions.
And questions from his mortal loved ones were often how things started to go awry. With the benefit of hindsight, looking back on all his incarnations, that was typically where things began to spiral out of control.
More than anything, he didn’t want that to happen again. Not this time.
A dark serial novel. Set in a modern fantasy world called Eleg. Mature language. Updates every day at noon PST by ~400 words.
Tuesday, January 6, 2026
Monday, January 5, 2026
Page 4018
He didn’t need much for this. Just a taste. The temptation to imbibe more was always present, but he controlled himself, of course. Those who didn’t respect their Light were not long in keeping it.
Ah. There. A glimpse of home. A window into the Realm of the Living Wind.
Gorgeous, as ever. He spotted a few of the Cloudkeeps, gently spinning as their long, verdant banners billowed from atop their white, fluffy islands.
He hadn’t been back there in so long. Or at least, it felt that way. Getting stuck in a prison realm for countless years certainly hadn’t helped. Whenever he did eventually return, it was debatable as to whether anyone there will have noticed.
Which was preferable, actually. With any luck, the master of the realm won’t have woken up yet. He didn’t need another lecture.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nerovoy’s condition was what he focused his energy into. A small push was enough to invigorate the reaper, make him whole and normal again.
Well. For the most part.
The amorphous shape briefly became a perfect orb, glowing in that familiar and ethereal way, before finally returning to the shape of all reapers.
To Ettol’s eyes, Nerovoy was now a humble flower. Green stem, black-and-white petals, and a smoldering stamen in the center.
‘Ah,’ came the reaper’s groggy voice. ‘Germal. There you are. I was having the strangest dream.’
“A pleasant one, I hope?” said Germal.
‘Heh. I’ll describe it, and then you can tell me what you think. I was on a beach, overlooking the ocean. There was a beautiful sunset across the horizon. I felt so at peace. And yet, at the same time, I could see a great tide coming in. Slow as molasses. I stared and stared, but it hardly seemed to move. And despite how comfortable I was, I somehow couldn’t dissuade myself of the notion that the tide I saw was a terrible omen. An inevitable doom, of sorts.’
Germal made no response. He merely let the reaper loose from his grip, allowing the little flower to float there in front of him.
‘So?’ said Nerovoy. ‘Go on. What does it mean? You were always good at deciphering dreams, weren’t you?’
Germal wanted to say something, but his neck and mouth twitched, trying to wrestle away from him.
Jonah. Stop this, already.
“Doom is exactly right, Nerovoy. You’re doomed, and I’m the cause.”
Bastard.
‘What? What do you mean?’
Ah. There. A glimpse of home. A window into the Realm of the Living Wind.
Gorgeous, as ever. He spotted a few of the Cloudkeeps, gently spinning as their long, verdant banners billowed from atop their white, fluffy islands.
He hadn’t been back there in so long. Or at least, it felt that way. Getting stuck in a prison realm for countless years certainly hadn’t helped. Whenever he did eventually return, it was debatable as to whether anyone there will have noticed.
Which was preferable, actually. With any luck, the master of the realm won’t have woken up yet. He didn’t need another lecture.
But that was neither here nor there.
Nerovoy’s condition was what he focused his energy into. A small push was enough to invigorate the reaper, make him whole and normal again.
Well. For the most part.
The amorphous shape briefly became a perfect orb, glowing in that familiar and ethereal way, before finally returning to the shape of all reapers.
To Ettol’s eyes, Nerovoy was now a humble flower. Green stem, black-and-white petals, and a smoldering stamen in the center.
‘Ah,’ came the reaper’s groggy voice. ‘Germal. There you are. I was having the strangest dream.’
“A pleasant one, I hope?” said Germal.
‘Heh. I’ll describe it, and then you can tell me what you think. I was on a beach, overlooking the ocean. There was a beautiful sunset across the horizon. I felt so at peace. And yet, at the same time, I could see a great tide coming in. Slow as molasses. I stared and stared, but it hardly seemed to move. And despite how comfortable I was, I somehow couldn’t dissuade myself of the notion that the tide I saw was a terrible omen. An inevitable doom, of sorts.’
Germal made no response. He merely let the reaper loose from his grip, allowing the little flower to float there in front of him.
‘So?’ said Nerovoy. ‘Go on. What does it mean? You were always good at deciphering dreams, weren’t you?’
Germal wanted to say something, but his neck and mouth twitched, trying to wrestle away from him.
Jonah. Stop this, already.
“Doom is exactly right, Nerovoy. You’re doomed, and I’m the cause.”
Bastard.
‘What? What do you mean?’
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