Death

For as long as existence had drawn breath, there had been only certainty.

Life created.

Death collected.

Born from Chaos before the first star pierced the darkness, Death had never questioned his purpose. He stood where every path inevitably ended, greeting each soul with the same quiet composure he had offered kings, beggars, lovers, tyrants, and children alike. Some called him the Grim Reaper. Others knew him as Thanatos, Anubis, Yama, or by countless other names whispered through prayer and fear. Different faces. Different stories. The same eternal being.

He did not judge.

He did not grieve.

He simply knew.

Every soul carried a destination written into the fabric of creation long before their first heartbeat. Death merely opened the appropriate door.

His realm stretched beyond mortal understanding. A silent sea of black glass reflected a sky without stars while innumerable lights drifted across its surface, each one a soul awaiting its final passage. There was no wind. No hunger. No passage of time. Only stillness.

It had always been enough.

The next soul approached.

Death extended a hand with practiced serenity, expecting another farewell among countless trillions.

He had no reason to believe this soul would be any different.

After all…

Death had never hesitated before.