“Well? Are you going to sit down?” Egoros asked while still pointing to the chair.

  Without a word, Death inched closer, never breaking eye contact with Egoros, and cautiously took a seat. Now, the two sat face to face, their distance significantly reduced.

  “I’m sure you have plenty of questions………but uh, since we don’t have much time, let’s speed things up.” Egoros stepped back and pulled open a drawer within the table. After rummaging through it, he finally retrieved a tome—Beric’s tome. Placing it on the table, he simply looked back at Death.

  Death was at a loss for words. What was Egoros trying to pull? Why would he willingly reveal the tome? Was this some kind of test? What would happen if he snatched it right now? Was he fast enough?

  “This is what you’re looking for, right?” Egoros asked while slightly tilting his head. Keeping his eyes on Egoros, Death slowly raised his hand……..and retrieved the tome. The thing that he had been searching for was now within his grasp, but now he felt even more lost.

  “Go ahead. You can read it.” Egoros grabbed his cup and drank from it once more, leaning back in his chair.

  Nothing made sense anymore. Why was he so calm?

  Death glanced at the tome again. It looked real. It felt real. Sighing, he tentatively opened the tome and read the contents.

  It was real. It held everything it should—Beric’s birth, his first soul absorption, and his journey to mastering the magic. Everything seemed correct. This was Beric’s tome.

  Just as Death had suspected, there were no traces of a past life. Had he been wrong? It made no sense for Egoros to so willingly hand over the tome if he intended to hide something. Then again, that could explain his composure. If Egoros had done exactly as Death theorized, then of course the tome would lack any evidence of Beric’s past life. Why panic when there was nothing incriminating to be found?

  What’s the right answer?

  “Already done?” Egoros inquired with a raised eyebrow.

  It would only be a waste of time to continue reading. The answer wasn’t in the tome. Closing it, Death looked back up. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Setting the cup down, Egoros let out a small sigh. “What you’re looking for is gone.”

  “And what exactly am I searching for?”

  “Beric’s past life. I know that you’ve begun your own personal investigation into it. A futile one, if I may add. I don’t see what you could gain from it.”

  This only deepened Death's confusion. Why had Egoros kept this a secret before, only to reveal the truth now? What was he trying to achieve?

  "You went to great lengths to conceal this hidden agenda from me, subtly manipulating my thoughts……..even tampering with my memory. And yet, you knew I would come here. Why go through all that effort to hide everything, only to reveal it willingly in the end?"

  Death naturally wore a displeased expression, one that most would interpret as anger. A glare would be a more accurate description. This glare had served Death well in all his endeavors, allowing him to easily intimidate anyone who crossed his path.

  Egoros was not one of them.

  Egoros calmly stayed seated, looking back at Death with a somber look. “It was a test.”

  So it was.

  “The truth would only hurt you, believe me. That’s why I erased your memory regarding Beric………..But, if I am being honest, I just wanted to see what kind of person you really are.”

  “What?” Taken aback, Death gripped his chair tightly. He despised the feeling of being left in the dark. To be confused and disoriented in the pitch black. To attempt to navigate through the darkness, only to fall deeper within.

  Death loathed not understanding the world around him.

  Egoros smiled. “Do you know what they say about you?”

  It would be a lie if Death answered with a no. “What do they say?”

  “The Harbinger of Misery. An inexorable spiral of pain that brings ruin to those who are misfortune enough to come near. The final wall in the path one walks. The last being one can perceive before darkness envelops them. A lot of beings fear you. Even the gods cower in your presence.” Egoros chuckled at that last statement.

  Clearly, Egoros wasn’t an ordinary god. “I’ve heard of these statements. What about them?” Death had heard plenty of these “exaggerations”.......though, really, they weren’t.

  “When I first heard of them, I thought to myself…..” Egoros lowered his head as his hands began to shake.

  Oh? Death was perplexed by this. Perhaps Egoros was simply putting on a front this entire time……….A shame, but Death was used to it. No one could bear to be near someone like him-

  “What a load of bullshit.”

  …………What? Was Death hearing things? “Pardon?”

  “It’s all bullshit!” Egoros exclaimed, suddenly slamming his fists onto the table. His once fearful body language shifted, transforming into the familiar, energetic and confident figure sitting before Death.

  “What are you saying now?” Death was puzzled by this sudden change……..but what was this? He also felt a tiny twinge within his body………was this relief?

  “Harbinger of Misery? Spiral of pain? The last wall? Of course this ‘Death’ would be some antisocial lonely prick! What else can he be if everyone treats him like this?!” Egoros had gotten up his chair and was now circling around the desk, periodically brushing past Death.

  Death was beginning to get annoyed.

  “How can people expect someone to change for the better when they so selfishly pin the same person as this evil devil that brings destruction everywhere? It’s stupidity!”

  “.......Sure.” Death was now simply letting Egoros ramble on.

  Egoros returned to his chair and sat back down. This time, he looked right at Death. “That’s why I wanted to see for myself. I wanted to see if Death was actually some dangerous being that should be avoided at all costs………or,” He rested his head on his hand. “If he’s just some lonely guy who’s barely scraping by.”

  A small shiver ran across Death’s body.

  Odd. Death was not one to be affected by the temperature.

  "Is that it? Is that your entire reason for meeting with me? For this plan of yours? A whim based on mere intuition?” For some reason, Death felt anger boiling deep within him.

  Again, odd. Death was used to feeling anger at Egoros, but not to this extent.

  “Are you satisfied? Do you feel happy now that you see how pathetic I am?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Pathetic?” Egoros slightly leaned in. “What do you mean?”

  Why did Death say that?

  “Look at me. I’m a primordial deity that’s existed before time was even thought of. I should be revered and garnered with respect and awe by all that I come across. I should be satisfied with my role and proud of how I keep the balance.”

  Why was he still continuing?

  “But none of it matters. There’s no respect and awe reserved for me. All that awaits is scorn and fear of why I appear before them. Do you know the face that everyone has when they first see me? The face of every mortal upon realizing their demise?”

  Death wanted to stop. There was no reason for him to continue speaking like this.

  "They’re always terrified. They spend their mortal lives wondering about the fate that awaits them—the fate they so desperately try to escape. Throughout their existence, they live in fear of the haunting presence that follows their every step. They struggle so hard to avoid it, to find a different path where they won’t be pursued."

  Where were all of these words coming from?

  "But it's useless." Death was puzzled by the smirk that appeared on his own face. "No one can escape me, let alone a mortal soul. They can try all they want, fleeing down some different path where they think they’re temporarily safe. But that path was never different. It was just a smaller branch of the original path, the one far bigger than they could ever comprehend. They were never free from me……….or rather, they could never be free."

  Egoros leaned back in his chair once more. "Is that it? Do you believe you're hated just because of who you are? ‘Everyone fears you because you're Death.’ Is this the grand revelation I’m supposed to take away?" He took another drink. "Are there no other factors that make you think this way?"

  Why was Death so offended by that question?

  “What are you trying to insinuate?” Death’s resting expression turned into a forceful one. He was beginning to feel true anger towards Egoros.

  But why?

  "Are you sure your position as Death is the main cause of your isolation? Would I be wrong to suggest that another factor is your failure to act in changing others' perception of you?"

  A freezing glare formed on Death’s face. He hated being unaware of what was going on.

  But he also despised it when someone tried to act as if they understood him—like they knew more about him than he knew himself.

  Death refused to tell Egoros about his past, or his vow to become the worst form of Death.

  “You act as if you know everything. You act like some sort of godly therapist. Is that what you want? To be some heavenly therapist who-” Death paused as the word “therapist” echoed in his mind.

  Death recalled his days on Earth, remembering the occupation of a therapist. In simple terms, a therapist was someone who helped others with internal struggles, aiding them in recovering from a traumatic past.

  It was logical to assume that a therapist was typically a good person………if they weren’t working for just money.

  Let’s go back. How had Egoros and Death crossed paths? It started with a simple request. Egoros had privately inquired about Death’s presence within his tower, an ordinary invitation that Death had thought nothing of.

  He was wrong.

  Egoros had arranged this private meeting to convey an idea………a plan. A plan that would relieve Death of his eternal role and offer Egoros a form of unparalleled, blissful entertainment.

  But now, Death had realized that this was all a cover for Egoros’ true intention: to create an endless loop of stories. Egoros would target mortals like Death, ensuring a never-ending list of Deaths who would all make the same deal.

  But that was it.

  For some reason, Egoros knew exactly what kind of person Death was. He had psychoanalyzed him, deducing what Death desperately wanted. From the opinions and stories of others, Egoros had fully understood Death’s mental state. And not only that, but Egoros could easily locate mortals on Earth who shared similar mental traits to Death, such as Beric.

  Almost as if he were a professional… therapist.

  A very skilled therapist… a good one… a good… person?

  Death let out a laugh. He figured it out. “So that’s your plan?”

  Egoros was confused by this sudden change in demeanor. “Excuse me?”

  “This is another one of your mind games, isn’t it?”

  Egoros tilted his head in puzzlement. “I uh…..no?”

  "I was right. Your plan was merely a disguise to guarantee an infinite number of stories. You anticipated that I would eventually figure this out, and you came up with two possibilities. One, I wouldn't care and would continue with my role. Two, I would become curious and try to find Beric’s original tome. To prepare for the second, you devised an insurance plan. You would use the concept of a ‘test’ as a cover, hiding behind the objective of ‘discovering who Death really is’ to deflect my suspicions. You subtly manipulated me into this conversation, acting like a therapist, attempting to sort out my feelings, all while leading me to believe you were just trying to help. I know this, because if you were truly trying to understand my real personality, you wouldn’t have been able to devise your plan. The fact that your plan exists proves that you already know a great deal about me. In short, there’s no need for a test. You lied about it."

  Egoros was silent as he held a neutral look.

  Death smirked. “Well? Am I right?”

  The two sat in silence, letting the quiet sounds of Egoros’ computer fill it. Death was trying to analyze Egoros’ soul, to see if there was any hint of deceit.

  “So, that’s how far you are.” Egoros finally broke the silence.

  “How far?” Did he mean Death had reached this far in finding the answer within Egoros’ deep lies?

  “You’re this far into the darkness. You’re too deep in to trust any sliver of light that comes your way.” Egoros pronounced with a sad look.

  Death could feel his anger slowly subsiding. The darkness? What did he mean by that?

  “Do you know why stories exist?” The question quietly escaped Egoros’ mouth. His head was aimed downwards, face hidden by his hands.

  "………They’re created to be passed on. One could argue that writers craft them to be remembered, leaving behind a trace of their life. Others might say that stories are meant to inform, unite, and entertain."

  "Those are all true…….. but not fundamentally." Egoros raised his head, locking eyes with Death. "I think differently. I believe that, at the very core of a writer’s ego, they all share a common objective. They write to escape."

  "Escape? From what?"

  "Anything. If someone writes simply to be remembered, it’s to escape being forgotten. If they write to inform the public about a danger, it’s to escape the fate of that danger. If they write to unite a group of people, it’s to escape isolation. If they write to entertain, it’s to escape boredom. Every writer is writing to escape something……..and I’m no exception." Egoros then turned his gaze upward, staring at the ceiling.

  Death followed his gaze. The ceiling upon which they looked at contained a design, a beautiful design that showcased a dark, starry night. “What do you write for?”

  Still looking up, Egoros calmly answered. “I write to escape from this reality.”

  This reality? Before Death could inquire further, Egoros continued.

  "I believe that, because of this shared need to escape, a writer and a reader are no different." Looking back down at Death, he continued. "A reader reads stories to escape as well. They might read informative books to escape the fate of a doomed future. They might read a popular series to fit in better at school. They might read simply because there’s nothing else to do.” Pausing, Egoros gently caressed Beric’s tome. “They can also read about a different world. A new world that doesn’t have the same problems. A new world that won’t hurt them. A new world that’ll warmly welcome them. They read to escape from the life they’re trapped in."

  Taking a deep breath, Egoros went on. "In a way, a writer and a reader are two sides of the same coin. Though they may perceive themselves differently because of their roles, they are fundamentally the same. They share the same thoughts, take the same actions, and experience the same emotions. They are no different from a lily grown in a small flower pot. From a singular seed, they sprout into many different flowers. While their positions may differ, their beginning is the same……..and they share the same end."

  Death’s face fell after that last statement. He knew very well who caused that end.

  "But doesn't that mean we're all readers? That we're all writers? If someone is a writer, then surely they're also a reader. And practically every mortal is a writer. To write is to escape from something—our lives. We do whatever we can to change them, to seem more special than we really are. That’s when dreams begin to form. That’s why people write: to create a fantasy where we can thrive. To create a safe space where we can forget our misfortunes and depressing lives. To forget the impending doom that awaits us at the end of our lives. We create a way in which we can dream."

  “Dream?” Death felt a strange feeling within himself.

  Before Death could speak, to further question just what dreams were to Egoros, to strengthen this feeling, he heard a voice.

  “Master Death.” It was Hel, Goddess of the Underworld from the Norse pantheon.

  “.......What is it?”

  “There’s trouble brewing within the underworld. Swarms of shinigami and valkyries are attacking groups of mortals that are journeying to the Crossroads.”

  “...........I see. I’ll be there soon.”

  “I sense that our time is up now.” Egoros said after Death finished his transmission.

  Death got up from his chair. “So it is.” Death didn’t know what to say here. He felt awkward leaving in the middle of a conversation.

  “If you still question my deceit, then you are free to investigate further. I will not stop you.”

  “Are you implying that you are hiding something?”

  “I can’t reveal that. No one likes to be spoiled.”

  “Spoiled? I still can't understand you.” Turning to the door, Death began walking away.

  “...........You also aren’t the only listener.”

  “Hmm? Did you say something?” Death asked.

  “No, no. It wasn’t meant for you.”

  Confused, Death exited the room.

  Grabbing Beric’s tome, Egoros got up from his chair and went to the stairs that led up. Using them, he made his way to the balcony that overlooked the surrounding area. Holding the tome tightly, Egoros silently stared at the sky. A vast expanse of inky black stretched endlessly, pierced by countless stars that shimmered like scattered diamonds. Some glowed faintly, mere whispers of light, while others blazed brilliantly, casting silver hues across the sky. The night air felt vast, endless, and quiet……….but it also felt calm.

  Just like a dream.