Page 11 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)
I had forgotten what it felt like to hold another being.
Centuries of isolation, of touch being nothing more than a distant memory, had made me forget the simple weight of another person in my arms. The warmth. The solidity.
Soraya was pressed against me, her slender arms wrapped around my waist, her face buried against my chest as my wings sliced through the shadows of the Shadowveil. I could feel the softness of her hair beneath my chin, the gentle curves of her body against mine.
I should have been focused solely on our destination. On my duty. On maintaining the precise control needed to navigate the Shadowveil.
Instead, I was distracted by sensations I’d thought long dead. By a strange, unfamiliar ache in my chest. By the realization that I didn’t want to let her go.
The journey through shadow took only moments, but it felt like an eternity—each second bringing fresh awareness of her presence, her trust, her vulnerability.
When we emerged in the muted twilight of the Sylvan forest, I held her a moment longer than necessary, relishing the simple satisfaction of human contact, before loosening my grip.
She stepped back, her blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed. “That was... intense.”
I nodded stiffly, trying to regain my composure. “We’ re here.”
She glanced around at the shadowy trees, the muted colors of the Shadowveil version of the Sylvan Court. “And where exactly is here?”
I looked around, stunned I’d missed my exact mark. I’d been too distracted by her to land as precisely as usual. But I recognized the surroundings immediately, knowing we were nearby.
“Sylvan territory,” I said, forcing myself to look away from her. “The sorceress’s cottage is close.”
I’d passed through here once or twice on my quest to reap souls, having been shocked once that a woman living in a small cottage I’d walked past had seen me as clear as if I’d been standing in front of her.
She’d then told me she came from a bloodline that could straddle the world of the living and the dead, and like Soraya, see behind the veil.
If she hadn’t been fae, I may have stayed and talked to her longer.
But though she seemed kind, and having a conversation with the living intrigued me, I didn’t linger, simply returning to my hunt to swipe another delinquent soul from existence.
“It’s beautiful, even all... grayscale like this,” Soraya said, turning in a slow circle to take in our surroundings.
The Shadowveil version of the Sylvan forest was indeed striking, in its way.
Massive trees stretched overhead, their branches forming a cathedral-like canopy.
Ghostly wisps of light drifted between trunks like wandering spirits.
In the living realm, this would be a riot of green and color, vibrant with life.
Here, it was a study in silver and shadow, haunting in its stillness.
“Which way do we go?” Soraya asked.
I closed my eyes, reaching out with senses honed by centuries of tracking souls. Though I didn’t have her frequency imbued on my staff, Reapers could still sense the energy of all nearby souls, both living and dead, when we tried .
There—a faint pulse of energy, different from the steady rhythm of the forest. “This way.”
We moved through the trees, the mist-light of the Shadowveil casting everything in a ghostly glow.
Soraya stayed close, occasionally passing her hand through a fern or flower with a faint look of regret.
Every so often, her arm would brush against mine, sending an unexpected, though not unpleasant, jolt through me.
“Do you think she’ll be able to help me?” Soraya asked after a while.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “But she’s our best chance at understanding what’s happening to you.”
“And if she can’t help?” Her voice was small, fearful. “Will you... will you have to reap me then?”
The question struck me with a powerful blow. Would I? Should I? My duty as a Reaper was clear. If she didn’t move on, I would have to erase her. But my duty to help the last human in Faelora felt as heavy on my shoulders as my duty as her Reaper.
“Let’s see what the sorceress says first,” I replied, unwilling to make promises I might not be able to keep.
We walked in silence for a time, the forest growing denser around us. Eventually, I caught sight of a warm glow ahead—different from the beams of light filtering through the trees. It had to be the sorceress’s cottage.
As we approached, I saw a small clearing with a cottage nestled against the base of an enormous tree.
Unlike the muted surroundings, the cottage glowed with a faint golden light that pierced through the veil between realms. Behind it stood an ancient oak, its trunk wider than three men standing shoulder to shoulder, its branches reaching up like arms outstretched to the sky.
“There,” I said, pointing.
Soraya squinted. “I don’t—wait, I see it now. A light.”
We approached the cottage cautiously. I could sense protective magic surrounding it—a faint resistance in the air, like pushing through invisible cobwebs.
Likely enough to stop anyone living from crossing, but here in the Shadowveil, it would take far more powerful magic to stop us from passing through.
The cottage itself was small but well-built, with wildflowers growing around its base and herbs hanging to dry from the eaves. Through a window, I glimpsed movement—a figure moving about inside.
“What now?” Soraya whispered
I lifted my hand to knock, an old human habit, but quickly realized my form would pass right through. But not knowing if she would be startled if we just stepped through and appeared in her home, I hesitated for a moment, then called out, unsure if she could hear me.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the door flew open, and a young woman stood in the threshold, a knife in one hand, her eyes wide and startled as she looked around the empty clearing right past us.
“Who’s there?” she called, her voice sharp with alarm. “Show yourself!”
“She can’t see us,” Soraya whispered, disappointed. “I thought you said the sorceress can see us.”
“This isn’t the sorceress,” I answered, peering around her looking for the woman I’d met decades ago.
But then the woman’s gaze sharpened, focusing directly on us despite the veil separating us from her world that should have hidden us from living eyes. She frowned, lowering the knife slightly.
“What in the forest’s name...?” she murmured.
She was young—perhaps twenty-two at most, with delicate features and eyes that shifted between green and gold in the strange light. Her dark hair fell in waves past her shoulders, and if I looked closely, I could see tiny flowers woven through the strands, as if they grew there naturally.
“You can see us?” Soraya asked, stepping forward.
The young woman jumped slightly, her grip tightening on the knife.
“I—yes. Barely. You’re like... shadows. Echoes.
” Her gaze turned to me, and her eyes widened further then narrowed as if she was focusing on seeing us more clearly.
“Ah, there. I can see you both better now. You. You’re—you’re a Reaper. ”
Her eyes had that unmistakable glimmer of her fae heritage, and I had to stop myself from snarling at her. But now wasn’t the time for centuries long blood grudges. Right now, though I hated to admit it, I needed a fae’s help.
I nodded. “My name is Rhyker.” I glanced past her into the cottage. “I’m looking for the sorceress of the Sylvan Court.”
“That would be me,” she said, lifting her chin slightly as if expecting a challenge.
I frowned. “No, that’s not possible. I met the sorceress decades ago—a woman named Luainia.”
The young woman’s face fell, grief flickering across her features before she composed herself. “Luainia was my mother. She... passed away unexpectedly four years ago.”
“Your mother?” I couldn’t hide my surprise. “Then you’re...”
“I’m Selyse,” she said. “The sorceress of the Sylvan Court.” Something vulnerable flashed in her eyes. “Like my mother before me.”
“You’re so young,” I said before I could stop myself.
Her expression hardened. “I am old enough to bear the responsibility. The power of my bloodline chooses when it must, not when it’s convenient.
” She stepped back, still holding the knife.
“Now tell me why a Reaper has come to my door. Have you come for me? You have no power here in the living realm.”
“No,” I said quickly. “We seek your help.”
The girl’s gaze shifted to Soraya, confusion evident in her expression. “And who is she?”
“My name is Soraya,” she offered, her voice gentle. “I’m... well, I’m dead. But I’m stuck. I’m in the wrong realm I think, and I can’t find my door. You’re the only person we know that can see us, and we need your help figuring out what’s gone wrong.”
“I see.” Selyse’s brow furrowed as she looked between us, then she pinched her lips and gave a soft nod. “Well, I guess you should come inside,” she said after a moment.
She turned and walked back into the cottage, leaving the door open. I glanced at Soraya, who shrugged, and we followed, passing through the door and into the small, single-room dwelling.
The interior was cluttered but clean, filled with dried herbs hanging from the ceiling, shelves lined with jars and books, and a hearth where a small fire crackled.
Though I couldn’t smell, lingering memories of my old life had me imagining scents of green growing things and sweet smoke from the hearth.
Selyse placed her knife on a table and turned to face us. After one last look at me, seeming to survey me as friend or foe, she crossed her arms and said, “So, tell me everything.”
“Soraya is a human soul from the Mortal Realm,” I began. “She died recently, but instead of finding her door to the afterlife, she appeared in Faelora.”