Page 2 of Reaper’s Ruin (Reaper’s Ruin Trilogy #1)

I passed through the swarm of Reapers gathered in the Keep, each waiting for their next soul assignment. They parted at my approach like shadows fleeing the sun, dark cloaks shielding their faces as their eyes fixed on the floor, too afraid to meet mine.

We all looked the way we had in life—our last breaths immortalized in the shape we wore. Their forms were solid, deceptively human in the flickering light of the Shadowveil. To any mortal eye, we’d seem like flesh and bone. But our bodies weren’t forged of muscle and marrow.

We were intricate manifestations of pure essence—condensed shadow given shape.

Our bones still broke as if they were real. Our bodies still felt pain as if they were whole. But every bone was black as pressed shadow. Every inch of our skin, every muscle, was sculpted from the very essence of the Shadowveil. A perfect illusion of life, shaped by death.

And when we bled, it wasn’t blood that poured out but shadow. Inky, endless... our very essence seeping away, draining what remained inside these echoes of our former selves.

When I reached the towering black doors of the Soul Sanctum, I drew a slow breath—not out of nerves like any other Reaper summoned here would, but out of sheer irritation.

Though we didn’t need to breathe anymore, instinct was a stubborn ghost, and the habit lingered—an echo of the life we’d left behind.

Reapers didn’t get called before the Veil Lords unless they’d broken Reaper Law .

And those that did were either punished... or erased. Extinguishment—complete erasure from existence—was their ultimate threat for Reapers who broke the gravest Reaper laws. The thought almost made me smile. As if oblivion was something that scared me.

I shoved the doors open and walked in without hesitation, the dark, cavernous chamber surrounding me as I approached the five Veil Lords perched on their obsidian thrones.

They watched me from behind their hooded black cloaks, only their swirling, color-shifting eyes visible beneath their hoods.

At their feet, shadow beasts circled restlessly—the souls of fearsome creatures stolen from the other realm, now twisted into something unrecognizable.

They watched me approach their masters with wary eyes, sharp teeth warning me of intent with their snarls.

Beside each Veil Lord stood one Sentry, the tall, winged female warriors menacing in their shadowy forms with eyes glowing like embers that could ignite into infernos with a single breath.

What the Veil Lords feared enough to need such protection, I didn’t know. But it intrigued me. The mere mention of the Veil Lords names was enough to send most Reapers scattering into the Shadowveil. None would ever think to rise against them.

I continued through the expansive room, passing the massive orb pulsing with light that hovered in the center. I’d never understood its purpose, only that the Veil Lords guarded it like their most precious possession.

“Death.” Lord Azrith’s voice echoed through the chamber, deep and resonant. “Approach.”

Even the Veil Lords had started referring to me as Death centuries ago.

I hadn’t heard my born name in so long, I was surprised I even remembered it.

I walked forward, my boots silent on the polished obsidian floor.

I stopped at the customary distance, not bothering with the bow most Reapers offered.

I’d long since abandoned such pretenses.

“You summoned me,” I said flatly.

Lord Vexus leaned forward, his eyes swirling with blues and greens. “We have a... situation that requires your unique talents. A soul that needs reaping.”

“Why do you need me? You have a hundred reapers who could accomplish that.”

“This one is different,” Lady Maerys said, her voice like ice skating across my skin. The only female among the Veil Lords, she was perhaps the most calculating of them all. “An anomaly has appeared in Faelora.”

“A soul unlike any we’ve seen,” Lord Kairos drawled out. “It appeared suddenly in Faelora two days ago. We’ve sent three reapers to collect it.”

“And? What’s the problem?”

“They all failed,” Lord Noctis said, speaking for the first time. His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it carried through the chamber like a cold wind. “Each time a reaper approaches, the soul... vanishes. Disappears completely from our sight, only to reappear in another location.”

Suddenly, my interest piqued.

“Impossible,” I said, curiosity breaking through my usual indifference. “No soul can escape a reaper’s grasp.”

The Veil Lords exchanged glances.

“Apparently this one can,” Lady Maerys said coldly.

“And it represents a tear in the natural order. A soul that cannot be reaped disrupts the balance between life and death. As Reapers, we have one job. To prevent souls that won’t move on from lingering in the fae realm. This one is proving... difficult.”

Lord Azrith leaned forward. “You will find this soul. You will pull it into the Shadowveil. You will reap it. You will not fail us. ”

It wasn’t a request. It never was. But for once, I found myself interested in the task. A fae soul that could evade reapers? A true hunt, and one I would relish.

“I’ll find it, and it won’t escape me,” I answered.

“See that it doesn’t,” Lord Vexus said. “Dismissed.”

I turned to leave, already plotting my approach, when Lord Azrith spoke again.

“Do not disappoint us. Even Death can die a second time.”

I paused but didn’t turn back.

The threat hung in the air between us. I allowed myself a small smile, knowing they couldn’t see my face. Their threats meant nothing. What could they take from me that I hadn’t already lost?

The corridors of the Umbral Keep buzzed with whispers as I walked back through, all wondering why I’d been summoned before the elusive Veil Lords.

Reapers huddled in alcoves, their black cloaks making them seem like extensions of the shadows themselves.

They fell silent as I passed, conversations of their speculations dying mid-sentence.

Eight centuries of solitude and not once had I craved their companionship.

They had all been fae in their former lives.

My enemies.

Even here, in this cold and endless purgatory, I would rather rot in silence for eternity than trade words with the kind who’d destroyed everything I once loved.

“Death! Wait up!”

I suppressed a sigh as Taelon jogged up beside me, his usual grin firmly in place.

If I had anything that resembled a friend in this forsaken place, it would be him, though friend was stretching the term to its absolute limit.

The only Reaper who didn’t fear me. The only Reaper brave enough, or sometimes I thought stupid enough, to approach me.

“Heard the big bosses called you in,” he said, falling into step beside me like I hadn’t spent the eight decades since his arrival trying to ignore him. “Must be something juicy if they’re summoning the legendary Death himself.”

“Don’t you have souls to reap? Go away, Taelon.”

He ran a hand through his dark brown hair then shrugged. “You say that like it’s ever worked before.”

I shot him a sidelong glare. He just grinned wider. Of course he did.

“Don’t give me that famous withering stare of yours. What happened in there? Lorien bet me they were going to eradicate you.”

I gave him another annoyed glance, but his amber eyes just flickered with amusement.

“Don’t worry. My bet was on you surviving. So, thanks!”

He patted my shoulder, and I stared at his hand like it would start on fire if he didn’t remove it. But considering he’d been a powerful Flame Warrior in his life and impervious to fire, it wouldn’t have dissuaded him anyway.

“So, what’s the assignment? Something good?”

I debated ignoring him entirely, but Taelon had a way of persisting until he got what he wanted. Like an annoying younger brother. The thought sent an unwelcome pang through me, memories of another life trying to surface.

“An anomaly,” I said curtly. “A soul no one can reap.”

Taelon whistled low. “Seriously? That’s new. Like, completely new. I’ve been here eighty years and never heard of such a thing.”

“Eighty years,” I let out a soft snort. “Practically an infant compared to me. ”

“And yet due to my charming personality, you’ve enjoyed my company for all eight decades.”

I scowled.

He shrugged. “Fine. Tolerated my company.”

The truth was more complicated. Something about Taelon reminded me of someone I’d once known. Someone I’d failed to protect. But I’d never admit that, least of all to him.

We reached the armory, where reapers turned in their scythes between shifts.

The weapons weren’t physical objects, but extensions of our reaper essence, living beneath our skin until summoned.

Still, after each reaping, we were required to “deposit” our scythes into the Soul Forge—a pulsing silver liquid altar at the center of the armory.

“You actually following protocol for once?” Taelon asked, eyebrows raised in mock surprise.

I ignored him, rolling up my sleeve. The tattoo-like marking beneath the skin of my forearm pulsed with shadowy violet light—the sign of a scythe heavy with reaping.

Most reapers rushed to the Forge after just one or two souls, their weapons already draining their strength.

After centuries, I barely felt the pull anymore.

With a thought, I summoned my scythe, the dark energy coalescing from beneath my skin into the long, curved weapon. Unlike the smaller, plainer scythes of newer reapers, mine had grown over centuries—longer, deadlier, with shadowy veins crawling along its obsidian-like surface.

I placed it in the Forge. The altar’s surface rippled like dark water, accepting the weapon.

For a moment, the scythe pulsed brighter as the Forge cleansed it, removing any remnants of reaped souls and replenishing its power.

Then came the attunement—the Forge imprinting the unique frequency of my next assignment into the weapon’s essence .