Reincarnated as a Death : vengeance against the Creator

Beneath the Sanctum, deeper than any archive scribe had dared to explore, lay a chamber sealed in time—forgotten even by the gods. It was not built, but grown, shaped by the roots of the Memory Tree above, its walls veined with living stone and dormant runes. It pulsed faintly, like a sleeping heart. And now, for the first time in centuries, that heart had started to beat.

Reyan stood at the edge of the lower sanctum, torch in hand, staring down the ancient spiral staircase unearthed by a minor quake just hours ago. He hadn't summoned Selene or Aesthera yet. This felt… personal. The presence that called to him wasn't divine, nor was it of Haldran's silence. It was something else. Something older. A layer beneath memory. Not grief, not sorrow—but absence. The raw void left when even remembrance fails.

He descended slowly, each step coated in a dust that sparkled faintly under firelight. Symbols on the walls blinked open like eyes adjusting to light. They didn't resemble any known divine language—not from the gods of sorrow, creation, or even time. They looked… raw, like thoughts half-formed, dreams crushed under centuries. At the bottom, the air was colder, thicker. He came upon a circular chamber, its ceiling domed like a cathedral, but covered entirely in scorched markings.

At the center lay a stone platform, and resting atop it—a black urn, sealed with crimson thread, pulsing faintly with dull fire.

Reyan's heart quickened.

He knew this.

Or rather, some part of him did.

The urn wasn't just a vessel. It was a prison—a containment crafted not to trap a soul, but to seal a truth. And as he stepped closer, the whispering began. Faint at first. Then layered. Voices—not Haldran's. Older. Broken. Familiar.

"You forgot us, Death."

"You rose, but we were left behind."

"Before Haldran, before Creation… there was us."

Reyan staggered back. "No," he muttered. "You're gone. You were erased. You—"

The urn cracked.

Just slightly.

A splinter of red fire escaped and struck the floor, burning a sigil Reyan had not seen in eons.

A name.

Nyharis.

The First Grief.

The god even Haldran feared.

He turned on his heel and ran—up the stairs, through the stone hall, heart thundering like war drums in his chest. By the time he reached the upper Sanctum, Selene was already waiting, her expression sharp with alarm.

"What happened?" she asked.

"There's something beneath us," Reyan replied, breathless. "Something we sealed before memory was born. Before Haldran. Before the Archive."

Aesthera stepped into view, holding a shimmering scroll. "You felt it too?"

Reyan looked at her, stunned. "You knew?"

She nodded gravely. "Not everything. But my order had fragments. We called it 'the Forgotten God'—a being so overwhelming that its presence alone shattered memory. It couldn't be worshipped. It couldn't be named. So it was buried."

Kael stepped out from behind Selene, his small face unusually solemn. "It spoke to me in my dreams."

Reyan knelt beside him. "What did it say?"

Kael's silver eyes gleamed. "It said it remembers nothing. And that it will make the world feel the same."

For a moment, no one moved.

Then Reyan stood and drew Soulbreaker from its sheath, the blade trembling with unease. "We need to prepare. If Nyharis is waking, then even Haldran may become a lesser threat. We're not just fighting for memory anymore—we're fighting to protect the existence of remembrance itself."

Selene narrowed her eyes. "Then let's make sure the Archive is ready."

But deep below, in the hollow chamber of fire and ash, the urn split further.

A whisper escaped into the air, curling up the roots of the Memory Tree.

One word.

"Soon."

The next morning arrived with a sky the color of faded ink. Light struggled to pierce through a thick canopy of clouds, and the wind carried with it a strange stillness—as if the air itself hesitated to speak. Within the Sanctum, Reyan stood before the Archive, watching the stone surface pulse weakly. Pages once etched in divine permanence now flickered like fragile memory. Whole names had begun to fade. Whole truths were vanishing.

"It's begun," Aesthera whispered, her face pale. "Nyharis doesn't just erase memory… he unravels its very origin. The stories themselves are breaking apart."

Selene stared at a blank section where once the names of the Grey Rebellion had been inscribed. "They're gone. I knew these people—I fought beside them. And now… I can't even picture their faces."

Kael stood quietly, his fingers trailing along the stone as if searching for a name that had once comforted him. "Is this what he meant by remembering nothing?"

Reyan nodded grimly. "Nyharis is unlike Haldran. Haldran feeds on grief, isolates it, weaponizes it. But Nyharis devours memory itself. If we don't seal him again soon, even our resistance will vanish—because we won't remember why we fought."

Aesthera opened her scroll, flipping through enchantments and ancient rites. "There must be something we can use. A reverse seal. A memory anchor—something tied to the roots of the tree or the foundation of the Archive."

Reyan's gaze sharpened. "The Seedstone."

Selene blinked. "That's a myth."

"No. It's real," Reyan said, eyes filled with urgency. "The very first stone placed beneath the Memory Tree. It wasn't part of the Archive—it created it. If we can find it, we might be able to resist Nyharis' influence, even if he awakens fully."

Kael looked up. "Where is it?"

Reyan hesitated. "That's the problem. The Seedstone was sealed when I was still Death's vessel. I buried it… and then erased its location. I thought that would protect it from Haldran."

Aesthera frowned. "Which means we'll have to remember something you've deliberately forgotten."

Silence followed.

Then Kael stepped forward. "Then I'll help you remember."

Reyan looked at him, startled. "How?"

"I'm still linked to the void he left in me. But it works both ways. If I can reach into the place where Nyharis planted his silence, maybe I can also pull something back."

Selene gripped his shoulder. "That could tear you apart."

Kael met her gaze, unafraid. "If I don't, we all fade."

Reyan knelt and took Kael's hands in his own. "We'll anchor you. You won't do this alone."

The ritual was prepared swiftly. Candles were lit. Runes of grounding carved into the floor. Reyan stood behind Kael, hands on the boy's shoulders, while Aesthera wove a lattice of memory spells around them both. Selene stood guard, blade drawn, eyes fixed on the chamber doors.

As Kael's eyes closed, a wind stirred from nowhere. The runes began to glow. And then he fell inward.

Reyan gasped, his thoughts tugged into the boy's mind like a thread pulled through a needle. He saw vast blackness. Not darkness—but absence. A silence so deep it had texture. And there, flickering like a heartbeat buried under mountains, was a stone. Jagged. Ancient. Glowing faintly with a warmth that defied the void.

"I see it," Reyan whispered. "The Seedstone."

But something else stirred.

A great shape coiled through the abyss. Not a figure—more like a presence given weight. A whisper that stretched for miles.

"Death," it hissed, "why do you struggle so hard to preserve what even gods abandoned?"

Reyan stood firm in the vision. "Because memory is the only proof we existed."

The voice rumbled, like thunder echoing in a tomb. "Then I shall take your proof. I will leave the world flawless—empty of regret, of names, of story. A blank beginning."

Reyan reached for the Seedstone. The presence lunged. But Kael moved first.

He placed his hand on Reyan's chest and whispered, "Now."

The world cracked.

Reyan opened his eyes, collapsing backward, cradling something in his arms—a jagged piece of stone, pulsing with gold veins. The Seedstone. The chamber erupted with light. The runes surged. The Archive itself lit up like the sun.

Kael gasped, eyes wide. "He knows we have it. He's coming."

Reyan stood, the Seedstone clutched in his hand. "Then we hold the line."

Selene raised her blade. "And this time, we don't fight for memory. We fight for existence."

Outside, the sky trembled.

And deep below, beneath the broken urn and crumbling stone, Nyharis stirred—and began to remember nothing.