We recognized the death magic spells inscribed on the painted stone plaques. Charms to provide protection and preservation to the temple and everything inside it. Spells to stop the darkness from getting out. These were powerful inscriptions, but none strong enough to stop the rage from infecting the world beyond these beautifully painted walls.
“Look at this,” Tristan whispered, nodding at a large scene depicting Death and her true first Reaper like they were mother and daughter. It made my stomach hard as a rock, knowing the lie I’d been told from the moment I’d been made.
The World Crusher looked pretty in this painting. Not at all like Death, though. Her skin was white, made with mother of pearl inlays, and black enamel for her eyes and lips. But her hair was light and long, waves of amber mounted against a lapis-lazuli background that served as the sky. Death’s hair was sparkling obsidian, her lips a pair of finely crafted rubies. Both wore ivory folds of white and held each other close beneath a glittering gold sun.
A bitter taste persisted in my mouth as I beheld the truth depicted there. The beautiful and gut-wrenching truth. I had allowed my first place in this world to define me on so many levels. I’d considered myself precious enough to set an example for others, to establish new trends among the Reapers, and to prove that I was on another level altogether—at least in my earlier years. It stung to see it had all been a lie. There had been another before me, and I wasn’t sure I would ever forgive Death for this slight.
It wasn’t something she would’ve removed from her memories, like she’d done with Thezin. She couldn’t use that excuse twice. No, Death had known all along…
Next to the scene of the embrace, there was another. It showed the World Crusher wandering through the stars. The cosmos was black enamel with tiny pearls representing the many stars. Clusters of rubies and sapphires and emeralds were mounted together to play the roles of various planets. In the middle, the World Crusher’s amber hair poured down, her bare feet stepping over entire galaxies.
Everything in this place was an ode to this Reaper, I realized. These weren’t real stories being told here. These were homages crafted from gemstones and delicate artistry devoted to the World Crusher. “Who made all this?” I asked, as the Ghoul Reapers waited for us by the hovering lectern.
“We did,” Eneas said. “We’ve had a lot of time on our hands.”
“They’re beautiful,” Tristan replied.
Hadras had been left outside in the fading light of dusk to begin his recovery. We didn’t know how long it would take for him to be fused back together, but it wasn’t happening quickly. I had more questions for Death regarding Tristan’s uncanny scythe abilities, but given we’d decided to lie low and pretend we were somewhere else, I saved them for later. I wanted my mental energy focused on this place and on the World Crusher.
“How do you know what she looks like?” I asked.
“Come see for yourself,” the apparent leader of the Ghoul Reapers shot back with a cold grin. He pointed at the black marble lectern, upon which an ancient tome rested. From where I stood, its black leather binding was visible, along with thick, white, paper pages.
I walked over to the Ghoul Reapers, wary of the hungry looks on their drawn faces. Tristan kept to my side, our minds and souls connected and in strict agreement: we desired the truth more than anything, and that book had it all. Everything that Death had kept from me over the ages was right there, waiting.
Once I reached the lectern, Eneas motioned for me to climb up. “Why are you all keeping your distance from it, though?” I asked, noticing how the Ghoul Reapers stayed back—they were close, just not close enough. There was something in their body language and general distance from the tome that bothered me. They stood close enough to it to make me want to join them, yet far enough away to pique my curiosity.
“Don’t you feel it?” Fileas replied, pursing his lips.
“Her anger? Absolutely,” I said. “That fire must have been burning for ages.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you’re stronger as a First Tenner or something, but for us, it’s sickening and toxic to touch the damn thing,” Fileas explained. “It didn’t feel like this at first. We used to be able to flip the pages and read the stories. These days it’s hard to even be around it.”
I looked at Tristan, and he gave me a small nod. I believe in you, he said through our telepathic bond. This must be done. I’d take your place, but…
No, this is my burden to bear, I replied. It’ll be okay.
That wasn’t a certainty, but rather a hope I was clinging to. I couldn’t turn us back now. We had come too far, and there was too much depending on this moment for me to call it quits. Tristan had fought valiantly to get us into this temple. Anunit had dragged us through two other trials and had revealed startling truths about Death. This third one was the worst. I couldn’t even fathom stopping now. Not without more information.
The tome was a beautiful work of art, not just a crafty seal serving as the eternal prison of Death’s first Reaper. Its leather binding was smooth and seamless, silver threads swirling across the cover in leafy embroidery patterns. I followed the central stem with my index finger, noticing how it formed the infinity symbol, the delicate leaves making it harder to observe. Beneath this elegant formation, ornate letters had been sewn in a cursive fashion. “Tales from the Crusher of Worlds,” I read aloud.
“It’s a compelling read,” Deas chuckled.
Filicore scoffed. “You need a hard stomach to go through it.”
“I’ve earned that right, thanks to my champion,” I replied. “Make yourselves comfortable. I think we’ll be here a while.”
Malin put an arm around Tristan’s
